The sound of footsteps crunching the dry leaves and dirt disturbed the otherwise peaceful slumber of the wildlife that rested peaceful in their habitats as he made his way through the clearing. He ran deep into the woods, trying desperately to change the outcome of that day. Something had to be the change he needed, he had to have missed something. There had to be a way to change it all. His heart ached; desperately trying to soar above the pain that seemed to consume his being from the inside out. It spread like wildfire, taking no hostages. The leaves rustled as he pushed them aside, his laboured breaths had been the only companion to his heavy footfalls. His movements only made it easier for the cool breeze to push past the thin fabric of his shirt for a more painful experience. The exhaustion of the unplanned exercise up the hill brought the awful sensation of being hot and cold at the same time. A disorienting feeling that made him think of all those years back when he used to run a high fever, when your body could not settle on one temperature and would compensate for what it felt was lacking in its system. Still he pushed, he knew his light-headedness came from his shortness of breath which only slightly hindered his efforts as shots of adrenaline fueled his movement. Or perhaps it was his sheer will that helped him go past all physical limits. The goal of that run kept him hoping, pushing, so he could reach that secret place.
A sound behind him warned him that he had no room for mistake on this treacherous trip but fate had him by the balls. His foot dug into a particularly deep puddle and he went flying face first into the cold ground, his head landing on a rebel root that had sprung from the ground, contrary to the rest of his buddy that peacefully laid underground. It made a statement, and he felt it on his head. His skull cracked open upon impact and he saw stars as his body attempted to defy gravity by landing one place then another until finally he was flat on the ground. At first, he saw or heard nothing but the rush of blood in his ears.
Slowly, a deep pounding joined the rush and a searing pain exploded from his frontal lobe to the back of his skull which made a painful run down his spine. It was like a electricity fizzling through a particularly unstable cable. His brain was surely convulsing and finding a way to remind itself of its responsibilities as the head of the nervous system. After a few moments, or so he thought, his lungs began to work again and he gasped for the air he desperately needed while his hand sought for purchase on the ground. His hand closed around dirt and leaves alike as he fought to regain control. He heard guttural sounds that apparently left his parted lips but not a single coherent thought was formed.
No words, just fleeting sounds of pain from a wounded man.
He knew he had lost track of time during his time on the ground because everything seemed to have changed. Sounds and views clouded and overwhelmed his senses. However, he knew the second he came to, that those lost moments had cost him dearly. He had been on the ground passed out for hours, the soft hue of light that filtered through the branches had not been there before and told him as much. He had left his place as soon as he found out that they were in danger. Nothing was safe anymore and he had tried – tried so hard – to get there in time; before the others.
He lifted his hand to touch his forehead. The mere touch drew a soft hiss from the pain the touch caused. It appeared to bleed still but what had stained his forehead was mostly dried by now and he could just picture the gruesome sight his face must be. He felt a familiar numbness enter his body and he dropped his hand trying to dispel thoughts of pain so his brain could register movement again. Little by little he found his muscles were responding until he was able to stand again; though he wouldn't quite make the pace he had before his tragic fall. So, instead, he walked briskly, limping, thankful that he could still make the path back to that place. The place where he held his happiest memories, his darkest moments, and his hope. Millions of times he had thought of the strange combination he had in that one place but that was what felt right to have hidden there. The good, the bad, and the ugly.
And they wanted to destroy it.
They needed to vanish what little happiness he had found. Why was there such an all consuming rage that drifted through the air when happiness was found on such a bizarre land? He hugged himself as if the action would somehow soothe him and stave off the splitting headache he had. He just needed to get... he needed to see..
However, fate was not on his side. No, it had never been.
It had to have been during the time he had been unconscious when they took their advantage. The place he was trying to save had been trashed, secrets spread out and burned, thrown this way and that. His eyes could barely contain the chaos that ensued just moments before he arrived. In that chaos, he saw the frivolity with which the actions had been done. He could almost see and hear the unnatural enjoyment and their icy laughter as their hands and feet destroyed each and every one the memories he had once taken care of and built from scratch. It's common knowledge that material things would not grant you happiness, but in here, this place, it had been built with things he had found during those few specks of happiness he was lucky enough to experience. Specks that were now eclipsed by the damaged he saw.
His eyes got glassy, brimming with tears as he stopped by the fringe of the terrain and watched the blazing fire consume his things, his memories. A fire that had to be spawned by the devil himself with false words of religious intent. A false protection that made its bearer feel safe for what he did or was about to do without any regards to the rest. He felt the stream of tears that stained his face grow quietly, a thing he could not stop and would never dare to do, given the circumstances. Not only had they taken away what he loved most, no, they had taken what little he had to hold on to and destroyed his life. He could see how this all would turn into nothing but the hazy memory of a good dream. There would never be anything that could proof the things that made his heart happy were real – had been real, at one point. They would only be a faint memory that will whither away with the passing of time - as all things do.
A breeze blew a paper off the ground back to his feet and he bent to pick the charred piece, holding it reverently in his hand. This piece was the only thing that was left of everything else he once had. He saw the smiling faces and brushed the ashes that smudged the picture away with his thumb. A tear fell on its surface and he almost whimpered while he desperately tried to brush it away without further damaging the picture. But he was too late. The picture would never be the same, nor would his memory cling to those times the way it had done when the place had remained intact and could revisit each passing second with a simple glance. Instead, the picture would be solid proof that nothing would – could ever be the same. He should have known, he should have seen this would happen, but no. He had been clinging to the false hope of understanding, something that would forever elude a lot of people out there, and quickly he saw his wishes shattered by a force stronger than any natural disaster. Still, he took the photo and stuffed it back in his jeans. He saw it all happen in his mind, his imagination running wild as it filled in the blanks with a million possibilities and the tragedy was grand.
Nothing, he had nothing left. And with that thought it mind, he backed away from the scene until his back hit a trunk of a tree and he slid to the ground. To watch from the outside – front row seat – as his whole world came to an end, he was filled with resignation. The sick feeling of morbid curiosity had him firmly planted, watching as it all disappeared into a pile of smoke and ashes. He could only imagine what it would be like to wake up to a new tomorrow. To a new life. A life he would live only to serve others. One, he knew, he would spend reminding himself of all the things he could have been – could have had – but never will.
His eyes fluttered closed and when he opened them again, he was staring at the ceiling of his room. Yes, he was still there. World shattered. Dreams crushed.
“Another day in paradise” the song that blared through the speakers to fill the room with an irony he knew all too well. As he closed his eyes again he whispered to the emptiness that offered no shelter for his aching heart “No freedom, just madness and the skewed perception of life. There's nothing that cannot get worse.”
He felt this way and this poison he would carry for the rest of eternity.