Darkness Falls

The Forest is thickest here. It's always hard to see this late, when it's this dark, this far in. I'm dumb. I forgot to bring a flashlight with me this time. I do that, every now and then.

"Just turn back," I hear my voice say. I can't tell if it came from my mouth.

"I can't," I reply to myself. I think it's actually me this time, but I'm still not sure.

"Why not?"

"Because that would be giving up."

"And what good are you if you just give up?"

I realize that listening to any of these voices, wherever they're coming from, isn't doing me any good. So I keep my head down, below eye level, and keep walking forward.

The path is well worn. I've been down this way more times than I can remember, I know every tree by name. But I've been through here so many times that I can't differentiate this experience from the last, or the one before that. I'm not even sure how I got here. I made the mistake of waking up in the middle of autopilot mode.

When I stop walking, the constant forward motion leaves a ghostly residue of movement rising up past my field of vision. It draws my gaze upward as I follow it, and I look ahead.

Darkness stares back.

I turn to see behind me, and I can no longer make out where I came from. But looking back gives me chills in my legs and arms. I know they're supposed to be in my spine, but these one are the worst, in my inner thighs and at my elbows. I look forward again, and I startle myself and swear loudly.

There's nothing there. I know there's nothing. I was expecting something, and I was surprised I was wrong.

So I keep going. Because there's nowhere else to go, and nobody worth talking to about it.

"Nobody can hear you anyway."

I ignore my voice. That one almost definitely came from me that time. I think.

I continue on for what feels like hours, but might just be minutes. A few more steps, and another few seconds pass that feel like days. Time seems to stretch and dilate here. I feel like the sun should have come up by now, but the woods are so thick and pressed in, the canopy so oppressive and overwhelming, that maybe the sun never shines here.

That doesn't make sense. Trees need sunlight to survive.

Maybe these ones don't.

I try to distract myself by humming a song, and tapping out a rhythm on my leg. It sounds claustrophobic, like the acoustics don't carry properly, so I stop. My head buzzes like I've been drinking too much. Maybe this hangover will go away, and I'll be somewhere more pleasant.

I don't know what to do. Turning back seems to be no more productive than going forward. I'm not even sure if I haven't turned around and started going backwards by accident. And now I'm not sure that I have. I'm suddenly wracked with panic, because it could be either, and I don't know.

"I hate not knowing."

"You shouldn't have admitted it out loud."

"Nobody can hear you anyway."

That one, again. I hate that one. But I don't want to disagree with it this time.

I walk some more, until my head is too foggy to think, even in obtuse metaphors and protracted prose. This part looks as good, or as bad, as any. So I stop to rest, and before I know it, I've fallen asleep.

When I wake up, I won't be here again. But slowly, as Darkness falls, I know I'll find my way back.