Walking

WALKING

I open my eyes to a harsh sun. It shines bright; too bright, in fact. I close them again.

I sit up and work up the nerve to open my eyes again. I don't know where I am, but I know that I'm sore and the ground beneath me is hard and rough. I'm outside, obviously, which is a rather drastic change from sleeping somewhere nice and warm and safe.

When I finally do open my eyes again, I see that I am not alone. A face stares back at me; a tiny, dark-eyed, whiskered face. A toy mouse sits in front of me.

I am confused, naturally, and a bit afraid to look up and see where I am. I look up anyway.

The world around me is scorched and cracked and dry. The soil is so compact that my fingernail can barely make a mark on it. No, this most certainly is not home, wherever that is.

Something tugs at the corner of my mind but I can't quite nail it down. It was all I could do to remember my own name; a lot of good that would do me here.

The mouse grabs my attention again as it wheels in a circle. It startles me and I leap to my feet. When I do, the toy goes through my legs and keeps going, seemingly running away. Good. You're unnerving anyway.

But the mouse doesn't leave; it stops, turns tail, and stares at me. I take a step towards it. Seemingly encouraged by this, it turns again and keeps going. This time I follow it. It's not like I have anything better to do.

The mouse keeps going for the longest time until I finally stop to catch my breath. It tuns again to look at me. Its eyes are black, but they feel alive.

I keep going just so it will turn away. I wonder how long I've been walking. It probably hasn't been too long, but I'm not too sure. The sun is on the horizon now. I've been walking all day.

When the sun goes down I stop walking. The mouse stops too. I haven't paid mush attention to my clothes since I got here, but now I realize I have on a sleeveless shirt and shorts. I take off the shirt and ball it up. At least I won't have an earful of dirt when I wake up.

When the sun rises again, I rise with it. I don't know what lies ahead, but the mouse has been going in a fairly straight line and I figure it must be leading me somewhere. It seems to be glad that I'm awake and turns in a few tight circles to show it. It stops turning and starts moving forward.

The ground crunching under my feet is starting to become sort of comforting. It is rhythmic and I can count on it. I turn around to see how far I had come. There are no footprints behind me; the ground is too hard.

Now I realize how hungry I am. My stomach is sunken in and is making strange noises. I'm getting dizzy. I put my mind back on the rhythm of my footsteps to distract myself.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

The sun sets, and I sleep.

I wake up with the sun again, still drowsy, briefly confused about where I am. Then I remember, and I cry. I don't cry for myself, I cry for what I could have left behind. When I try to think about it, I can't remember. All I know right now is the rhythm of my footsteps and the beat of my heart. Sometimes I try to synchronize both but I can't. My head hurts too much to concentrate on anything.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

The sun sets and rises. I didn't sleep, I just kept walking.

My legs scream in pain but I don't want to see the mouse's face again so I don't stop.

Finally, too exhausted to move anymore, I collapse. I don't bother taking my shirt off. My face presses against the hard earth, but I don't even attempt to put something between the two of us. The silence in my head is louder than anything. I can't hear myself think over the buzz in the absence of noise.

All I see now is black. I don't move. I sleep as soundly as the ground beneath me.

When I wake up, the mouse is about two inches from my face. I scream and leap to my feet which, oddly, don't hurt anymore. I'm not hungry either.

I look down at where the mouse was before, but it has already started moving. Fine. Be that way.

Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch.

I stop and the mouse turns around to face me. I sit down. The mouse doesn't move. I lay down, still looking at the mouse. It stays where it is. I stand again, but this time I turn and walk the other way.

Suddenly the mouse is at my feet, zipping tight circles around my feet. I try to step but suddenly it's under my foot and it trips me. I realize that this is the first physical contact I've had with the mouse. Maybe if I could catch it…

I follow for another day, but slowly. I break the rhythm.

When I wake up, the mouse is about nine feet away. I decide that today, I'm going to catch it.

The mouse keeps on rolling as I devise my plan.

By the time I work up the nerve to carry it out, it's noon and the sun is overhead. I turn around and start running in the other direction. The mouse is in front of me in no time, but I stop abruptly and dive for it. When my hands close, it is already behind me and my head is spinning.

I try this again two more times over the course of the rest of the day. The plan isn't a good plan.

The sun sets, but tonight I have a new plan. I keep walking until the moon is high in the sky and my legs are aching a bit. I let out a groan and fein extreme exhaustion. I fall to my knees, groan once more, and fall the rest of the way. The hard soil smashing against my face hurts, but I take the pain in the name of getting out of this place.

In the morning, the mouse is right where I want it. Its beady little black dot eyes stare right into mine when I wake up, but instead of panicking and jumping up, I pounce on the mouse and grab it by its tail.

The plan worked. But what do I do now.

I look the mouse over for three or four minutes just turning it over in my hands. Turning it over and over. Looking at its' fur and its' eyes and its' tail. I'm stunned. The mouse is so ordinary, so completely unremarkable that it does not seem like it could be the cause of anything, let alone the anguish and pain it has caused me.

Then the mouse makes a noise.

A click.

Then several.

Click. Click. Click.

The a small compartment opens up on its back. I turn it over and dump the contents into my hand.

A single marble, black, and yet semi transparent. Enticing.

I stare into it, through it. It is so intriguing that I simply cannot look away. I stare at it with so much intent that I actually begin to feel something. Something coming from the orb, or perhaps from within myself. The marble pulls me in.

My mind seems to leap out of my body and into the marble. I float around within it, feel it around me.

Then I begin to see things. Then I can see everything.

I see the light within the dark and the truth behind the lies. I see weakness in the hearts of the strongest of men and strength in the hearts of the weak. I can feel the breath of all the little creatures, scurrying to find food before they become food themselves.

My mind comes to rest in a place that seems warm.

Familiar.

A face trimmed with long brown hair. A face, much smaller, gazing upwards in wonderment. A face, inhuman, yet full of emotion. Its's ears flop over it's face and its big, playful eyes stare through the dark.

The box with the two windows and a door and a lawn. My home.

And I am there.

In my bed.

Warm and safe again.