Story 10: A Walk Through the Woods
Prologue
Dive into that place you know so well
See how calm and placid that you were
Feel the smells as they rustle through your eyes.
Once you were down, and they kicked you
Oh so hard.
Escape from this place; find a way out
Run through this space; you know it so well.
Look more closely, you know nothing of this place.
Death approached without a single word.
You breath just fine, your stomach on fire.
Look for a new way; you will know so well
Make it complete; make it your life.
Live in question with something familiar.
Do not question or your flaws you will see
Live to the fullest no matter what it takes.
You have been swallowed
You cannot be complete;
Without the madness that you swallow.
A Walk Through the Woods
Chip could feel the breeze in the air as he wandered through the sweet fragrance of the woods. It crawled along his shoulders, and massaged his back with its cool, gentle breath. The brightly colored leaves, so gentle and tender were whisked away from the long branches of sycamores and oaks by the fragrant fingertips of the wind. Only the brave evergreens cursed the wind and defended its branches with the sharp needlepoints of its leaves.
Now, almost as in answer to the defense of these trees, the wind began to rise. No longer a gentle serenade, it now became a grand symphony. And like a great god, showing its immense power, caused the giant trees to bend at its will and bow to its power. Chip looked at the once bright sky - now a collage of blue, black, and gray - and decided to head back home. There was however one problem, which way was home? Lost: the frightening thought ran through his mind as he looked at the many twisting paths he could have followed here. He looked out along the possible paths that he could have taken to reach this point. By this time he had wandered deep enough into the woods that no matter which path he looked at no matter what direction he could have come from, it was ever so possible that he could have come from one just as likely as the next. A twinge of panic began to set in and Chip looked hard at the different paths. Some were very well worn, others were just the first inklings of a path that very few had followed. He didn’t know what his path’s consistency had been and suddenly the twinge was outright panic. He turned in the direction from which he believed he had come and ran.
As he unknowingly ran farther into a depending abyss of fear, - which at present was the middle of the woods - his panic grew. His steps became longer and faster as the adrenaline pushed him into random turns. His eyes darted everywhere, looking for something familiar in this total stranger he thought he knew so well. The wind howled in his ears screaming for him to go home; but his panic overpowered him and would not allow him to answer the strange summons. Presently, the wind slowed as Chip’s energy flickered away, and the natural sounds, other than the screaming wind, began to enter into his ears just loud enough to make them out.
But what should have been a comfort to Chip, soon became an unparalleled discomforting fear. To Chip’s left the foliage was sparkling as the sun reflected off the droplets of water. To his right, the scene was different. The bushes and shrubs were dark, shadowed by an invisible leaking roof. In this murky scene Chip heard a sound like the soft rustling of leaves along the ground in the wind, he looked in the direction of the sound and saw nothing. The back of his spine tingled with anticipation. He didn’t feel alone and that drew his panic to a devastating zenith. There was something else here, watching him, and Chip’s imagination created the worst he could possibly come up with. Creatures with indefinable shape and unimaginable speed sped through his head and his imagination ran, but Chip could not. His reserve of energy was exhausted. Even though he could not run, he still looked, still probed the murky foliage for that other sign of life. As his eyes wandered, still searching for the sound, he saw something.
The eyes stared at Chip as he glared into them. The eyes tried hard to remain hidden and anonymous, but they were very wide and decidedly human. The eyes were brown which made them quite hard to see, but what caught Chip’s eyes were the whites. They seemed clear and bright, as though they had never been touched or scarred by the dirty hands of city life. And yet, these eyes contained nothing around them at all. There was no face to be seen, though Chip knew there had to be one. He could not make out any facial lines, not even a nose, no, it was just these eyes watching him. They held the wild fire of nature, the experience of all, and the patience of someone who knew what it meant to wait a lifetime. But all these characteristics were overshadowed by the undecided judgment they were struggling to make. They looked at him in a confused, merciless way. Chip risked a quick glance to make sure that there were no other eyes around. When he turned back they were gone. He focused intently on the bushes that had hidden everything but the eyes. He tried to see through the dense vegetation and find the illusive creature. But there was nothing there, and eventually the worry that those intensely cold eyes had caused, sank into the back of his mind, and again his major problem became finding his way home.
