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I am blindfolded with my hands bound behind my back and I cannot bring them forward. I am standing with multiple, stinging, burning bites. I am naked and violated. It seems like hours that I am here, although in this condition, any time is easily prolonged. Finally I sit. And wait. Still nothing.
Confusion. At any moment they could return. Certainly this is not over. They are waiting for me as well as I await their action. I sit here for sacrifice, I am the guinea pig. Yet as ignorant as this could be, I do nothing. There could be a chance for freedom, though why do I not pursue it? Because, instinct tells me that this is indeed not the end. Rather, as Janus had appeared before me, this is only the beginning.
So I wait. I don’t want to lure myself into any traps. Eventually, as the heat of the sun relinquishes, and a cool nighttime wind relieves me of the burning marks all over my body, I drift off into sleep.
I see my mother’s head. Her mouth speaks to me. I see her mouth more closely now. The words are formed articulately, yet still, I cannot understand what she is saying.
A crow stirs the air above me and startles me awake. The eerie caw is no pleasantry as opposed to a mourning dove. I shake my head hoping for the blindfold to remove itself, though I fail, instead it entices more dizziness as I attempt to stand. Three attempts are made before I acquire the appropriate balance.
Resolves impound my brain as well as impatience, so I head forth, to no where, with only sound, taste, scent and instinct to guide me. Fear has not arisen from its slumber yet this morning, which is my advantage as well as my mind’s.
Forward slowly. I continue. On and on. For quite a distance, at least a mile, a good length for someone who has suddenly lost his sight. I must be in a field, because it has all been grass, healthy, mowed, well kept grass. I laugh within myself as I ponder over which mask the gardener could possibly be wearing. A dog for a maid, whatever that means, fetch the paper, get my pipe and slippers, mop the floor. A raven, death, a serpent, infinity. Janus, beginnings.
I can’t understand the significance of any of it. Nor is there any clue as to why any of this is relevant to me, my life, my little girl.
I bump into a tree. Initially it’s identity is oblivious to me, until I approach carefully and feel it with my cheek and shoulder, rough, bark, a tree. I proceed with more caution. Where there is one tree, there is likely to be others, as well as stumps, limbs, roots, or other things spread about the ground that could cause me to stumble or hurt the already throbbing soles of my feet. At least the honey is gone. I wouldn’t want any bees or bears or anything else catching scent of my tasty heels. Pooh bears…humor is the key to long life. Too much humor and I’ll be laughing in the face of evil, letting go of my mind, my independent peer, provoking my own morbid destruction.
I slip up on what may be a wet, moss covered rock. From a sitting position, I extend my foot to prove my hypothesis correct, as well as the fact that the rock is by water. Not a river or a stream, as I would have heard the water running. Not a sea shore, definitely not in the middle of the field, or whatever. Perhaps it is a pond or a lake, a bog or a swamp. The chill of the wetness is relieving, despite what kind of a body this water is, and I decide to wade, cautiously of course, not for long and neither past my ankles. I hope I don’t get any leeches.
The bottom is comprised of muck. Disgusting, but soothing all the same. Particularly because of the walking I have done. Perhaps my tolerance to pain is not as high as I imagined, as it truly is the sensation as though I had walked on hot coals.
In the next instant there is a loud splash before me as something may have emerged from under the water, and it grabs hold of my ankles, pulling me into the water. I fall and my back hits that damn rock that I wish I would have taken as an omen of danger. The wind is knocked out of me, yet I kick to free myself from the strength of the…hands that grip me. They pull me deeper through the muck into the water. My arms are useless bound behind me, and kicking serves no purpose no matter how much I squirm, I am only digging myself into the slime at the bottom of this rank water. The foul fishy smell hits me once my breath returns, and that is the last sense I use before I go under. The thick, dead fish water enters my mouth, and I struggle to get up for air but I can’t. My blindfold is loosened and comes off, so I can see…nothing but blackness, I can’t see through the dark. I look down to catch a glimpse at my assailant, though see nothing, I swallow more water that fills my stomach, my whole body feels logged, especially my head and strangely I feel like I am floating in the air and things seem bright like white morning sunshine…there is no more struggle…I am dead, this time I am dead for sure.