The morning breaks against the horizon, spilling it’s red yellow upon the dark jagged hills. Cascading down in torrents that shattered through the windows, which already were broken, before pooling at your feet that huddle close and quiet as not to dare touch the rim before them.
It’s a cold swath of gasping, rising up and pulling your senses bright and raw to the surface, exposed like fresh nerves under slipped knife skin, gulping for air. It demands to be felt, and to be heard which it does so expertly. It’s sound, swirling and echoing from the far off distance beckons you with simple phrases, cooing gently like a mother it whispers,
“I see you.”
Calling answers through the wind, but the fear that cuts your core ripe and crisp, forcing the edge into the cramped corners of shadow still left behind by it’s ever present coalescence which ceaselessly searches.
Lingering is only inviting for those too stupid to refuse, the only choice is forceful wading forward. Feet beaten down against trodden earth, breaking blades against heel as the dew still shimmers, a glossy sheen akin to glassed eyes staring unblinking ever ahead. There’s not a moment to cease, to pause, to watch idly ghosts drift by low crumbled walls recalling with resounding voices the time from before.
The pleading comes from aching muscles begging for reprieve, wracked mind, and ever constant glances casting themselves about all crux’s of space and dark. Perhaps today is the day, the one, the finality of all things converging on one another. Perhaps, it’ll be a release, not a punishment that guides your still form far from the reaches of memory. But the thought remains stained black against your mind from oil dyed fingers that have spent years caressing the idea with overuse, what if it’s not this day?
The dawn rises to greet you as it has before again then again, and you cannot refuse it’s welcome.