1:7 – A Fire in the Dark

There was a light in the forest far below. It flickered like fire and seemed to emit smoke barely distinguishable against the dark backdrop. He froze with the skewered piece of centipede in front of his opened mouth. It emitted a white nimbus in the cold air. He watched the light as his heart became so filled with hope it sunk in his chest. Then the light disappeared. He sprung to his feet and sprinted to the ledge and climbed down the mountain face in great haste while almost losing his grip on multiple occasions. His feet hurt from the impact of him jumping the last bit down to the forest floor and landing in the same spot he had both died and been resurrected. He set off into the dark forest and the direction of the light.

The ferns cut his legs and exposed genitalia as he made his way through them. Small streams of blood trickled down his lower body. The moon bathed everything in a ghostly blue hue, and bats flew in great speed between the trees, giving of their high pitch shrieks. His feet sunk into the muddy ground and made a sucking noise with each step as he pulled them out. An owl startled him as it set off from the undergrowth, and he stubbed his toe and groaned. The owl landed in a tree and hooted while watching him curse. He bent down and picked up the rock and threw it at the owl as hard as his twig-like arm could. The thud of the rock hitting the tree trunk and the sound of the owl beating its wings woke the forest for a moment.

He came upon a clearing. In its middle, there was a fire pit. He watched it for a while, hesitating. One step at a time, he approached, slowly, yet in a hurry, as he watched his surroundings. He kneeled and put his hand above the ashes and felt their warmth. On the ground, there was a waterskin crafted from an animal’s hide. He picked it up and shook it. Some liquid sploshed around inside. He removed the stopper and smelled the contents and poured some of the liquid into his hand. It was water. He put the container to his lips and drank from it in deep gulps. There were tracks on the ground around the fire pit. Human tracks. Or tracks of something that resembled a human. They went southward. As did he, through forests, meadows, and marches. Over land and through rivers and brooks, he followed. He tracked for many days, not eating and only stopping for short naps and for filling his waterskin. Most nights, there were fires in the distance, but some there were non.

The landscape turned into a wasteland of bushes and shrubs. He burned his naked back in the scorching sun until it blistered. His feet were riddled with thorns. The footprints became evermore faint in the dry and sandy ground, and he had to backtrack multiple times. He was almost out of water when he reached the edge of the desert with dunes whiter than bone. The tracks in the soft sand were not distinguishable as human anymore. They were nothing more than indents, and could as well be from some animal. He continued tracking until his surroundings were a billowing sea of sand as far as the eye could see, and then further. His lips cracked from dehydration, and his mind harbored delusions.

Now and again, the ground vibrated as if giant horns were touted from deep under the sand. It was a metallic noise that cut through his flesh and made his very bones rattle. Sometimes he saw torrents of sand burst into the air as if a whale breached the surface to take a breath. There were no animals out during the day, but for the occasional bird soaring the blue and cloudless sky. However, during the cold night, when the stars filled the dome, they came out from their burrows. They were mostly small, mostly harmless, the snakes hunting the lizards hunting spiders and insects.

He saw something astray from the intended path. The air seemed to ripple, blue and cold. His thirst overcame his wits, and he set off toward the oasis. He went from dune to dune, yet the sight seemed to elude him, but he pushed on. His body was shutting down from dehydration. The lack of saliva made swallowing impossible. His dry eyelids rubbed his corneas raw. It was night before he gave up the mirage, and collapsed in the still hot sand where he lay watching the stars, hoping whoever or whatever he followed was as tired as him.

There were vibrations in the sand again. First, ever so faint. Then the ground rumbled and shook as if the earth quaked. He stood up. It was a cloudless sky, and in the starlight, he saw the dunes move. The sand bulged as if something giant burrowed beneath. Then there was the sound that shook his bones again, and he covered his ears. A torrent of sand burst high into the air and rained down over him and the surroundings. Out the flesh of the earth emerged a massive beast like some giant maggot leaving the carcass upon which it has feasted. It was far away, but he could see the enormous, bulbous body. The moonlight penetrated the transparent skin and illuminated the organs doing their work inside the beast. Thumping, contracting, inflating, deflating, they moved as a biological clockwork of flesh. The skin rippled with their movement like a bag of liquid as the beast lay bathing in the moonlight.

In the morning, there was no sign of the animal. He took the almost empty waterskin and went back the way he had come in pursuit of his delusions. It was the hight of midday when he noticed the horizon behind him getting darker as if there was a rainstorm approaching. The decision tore at his soul. There was the possibility of water. There was the possibility of company. Two essential resources he had to choose between or nature would do it for him. He set off after the tracks as fast as he could. His feet sank deep into the sand and made every step bear the burden of ten. He collapsed onto his knees. The storm approached, and he opened the waterskin and emptied it in one big gulp and waited for the rain.

His surroundings turned into a maelstrom of howling winds and sand. It came into his mouth, nose, and eyes. The sand ground his skin bloody. He shielded his face with his hands. There was no hiding, no relief as he lay on his belly with the storm ripping at his blistered back, burying him in sand. When it has passed, he emerged from the small dune covering him. He stood on hands and knees, coughing out the sand. It did not taste much but formed an unpleasant lining inside of his mouth. He got up onto his feet and looked around. There was nothing but an ocean of sand. No tracks, no storm. He stood like that for a while, absorbing his bitter reality. Then he began walking.

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