Underneath.

I lost track of time then but it seemed like it had been dark
forever. The reality was that little more than an hour had passed. I
did not know. I had made the best I could of the position I was in and
it now bordered on something remotely emulating comfort. In a very
abstract way that is. My cheek was pressed against the soft damp
ground, the kind you get in a dense pine forest. It had a nutty smell
to it and after some time I could taste that smell, it became so thick
that I could almost chew it like you would a good wine.
My mind started to drift again, always wondering about the what if, as
I remembered moments gone by. The sole reason why I was out here now
was that I could. I didn't have to stay in the dirty city which I had
inhabited for the past 10 years. I was lucky in that way, many others
still scrambled about in the big cities of the east trying to scrape a
living together. Many of my friends were still doing just that. I was
lucky, to get the opportunity to leave when I had wanted to. I had sold
or put into storage the things you couldn't carry, then hopped on a
plane to come out here. I had bought a used car in a lot at the edge of
town where I had touched down, then driven almost 3000 miles stopping
here and there taking the time I wanted cause time I had in abundance.
I had driven through blizzards were the rain had been beating down so
hard that I had to pull off the road to let it pass, seeing blurred
lightning in the distance then hearing the violent rumble of thunder so
close that it would hurt my ears. More than once I felt small, in a
country which stretched so far around me and not one soul anywhere. Now
that I was here I heard the breeze blowing through the tall of trees
around me, I thought I could feel the slight movement of their roots
underneath. I had gotten hyper sensitive to my surroundings, picking up
on movements and sounds as much as being able to savour the soil.
I remembered back home, how the neighbourhood had been terrorised by a
bunch of kids that lived somewhere near, they would kick the doors and
spit in your face, there was no sense in talking, like they spoke no
language, could not comprehend notions beyond their aggression. They
had never known of the silence out here.
I had left them behind, abandoned them, together with the rest of my
life.
I had to cough just then, could feel my chest painfully contract as it
was gasping for air. Once I calmed I tried to shift position, move my
legs, but I could barely feel them, let alone move. My left arm was
twisted backwards trapped under my body, the right hand I could move a
little, but there was nothing to hold on to, nothing that would keep me
from slipping.
I woke with the first light that shone through the crowns of trees,
reaching the ground here and there, the light a haze, moisture rising.
The green of tender shoots so bright and fresh almost close enough to
touch. The smells very different now that the earth warmed and right at
the edge of my vision I could see some grazing deer slowly moving their
heads up and down, listening into the distance and suddenly they run
and are gone and I cough again, this time tasting blood.
Then I can hear what made them run, the faint bark of dogs, and
knowing, that where there are dogs there are people. I listen into the
distance, the volume of bark growing, getting ever closer, then make
out a voice or maybe two for it would be senseless to talk to oneself,
but not perhaps to talk to the dogs. Now I can hear the crackling of
wood broken by treading feet, the rustle of leaves and I stretch out as
best I can ready to shout for help but only a crackle leaves my throat.
Again I try in desperation, but only the pain in my chest grows louder.
I hear a sniffling sound not far and as I open my eyes I stare into the
face of a young golden retriever, tongue hanging from its mouth, saliva
running. It has floppy ears and big brown eyes, and as I look at him I
can feel tears well up inside and as if the dog was to console me he
starts licking my face. I never felt such intense elation.
I hear the mans voice then, not from close by however, but from afar
calling for the dog who hesitates then waves its tail, turns and runs
in that playful manner young dogs do when they play, still taking scent
gradually fading into the undergrowth.

© Marcus Bastel