HOME | POLITICS | SPORTS | LIFE | SCI/TECH | OPEDS | HELPFUL TIPS
|
 By Brian Michael Barbeito Nov. 22, 2005 Tree laden hills arching high upward. This was to the right as he walked along. It was a ravine down to the left. A small stream of water, only inches high, trickled constantly. You would think it would die out, but it continued, through the days and nights and years, meandering along, fed by run off water from street sewers far above, on the residential roads. It was mid February, and everything save for a small walkway, and the running water, was white. He walked slowly, along the pathway, that turned here and there. Sometimes a bird, waiting on a nearby tree, would become startled by his presence and take flight, abruptly, not taking a chance on a stranger. Sometimes a squirrel would jump from a tree, and pause, then continue onwards. The day was dark though, and the temperature cold. The wind seemed to climb over the hills and into the path, and come from above also. The wind was angry as it came, and did not care for the person walking, or his plight. His plight was a strange one. He had never walked this particular way, alone, before, and this caused unease. Instead of the trickle stream, and the trees, and the pureness of the area assuaging or calming him, they seemed to heighten his unease, now growing rapidly into fear. He walked on, but couldn't move as fast as he would have liked. It seemed to be getting even darker. He was finding it now difficult to breathe. A menacing panic arrived. His heart was shaking, and his legs and whole body grew weak. He continued forward, but slowly. A singular intensity was now felt. There was very little, if any, separation, between him and the environment. The woods, the water, the white ground, the dark sky, were who he was. He had the idea, that surely he would collapse soon. He stopped. He felt crippling waves of panic rise up from within, as if he was a paper statue trying to stand in an open and windy field. He managed to move on like that, bit by bit, until he reached the end of the path. He made his way up a nearby hill, and onto a residential street. He felt one with the cars, the brick houses, the newspaper that blew past, and the mailboxes and shingled rooftops. He noticed that melted snow from the street, now water, was running down the sewer. When the water hit the bottom of the sewer, it echoed loudly and this noise sounded above, all the way to the sidewalks and beyond. ------------ About the author: Brian Michael Barbeito lives in Aurora, Ontario, Canada. His two most recent books are Medium Double Double Milk (non-fiction) and Fluoride And The Electric Light Queen (poems), neither currently published. Email: Brian1750@Hotmail.com Tell a friend about this site! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
||||||
|
|
|||||||
|