Now though, Chip’s thoughts were more collected, calmer, and more serene. He walked in one general direction and concentrated on this sole task for almost one hour. The sky was now beginning to clear, the birds sang and were happy to walk into the sun’s rays once again. The smell of fresh, watery foliage, presently filled the air with its sweet, sugary-like aroma. Chip watched as the sun displayed its magnificent power by breaking the aristocratic wall of clouds. Its rays lit up patches of earth like an elaborate quilt of the finest fibers. Suddenly all this serenity was broken as Chip stumbled to the ground.
There, sitting in the middle of the woods, in the middle of nowhere, was a camouflage canteen adorning a yellow, inconspicuous top. He picked up the cylindrical piece of plastic and took a look at it. Perhaps the most important part of picking it up was discovering that it still contained water. After a long, fulfilling drink, he set the canteen back down and proceeded on his way without a second thought.
Chip was now on his way again, and soon reached an obstacle which concerned him very much. There, standing in front of him, was either a very large creek, or a very small river. It was at least twelve feet across, and the current was strong enough that white occasionally flaked off of its surface. The part which concerned Chip however, was that he did not remember this from his former journey. Though this could not even be trusted anymore. With his sudden fit of traumatic running, the only thing Chip recalled recently was the wind, and those strange staring eyes. He decided that he had probably crossed a bridge while running and had simply not taken notice.
Now the trick would be to cross this mass of water. The first thought that occurred to Chip was to simply wade through it. When he tried however, he discovered that the water became too deep near the middle. He had considered swimming across, but after his wade, he decided that the current was too strong. Wading did not work, swimming was not an option, but perhaps he could jump. Why not? He was the best running long jumper on his track team. He took several large steps backwards, got a good running start and hoped that it wasn’t as far across as he thought it was. When he hit the edge of the water he jumped. He sailed through the air, his confidence growing as he saw the other edge approaching. His confidence was shattered by a cold, wet hammer that hit him like an electric shock. His feet couldn’t feel the bottom of the river, and his arms flailed in panic. His eyes shut and he put all the strength he had into reaching dry land. And he did. One glance told him that he remained on the side that he didn’t want to be on. Finally he found a long vine. The vine was a creation of Chip’s, he had found a grand old willow tree near the stream. The tree - as with most weeping willows - had long vines coming out of its thick branches. Chip would carefully grab each vine and pluck it from its host high in the air, being as careful as he could, not to break any of the delicate branches. After selecting the strongest of these, he wrapped them together to form the vine he now held in his hands. After a long struggle Chip was able to secure it to a boulder on the other side of the creek. After this, he took a log and pulled himself across. This being accomplished he again began to look for his way home.
After another hour, (it occurred to him that this had taken way too long, but the prospect of crossing the river again made him just keep walking) Chip tripped, lucky for him. As he was falling he heard a whiz past his head, and felt something clip at his hair. He got up and looked around to see what had just happened. Where he had tripped, Chip discovered a thin, almost invisible line. It was a wonder - and very good luck - that he had tripped at all. For there, in the tree to Chip’s left was an arrow shot about half-way through the tree.
Chip looked ahead to see a very uncomforting sight. First he saw a fence. At closer inspection the fence was made of barbed wire and served as a guard to what lay beyond. Through the fence there was a hut. It was not a real house, but only a living domain and was probably used as a weather shelter. It was beginning to fog up again, and Chip decided to take shelter there for at least a little while. He took two sticks and separated the fence just enough to squeeze through, then he headed for the hut.
Two minutes after he had entered the hut it began to rain. The rain beat on the old roof with the annoying sound of drips against spread tin-foil. Chip took a look at the hut he was going to be staying in at least until the storm let up. In the middle was a table with just one chair and made from old wood. On the top of the table was a sharp knife. The knife engulfed his attention; the raindrops pounding over his head seemed to silence and the storm became muffled with his self-imposed deafness. Then the sound was totally drowned out by the footsteps on the outside of the hut. The door swung open, and standing there, with an axe in one hand and the canteen - with its yellow top - in the other, were those eyes, this time the man behind them was connected. Chip barely had time to look the man over. In seconds, the cannibal had his next meal.
Epilogue
To whom it may concern:
When I am done with this letter; soon thereafter I shall be dead. I have lived in these woods for as near as I can tell three years now. My food in this time has consisted of the easiest pray roaming these shadows of green. I caution all who feel compelled to eat human flesh now that I know its consequences. I have mastered the art of trapping humans, (not a rigorous accomplishment) now my addiction is so strong and my food so scarce that I feed upon myself. Again I caution all, because it is only now, after the consumption of myself, that I realize the consequences.
