The Fight

I slowly wake, reaching consciousness, though it still feels a dream. Upon opening my eyes I see the tangled green beauty of a forest canopy. Small patches of sky between the leaves show the sky to be grey and overcast. My bed, not a bed at all; but an old stone bench, whose cold, hard surface, offers me no comfort.

Long thick grass, which has all but covered the bench, rustles against my naked body. Turning to stand up my eyes rest upon a brass plaque; its message obscured by times erosion still stands testament to somebody’s loss. Stepping stones, cracked, broken and barely visible in the undergrowth mark a way between the tall moss covered trees.

Intrigued I follow the stones, often tripping and falling as the way becomes increasingly overgrown. As I fight my way through the plants, not even sure where I am going or why I am pushing so hard to get there, my naked flesh bleeds as thorns and braches tear at it.

Exhausted and almost at the point of giving up the fight I reach a clearing. Leading from the clearing are two open paths leading in opposite directions. One direction reveals the now setting sun, almost on the horizon, and the other is nearly dark with the first stars just beginning to emerge. I stand in the clearing for some time. Though my cuts still sting; the painful part of the journey is past. Enjoying the reprieve, I contemplate my path.

Finally I begin to walk; away from the setting sun and into the darkness. Every end means a new beginning and tomorrow I will face the rising sun.