Yesterday

         My feet were killing me.  I’ve walked two hundred miles from Duluth.  I can handle the biting of horseflies and the constant barrage of mosquitoes.  I can even handle the lonely cry of wolves at night, huddled by myself in the cold.  I cannot handle, however, my sore feet. 
         I guess I can go on a bit further.
         I had left the comforts of town life and trudged into the wilderness going south for two reasons; first, because I had felt a calling, one I could not explain, and second, because someone had wanted to kill me.  Ok, maybe the second reason should have actually been placed as the first, as that was what finally prompted me on my sojourn across Minnesota terrain.
         I have discovered that the title of “ten thousand lakes” for Minnesota was not quite accurate, more like “ten million lakes”, seriously.  I could only imagine what the state looked like from high above, lush forests, fields and farmland sprawling between them and the entire landscape pot marked with lakes as if the state had a very bad case of blue acne.
         Alright, I know it’s a sarcastic view of this beautiful state, but forgive me, I’ve been a bit cynical as of late.
         I suppose I can give you a bit about why in the world someone wanted to kill me.  As I’ve said before I am from Duluth.  A small harbor city (or a large harbor town), flanked on one side by Lake Superior.  A very large lake, especially by the standards of someone who has never seen the ocean.  I used to stand at the waters edge, staring out upon the freight ships, deceptively small and insignificant on the vastness of the lake.
          It was in this town that I fell in love with a woman who did not love me, and sad to say my interest soon turned to obsession.  In my defense, she had led me on in a way.  A sweet kiss at a dance hall one stormy night sealed my infatuation. 
         I met her husband the next day.  His name was Bubba, or at least they call him Bubba.  I believe his real name was John or something like that.  Either way he looked like a Bubba to me.  A giant of a man, with a somewhat vacant stare on his face.  Also, in my defense, I had not known that she even had a husband, I came across this information quite by accident.  I was standing outside her window, singing my heart out like the fool I was, and his face appeared in the window, not hers. 
         Embarrassing to say, I shrieked like a scarred kitten and ran away.  Even more embarrassing is that when I realized that he was actually chasing me, I continued to scream, leaving an invisible trail of sound behind me.
         Heh-heh....awkward.
         Anyhoot, this Bubba guy now had an outright hard on for me, and I knew that his sole purpose would now be to put me under his boot, or hand, or gun.  I had no other reason for staying in this town, I had no family, so I struck south, hoping to make my way to Texas.  I’ve always wanted to see the Alamo.
         After a week I realized that the walk from Duluth to Texas was to going to take a bit longer than I had originally anticipated. 
         And this is where I come to the heart of the story, the bare bones, the nit and grittle as they say.  They do say that don’t they?  Anyway, I’ll start from the exact point that I came across...
         “YESTERDAY” the sign had read.  What a strange name for a town, I thought, as I made my way towards the small, deserted looking town.  The town of Yesterday appeared to be an abandoned ghost town, simple and beautiful, with woods nestled on three sides of it.  Beams of stark sunlight cut through the clouds above and drenched the town in hazy brightness.  The air had a dreamlike quality about it, as if the very edges of the wooden buildings were blurred, and threatened to become insubstantial at a moment’s thought.  I felt a peace come over me.  And a resignation which frightened me.
         As I walked towards the town of Yesterday, I was struck by the quiet of the place.  Sure there were sounds, but they were of insects chirping and birds singing.  I felt as if I had walked through an invisible doorway, into a world before automobiles and telephones, and all other of man’s great technological advances (and here I speak with the same sarcasm as with the lakes), and I was greatly calmed by my surroundings. 
         I noticed a vividly colored flower growing by a wooden fence, along the path to the town.  It had bright blue petals with little red starbursts decorating it.  I knelt down and was mesmerized by the smell.  How odd, I thought, to find a flower such as this growing by itself.  I really shouldn’t have, but I plucked it and put it in my pocket.  A keepsake from the town of Yesterday.
         The dreamlike atmosphere remained heavy as I entered the town, my vision impaired by the bright sunlight filtering through the clouds in the bright blue sky.  Why had this town been deserted?  The answer to this question I did not know.  I also did not know how long I had spent wandering through the buildings of the town.  They were all furnished modestly, and appeared as if the resident’s might return at any moment.