P.S. At least I die full
Forest Cannibal
Dive into that place you know so well
See how calm and placid that you were
Feel the smells as they rustle through your eyes.
Once you were down, and they kicked you
Oh so hard.
Escape from this place; find a way out
Run through this space; you know it so well.
Look more closely, you know nothing of this place.
Death approached without a single word.
You breath just fine, your stomach on fire.
Look for a new way; you will know so well
Make it complete; make it your life.
Live in question with something familiar.
Do not question or your flaws you will see
Live to the fullest no matter what it takes.
You have been swallowed
You cannot be complete;
Without the madness that you swallow.
A Walk Through the Woods
Chip could feel the breeze in the air as he wandered through the sweet fragrance of the woods. It crawled along his shoulders, and massaged his back with its cool, gentle breath. The brightly colored leaves, so gentle and tender were whisked away from the long branches of sycamores and oaks by the fragrant fingertips of the wind. Only the brave evergreens cursed the wind and defended its branches with the sharp needlepoints of its leaves.
Now, almost as in answer to the defense of these trees, the wind began to rise. No longer a gentle serenade, it now became a grand symphony. And like a great god, showing its immense power, caused the giant trees to bend at its will and bow to its power. Chip looked at the once bright sky - now a collage of blue, black, and gray - and decided to head back home. There was however one problem, which way was home? Lost: the frightening thought ran through his mind as he looked at the many twisting paths he could have followed here. He looked out along the possible paths that he could have taken to reach this point. By this time he had wandered deep enough into the woods that no matter which path he looked at no matter what direction he could have come from, it was ever so possible that he could have come from one just as likely as the next. A twinge of panic began to set in and Chip looked hard at the different paths. Some were very well worn, others were just the first inklings of a path that very few had followed. He didn’t know what his path’s consistency had been and suddenly the twinge was outright panic. He turned in the direction from which he believed he had come and ran.
As he unknowingly ran farther into a depending abyss of fear, - which at present was the middle of the woods - his panic grew. His steps became longer and faster as the adrenaline pushed him into random turns. His eyes darted everywhere, looking for something familiar in this total stranger he thought he knew so well. The wind howled in his ears screaming for him to go home; but his panic overpowered him and would not allow him to answer the strange summons. Presently, the wind slowed as Chip’s energy flickered away, and the natural sounds, other than the screaming wind, began to enter into his ears just loud enough to make them out.
But what should have been a comfort to Chip, soon became an unparalleled discomforting fear. To Chip’s left the foliage was sparkling as the sun reflected off the droplets of water. To his right, the scene was different. The bushes and shrubs were dark, shadowed by an invisible leaking roof. In this murky scene Chip heard a sound like the soft rustling of leaves along the ground in the wind, he looked in the direction of the sound and saw nothing. The back of his spine tingled with anticipation. He didn’t feel alone and that drew his panic to a devastating zenith. There was something else here, watching him, and Chip’s imagination created the worst he could possibly come up with. Creatures with indefinable shape and unimaginable speed sped through his head and his imagination ran, but Chip could not. His reserve of energy was exhausted. Even though he could not run, he still looked, still probed the murky foliage for that other sign of life. As his eyes wandered, still searching for the sound, he saw something.
The eyes stared at Chip as he glared into them. The eyes tried hard to remain hidden and anonymous, but they were very wide and decidedly human. The eyes were brown which made them quite hard to see, but what caught Chip’s eyes were the whites. They seemed clear and bright, as though they had never been touched or scarred by the dirty hands of city life. And yet, these eyes contained nothing around them at all. There was no face to be seen, though Chip knew there had to be one. He could not make out any facial lines, not even a nose, no, it was just these eyes watching him. They held the wild fire of nature, the experience of all, and the patience of someone who knew what it meant to wait a lifetime. But all these characteristics were overshadowed by the undecided judgment they were struggling to make. They looked at him in a confused, merciless way. Chip risked a quick glance to make sure that there were no other eyes around. When he turned back they were gone. He focused intently on the bushes that had hidden everything but the eyes. He tried to see through the dense vegetation and find the illusive creature. But there was nothing there, and eventually the worry that those intensely cold eyes had caused, sank into the back of his mind, and again his major problem became finding his way home.
Now though, Chip’s thoughts were more collected, calmer, and more serene. He walked in one general direction and concentrated on this sole task for almost one hour. The sky was now beginning to clear, the birds sang and were happy to walk into the sun’s rays once again. The smell of fresh, watery foliage, presently filled the air with its sweet, sugary-like aroma. Chip watched as the sun displayed its magnificent power by breaking the aristocratic wall of clouds. Its rays lit up patches of earth like an elaborate quilt of the finest fibers. Suddenly all this serenity was broken as Chip stumbled to the ground.
