Motionless, he tensed briefly, anticipating the absolute worst. It’s okay, he assured himself; this clearing from where he stood was nearly invisible, at least a half-mile south of any audience happening by. Even during the brightest light of day, he was sure he couldn’t or wouldn’t be seen. But tonight, from up close, a freezing drizzle would allow only the vaguest of outlines and misty shadows. Perfect cover.
From behind, to the north, the interstate would likely be a ghost town at this hour. Along both sides, a healthy forest of timbers drew a natural curtain around the terrain; mostly aspen and various hardwoods, they lined the embankments, effectively blocking the landscape. Enduring and resolute, hearty roots from centuries dug in, enclosing the entire area. Embracing motorists on either side, their twisted and jagged boughs clawed haphazardly in every direction. Some aged and frail, others young and limber reached out, barren with the winter season almost passed.
A short tunnel further ahead would effectively terminate any additional sights by the most attentive of commuters.
Cloaked under Mother Nature, he forged along cautiously over the earth below, one with the environment. Deadweight from cargo over his shoulder was unnoticeable as he stepped over and around obstacles he knew to avoid. Fail to plan – plan to fail, he always insisted. On paper and toured in the flesh of a different persona, he cherished the sunlight, a commodity that established and pointed out hazards he might endure. Now, it was just damn cold with no guidance from above and to make matters worse, recently fallen tree limbs threatened to befall the most adept of movement. Instinct and common sense were his only road map.
Of course, through the onward trek, the rain would not just fall; it whipped about, driving dampness felt down to the bone. Shallow pools strewn on the uneven ground let loose like tropical storms as he pushed on; icy water drenched his lower extremities and the loose fabric that covered them. It was an unforeseen aggravation!
Ironically, the undisturbed pools exhibited peace, a surreal existence that questioned the contrast between life’s destinations and the journeys that accompanied them. Tiny circles emanated outward with grace and control as each random drop from higher above breathed serenity into the chaos.
Small rodents scurried about, fear ultimately exposing their location as they abandoned ship from the uninvited disturbance. Somewhere, off in the distance, sirens filled the damp air; out of sync, they left a trail of audible distraction, slowly subsiding with each rise and fall in pitch. Unmoving again, he rode out the brief intermission, attempting to restore control and comfort. Aggravation and chaos could funeral the most well-organized program.
He now closed in on his target, the intended recipient for an overnight package. Shades of greyish-black formed the dwelling appearing before him, ending his lengthy journey. He envisioned the family living there as wealthy and somewhat powerful by standards. The price tag for their privacy was a trivial sum for the rich in fortune but a heavy price for the weak at heart. An emptiness filled the windows of the two-story structure.
It was quiet now, except for the patter of rain and an occasional splash of tires upon I-64, that led west towards City Center or East towards Lexington.
His focus turned back to the freight ferried for some distance, his demeanor still markedly foul from events around the recent journey. He declared, “This poor soul, I set her free.” The silent words were unscripted, acted upon by the inherent identity of his nature. Flawless, he declared. A candor smile of satisfaction slowly transformed his visage, replacing the hideous scowl as he set about to his tasks.
Preparing to lay her form upon the drenched soil, he allowed his body to transcend while his thoughts rekindled, forcefully igniting a much older transcript; a worn soundtrack within had begun its broadcast, fighting for prominence. Reaching into a nylon duffel, also astride his shoulder, he cursed and sought to ignore past voices in his mind, those reminders of forgotten events too numerous to count. Unnervingly, he attempted to steady himself even as vile remarks were delivered by that which occupied his reality but absent an entity.
Her delicate, yet desolate corpse would not, however, be laid to a bed of roses, despondent for an eternity. Carefully wrapped in heavy linens, only the material visibly sheltered the contents. She offered no response as her tiny frame was placed aside ever so carefully upon the ground. Nor would there be one. The mission in progress soon leveled him, bringing his erratic behavior to a calm. He would argue, digress, and eventually sort out the dichotomy of hope and hopelessness, enlisting this particular event as the launch pad for future reference. He kneeled with his back to her.
Several minutes passed as he returned to the trophy set aside earlier. Unwrapping the garments that bound, the immolation would now be exposed to the darkness of a different world. Much to his liking, her flesh and bones had faired well throughout the short crusade. Fixing his gaze on the sallow eyes that seemingly fed upon his divinity, he uttered words as though they might be grasped or understood.
Barely, ”Behold, your brilliance is smitten with gloom as thouest tears are salty, lost and forgotten, thine eyes dost open to yours beneath thy beauty.”
He spoke this repeatedly, rearranging her figure upon the ground, maneuvering about with meticulous accuracy and grace. From a distance, he appeared not to touch the earth, levitating only inches as he placed garnishments over and around her, the finishing touches before the feast. Beyond this place, a new world would soon publicize his handiwork.
And he knelt once again, his back to her once more. The commemoration was complete; the need was fulfilled. Head held high, he pleaded for the dark sky to shower him. Wash away thy sins, thy voices, and the conclusion of dread. Deluged, his body slowly retreated. With hands raised high above, he walked, floating on a premise of higher authority. An arm’s length of distance between his interpretation of good and evil needed no more explanation; the mystery was fully assessed through some strange need now satisfied. It compelled him, moving closer at first and then away by such a display of proficiency as any modest artist would in the company of a strange and unknown society.
In the privacy of the dark, this had become the closing point of his demolition, the final act in a perpetual presentation: a lying ground, a shallow grave, once upon an early, black, and rainy morning. He knew no amount of credit would ever reward the journey of such a travesty.
He strolled, at first just outside the makeshift cemetery, moving further and further away, bowing occasionally to an audience. Laughing repulsively, almost bellowing, he faded into dismal, never looking back. Never once repenting.
Yearning.
Next.