         There was only one remarkable thing about the town —other than the desertion and feeling like you were walking into a living dream— and that thing was that there were dead flowers on all of the doorsteps, wilted and grey.  They lay there, forgotten.
         Twilight came soon and enhanced the surreal quality even more, and I soon began looking for a place to pass the night.  I found a homely little house that had bread and cheese in the pantry.  There was even a bottle of wine to boot.  As I sat in the easy chair, before the fire I had created in the fireplace, I felt content.  Maybe the Alamo could wait.  I could finish out the remaining days of summer here, and head further south in the fall.  I had only been in Yesterday for a few hours and I was surprised to feel the pangs of reluctance inside me at the thought of leaving.
         Soon, I dozed.
         I awoke with a start.  My fire had been reduced to a few glowing embers in the hearth.  At first I did not know where I was or what had awakened me.  Soon the images of Yesterday flooded my mind, as did the grotesque stench that now filled my nostrils.  I stood up and searched the room with my eyes for the offensive smell, and found nothing.  Thinking that an animal surely must have crawled under the house, or even in the walls, and died.  I sat back down in the chair with a plop and the movement pushed out air from my shirt, it also pushed out the stench. 
         I reached into my front pocket and pulled out the flower I had plucked from the edge of town, and realized that it was this that was responsible for the horrid smell.  The flower appeared to be decaying, it was no longer blue but a yellowish color.  The previously red starbursts were now brown and grey.  I hurried to the door and threw it out.  I then made-up the fire again and went back to sleep in the cozy chair.
         A knock at the door awoke me with a start (ok, and a scream, but a small one.  I just can’t help it sometimes), and it took me a moment to gather my wits.  It was morning, my fire had completely gone out and the red light on the walls from it were now yellow from our good friend the sun.  I don’t know why, but I felt really creeped out.  Maybe it was the fact that I was sleeping in a stranger’s chair in an even stranger town.  Who could be knocking?  And of all the places they could be knocking, why here?  The surreal feeling was still with me, and I felt that I was somewhere between awake and asleep. 
         I timidly got up and went to the door, scared to death as to what I may find (and yes, I had a scream ready to go).  It would most definitely be some kind of monster out of my worst nightmares.  Yes, that had to be it, and why not?  It’s logical that a place of dreams could twist on you at any moment like your own dreams can do.  I steeled myself— and even had one eye squinted shut, lips pulled up in a grimace, I believe— and opened the door.
         A horse.
         A horse was outside and I was feeling incredibly stupid because I still almost screamed.
         The horse was a beautiful white color, and it almost shone.  There was a bright glow emanating from it— probably the sun, but the hazy air gave it a shimmering feel—, and it had kind and musical eyes.  Who knocked on the door?  Surely not this horse.  I saw what must have been a saddle on his back, but of the same color.  It had a feathery look to it, like goose down.  After closer inspection I noticed that it was not a saddle, but wings.
         “Are you ready?”  It sang, and at that point I didn’t scream, but I did yelp.  But surprisingly, it didn’t scare the talking Pegasus away, and that was what it had to have been.  I don’t know of any other names for winged horses. 
         “Ready for what?” I managed.
         “For the other side.  Your ticket has been paid.” it sang.  It had a musical voice, and people say that about other people sometimes, but none of those are musical voices.  You would have to hear it to understand. 
         “What do you mean, my ticket?” I asked.
         The Pegasus motioned towards my feet, and as I looked I saw the wilted flower, now completely grey in the sunshine. 
         Still not understanding I said, “What’s on the other side?”
         “Tomorrow.” it stated simply.
         “Death?”
         “Death is but a door to the other side.  That which tempts, also can kill.”
          That’s when I realized that I was already dead.  The flower, once broken from its root, dies and must become toxic in some way.  The beautiful little flower had died and taken me with it.  I glanced back at the chair by the fireplace and saw my body.  I was not surprised.  I was surprised that I had no more screams to release.  The knowledge of my death affected me strangely.  I felt... neutral.  As if either way, I’m going where I’m going.  I did feel a bit anxious as well.  My mind was thinking in ways that it had never thought before.
         “What’s the other side like?”
         “Beautiful.” he replied.  “Like this world, but with a veil lifted.  Clearer and brighter.  Time is eradicated, and flowers do not kill.  Your day is done here, and you have one last Tomorrow waiting.  There will be no more days, but one life.” 
         I grinned like the fool I was.  Maybe the Alamo wasn’t the best destination after all.