For me, the worst part of this illness is the crying spells. The tears just start flowing from my eyes for no reason and without warning.
The tears hurt the most: tiny fractures of glass pinching through my ducts and scraping down my cheeks, they shatter onto the ground.
Yay for my 2k13 fitness goals! :D
True story, bro
Don’t forget to stretch
Nothing like stretching after a race :D
The gravel crackled beneath her, scattering in all directions, kicked up by the balls of her feet slapping the uneven terrain. Her bony legs swept through the Forest just as tornadoes glide down the alleys of country farm towns. She had been running so long, without much time to catch her breath. Her chest and lungs swelled, heaving in and out, matching the increasing pace of her stride—I can’t keep this up much longer. Her adrenaline had long since depleted and she was relying solely on her dwindling will to escape, to finally be free. The Darkness began receding as Dawn’s pale Light crawled towards her—Freedom smiled at her from the approaching clearing.
The stone mallet knocked against the horse’s saddle. The pounding of the stead’s tireless hooves created a low rumble, seeming to grow from deep within the Forest’s belly—the Forest is hungry, she wants to taste the blood of her youth. The Keeper knew they were reaching the edge of the Forest soon; he was running out of time. His arm rose, cracking the whip close to the horse’s hindquarters, urging the beast to glide faster. Galloping as quickly as it could, the horse’s lungs gasped dangerously, exhaling saliva and clouds of fog in the twilight of early morning. The Keeper swept beads of sweat from his ever furrowed brow, but did not shed the heavy cloak of the Black Wolves fur. The coat was his stealth; it kept him hidden, concealed. He could race unseen in the dense Forest, amongst the ancient Pines and the twisted arms of young Cottonwoods. A symphony of howls, in high and low tones, none alike, echoed through the bushes and branches; pine needles, leaves, and twigs chattered excitedly in rhythm to this hunting song. The Keeper’s army, the Black Wolves, was finally closing in on their prey. The young woman’s freshly imprinted scent enveloped the Black Wolves’ sensitive nostrils and filled their heads with fantasies of thrashing into tender flesh, satin blood gushing across their tongues.
The slave child reached the clearing at a significant speed and skidded to a halt. Her feet, although calloused as they were, burned from the scraping of stopping so abruptly. She had no choice. The fables of her childhood were confirmed: the edge of the Forest is the tip of Mother Gaia’s nose. She could no longer follow the breeze to the West, the warmth to the South, the calm to the East, or the chill to the North. At the edge of the Forest there were only two directions: Darkness or Light. She closed her eyes. The child knelt down on both knees, facing the darkness. She raised her hands above her head in a wide embrace of the Sky and sucked in as much oxygen as she could. Then, after standing up again, she bent over at the waist, sighed vehemently and brushed her dirty, withered fingertips across the Surface sand and gravel mixture. She opened her eyes and inched towards the edge of the cliff.
He could see the slave child clearly now, as he raced towards the Light coming from beyond the Forest—she has nowhere to run; this is the edge of All. He raised his arm and blew the Ram’s horn, halting all the Black Wolves in their tracks. They knew it was his turn to be out in front, to lead them in their final hunt of the season. They closed in around the edge of the Forest, trapping the slave child where she was. The Keeper slowed his stallion, stopping just a few feet from the child’s turned back. He dismounted, landing on the gravel ever so delicately despite his Herculean frame. “I wouldn’t jump if I were you.” The Keeper cautioned the slave child. “Our father Spirit doesn’t appreciate that kind of humor.” He stepped forward, opening his arms, ready to sweep the girl up into his grasp.
His words were but a whisper, tickling her ears, hushed by the West’s billowing winds. The child gazed to the West, but felt no breeze lift her brittle hair or ruffle her thin, worn, veil of a dress—Have you abandoned me already Mother Gaia? No token of your love to send with me? She yearned for one more chat, one more experience with Mother: singing with her in the West, meditating with her in the East, bathing in her warmth in the South, and dreaming with her in the North. She didn’t have to ask Mother Gaia twice: a small butterfly landed on her upper lip, quieting the wind as its wings slowed their waving. The slave realized it was not the West’s wind and looked cross-eyed at this last gift. The butterfly’s wings were outlined in a vermillion green that embraced shades and tints of blue melting into each other: periwinkle, sapphire, turquoise, and cerulean. The slave child knew this was her Mother Gaia’s love; Mother wanted to kiss her good-bye. She turned to face the Keeper; she wanted to glance into the Son’s eyes and see the evil Father Spirit had instilled in him.
The ragged girl turned to face him slowly. A brilliant butterfly was resting upon her upper lip, barely fluttering its wings. The slave locked eyes with the Keeper. She stared so fervently, he could feel the repulsive essence of Mother Gaia’s love massaging at his black soul. The small Daughter spread her arms out wide, stretching them to the ends of the Forest, embracing All with passion. He lunged forward.
The Keeper was reaching out his arms to grab her, their eyes still locked. The Daughter broke the gaze and glanced down at the kiss—Father Spirit cannot torture me any longer. I am always of you Mother! Your kiss will rest in my stomach and spread to the whole of my being, forever barricading Father Spirit from my heart no matter what form I take next! She leaned backwards, the seconds passed as decades. The butterfly leaned with her and as the last of the slave’s earth-ridden toes parted from the edge of the Forest, she opened her mouth. The Daughter scooped up the butterfly with her tongue, swallowed it whole, and raised her eyes to the Sky as she fell out of touch with All.