There, sitting in the middle of the woods, in the middle of nowhere, was a camouflage canteen adorning a yellow, inconspicuous top. He picked up the cylindrical piece of plastic and took a look at it. Perhaps the most important part of picking it up was discovering that it still contained water. After a long, fulfilling drink, he set the canteen back down and proceeded on his way without a second thought.
Chip was now on his way again, and soon reached an obstacle which concerned him very much. There, standing in front of him, was either a very large creek, or a very small river. It was at least twelve feet across, and the current was strong enough that white occasionally flaked off of its surface. The part which concerned Chip however, was that he did not remember this from his former journey. Though this could not even be trusted anymore. With his sudden fit of traumatic running, the only thing Chip recalled recently was the wind, and those strange staring eyes. He decided that he had probably crossed a bridge while running and had simply not taken notice.
Now the trick would be to cross this mass of water. The first thought that occurred to Chip was to simply wade through it. When he tried however, he discovered that the water became too deep near the middle. He had considered swimming across, but after his wade, he decided that the current was too strong. Wading did not work, swimming was not an option, but perhaps he could jump. Why not? He was the best running long jumper on his track team. He took several large steps backwards, got a good running start and hoped that it wasn’t as far across as he thought it was. When he hit the edge of the water he jumped. He sailed through the air, his confidence growing as he saw the other edge approaching. His confidence was shattered by a cold, wet hammer that hit him like an electric shock. His feet couldn’t feel the bottom of the river, and his arms flailed in panic. His eyes shut and he put all the strength he had into reaching dry land. And he did. One glance told him that he remained on the side that he didn’t want to be on. Finally he found a long vine. The vine was a creation of Chip’s, he had found a grand old willow tree near the stream. The tree - as with most weeping willows - had long vines coming out of its thick branches. Chip would carefully grab each vine and pluck it from its host high in the air, being as careful as he could, not to break any of the delicate branches. After selecting the strongest of these, he wrapped them together to form the vine he now held in his hands. After a long struggle Chip was able to secure it to a boulder on the other side of the creek. After this, he took a log and pulled himself across. This being accomplished he again began to look for his way home.
After another hour, (it occurred to him that this had taken way too long, but the prospect of crossing the river again made him just keep walking) Chip tripped, lucky for him. As he was falling he heard a whiz past his head, and felt something clip at his hair. He got up and looked around to see what had just happened. Where he had tripped, Chip discovered a thin, almost invisible line. It was a wonder - and very good luck - that he had tripped at all. For there, in the tree to Chip’s left was an arrow shot about half-way through the tree.
Chip looked ahead to see a very uncomforting sight. First he saw a fence. At closer inspection the fence was made of barbed wire and served as a guard to what lay beyond. Through the fence there was a hut. It was not a real house, but only a living domain and was probably used as a weather shelter. It was beginning to fog up again, and Chip decided to take shelter there for at least a little while. He took two sticks and separated the fence just enough to squeeze through, then he headed for the hut.
Two minutes after he had entered the hut it began to rain. The rain beat on the old roof with the annoying sound of drips against spread tin-foil. Chip took a look at the hut he was going to be staying in at least until the storm let up. In the middle was a table with just one chair and made from old wood. On the top of the table was a sharp knife. The knife engulfed his attention; the raindrops pounding over his head seemed to silence and the storm became muffled with his self-imposed deafness. Then the sound was totally drowned out by the footsteps on the outside of the hut. The door swung open, and standing there, with an axe in one hand and the canteen - with its yellow top - in the other, were those eyes, this time the man behind them was connected. Chip barely had time to look the man over. In seconds, the cannibal had his next meal.
Epilogue
To whom it may concern:
When I am done with this letter; soon thereafter I shall be dead. I have lived in these woods for as near as I can tell three years now. My food in this time has consisted of the easiest pray roaming these shadows of green. I caution all who feel compelled to eat human flesh now that I know its consequences. I have mastered the art of trapping humans, (not a rigorous accomplishment) now my addiction is so strong and my food so scarce that I feed upon myself. Again I caution all, because it is only now, after the consumption of myself, that I realize the consequences.
P.S. At least I die full
Forest Cannibal
posted by David Fuchs (Greg Goble) @ 10:01 PM
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