An Undeserved End

On the trail past Bumbler Creek, a man lay stone skinned and dead staring into the night sky but grasping not of the depths of stars. The eyes grow grey one a deep blue like the passing breeze that now carried his stench like a leaf into civilized company. The nails on his hand turned backward as if projecting a film into the darkness of the struggle lost. Terror locked away into his unblinking eyes in their dim tones speaking to the ravenous pain long since drained into the lifeless creek. The shoeless foot lay bare and gnarled; another lost battle, this with the cold of the November evenings and the damp winds swept up from the waters. Three shoes stand silently, his torn from his foot and my two standing next to the scene. On three consecutive nights, the cloud cover bore shadow to the secrets of the open grave while I walk back and forth from my home to Rochelle. She, who is my destination this night, blinds me on my return plodding down the path home. My sight set on the lights quarter mile on leave me witless to see the wolves known to these woods. My heart skipping buoyantly on the sea which long since had claimed his. My step gingerly approaches each night past his un-waking horror.

Where was he aimed when tragedy struck? Did his heart also beat expectantly and blindly to the dangers of the dark? Was the warm breath of his end at the back of his neck as he dreamt of another’s? Did he cry a lost love’s name to the pert ears not understanding or caring? Did he plead to a mind unconcerned? Did he fight back against a will stronger than his own and accept the judgments of nature? I stand pondering for what seems like hours though my watch ticks only seconds away from me. I glance to the horizon at the unnatural light and back to the body.

“Shit happens, I suppose.” I speak to the night and direct my vision to the light in the distance.