Noticing a path a few meters away, which wasn't there before, he was feeling quite happy and didn't notice the little details. It seemed like a magical place and he didn't want to return to where he was before, refused to remember the what was troubling him. He knew that he was troubled by something, perhaps in another world but this world seemed so warm and gay, a gift, and he didn't want to waste it. Deciding to follow that path against the fresh sea breeze, he felt optimistic and carefree. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this amount of freedom. He had started skipping along the path, dancing to an invisible tune, there wasn't any fatigue, he felt like he could run forever. The path seemed to be going on forever. The scenery seemed the same. Was he skipping on the spot? No. He was sure that he was moving forward. Beginning to panic a little, he started running along the path. His logical mind is telling him to look out for signs, look for changes, look out for anything that might indicate where he might actually be, but the sudden irrationality that he didn't realized he had was fighting against all reason with the tenacity of a dragon guarding it's treasure.
That slight panic that he had grew as the time he spent running increased. Everything looked the same. Time seemed to have stopped. How long was it that he woke up here? How long was he even running? Why isn't he feeling tired? Why does it feel like he didn't have a choice? Why does the air seem to feel thick? He began to realized that his movements were becoming slower. It wasn't that he was tired, it just seem that he needed to exert more energy to maintain the same speed. Was his body finally giving in to the assumed stress or was there something more sinister behind this?
He knew that he couldn't stop because it will be over for him. He had a nagging feeling, as if something was after him and would suffocate him if he stopped. Looking back over his shoulders, he couldn't see anything wrong behind him. There was that straight path, with grass on both sides, the blue skies, the exact view he had looking forward. What is going on?
The air around him seemed to grow thicker, as if running through syrup, he imagined or had felt the air turning into invisible chains, trying to restrict his movements, holding him down, grounded in place, to suffocate, terminate. He felt the terror building in him. He wanted to leave this place. He could no longer remember the warmth and freedom he had experienced from this place. He fought against the resistance of the atmosphere around him and looked around, his heart sank as he could not see any possible escape. Is he to die here? Perhaps. Accepting his fate, he slowed down his movements, feeling the invisible chains tightening around his arms and feet, finally kneeling on the path, he looked down at his faced up palms, he was trapped, shedding a tear, he prepared himself for the inevitable suffocation.
He woke up suddenly, wiping away the cold sweat that had formed on his forehead and the tears that he was shedding, he looked at the clock and read that it was six in the morning. Releasing himself from the covers that's wrapped around him, he stood up and headed for the bathroom. A brand new day and when night falls, the cycle repeats itself.
That suffocation.
That slight panic that he had grew as the time he spent running increased. Everything looked the same. Time seemed to have stopped. How long was it that he woke up here? How long was he even running? Why isn't he feeling tired? Why does it feel like he didn't have a choice? Why does the air seem to feel thick? He began to realized that his movements were becoming slower. It wasn't that he was tired, it just seem that he needed to exert more energy to maintain the same speed. Was his body finally giving in to the assumed stress or was there something more sinister behind this?
He knew that he couldn't stop because it will be over for him. He had a nagging feeling, as if something was after him and would suffocate him if he stopped. Looking back over his shoulders, he couldn't see anything wrong behind him. There was that straight path, with grass on both sides, the blue skies, the exact view he had looking forward. What is going on?
The air around him seemed to grow thicker, as if running through syrup, he imagined or had felt the air turning into invisible chains, trying to restrict his movements, holding him down, grounded in place, to suffocate, terminate. He felt the terror building in him. He wanted to leave this place. He could no longer remember the warmth and freedom he had experienced from this place. He fought against the resistance of the atmosphere around him and looked around, his heart sank as he could not see any possible escape. Is he to die here? Perhaps. Accepting his fate, he slowed down his movements, feeling the invisible chains tightening around his arms and feet, finally kneeling on the path, he looked down at his faced up palms, he was trapped, shedding a tear, he prepared himself for the inevitable suffocation.
He woke up suddenly, wiping away the cold sweat that had formed on his forehead and the tears that he was shedding, he looked at the clock and read that it was six in the morning. Releasing himself from the covers that's wrapped around him, he stood up and headed for the bathroom. A brand new day and when night falls, the cycle repeats itself.
That suffocation.
No comments:
Post a Comment