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Alone on this desolate road I walk. It's dusk with such an overcast of clouds that everything is coated in a light, somber shade of blue. On either side of this road are fields of dead and neglected grass as far as I can see. The air is still and cold. Everything around me feels as if it had died but somehow stayed to either remind a passerby that it once had life, or perhaps to warn them that they should not be on this road. This is especially true of the occasional tree spotted on the side of this road. They all look so dry and frail that if there was a gust of wind I think they might simply break and fall into pieces. It actually seems to be cruel for them to have gotten to such a state. They must have been neglected for quite some time to be that way, but I haven't seen anyone around for as long as I can remember.
How long have I been walking? It seems that I have lost track of time. However, I cannot seem to remember when I had started walking. Actually I cannot remember starting at all. What is this place? Why am I here? It seems odd that I only begin to question these things now. A sense of excitement begins to stir within my chest and I don't quite know why. Air rushes into my lungs only to be forced out in my time of apparent panic. I stop walking, for I cannot seem to figure out what is wrong. What is wrong? It seems that I can't answer this question either. The air around me still dead and cold with my mysterious malfunction being the only event to fill the space that is this curious place. Unfortunate that it should be one of panic, or more simply: a crisis. What is this crisis? What is it that I feel? Again these are questions that I cannot answer. This only adds to my hysteria. Why am I alone? Where is everyone? Why is no one here to comfort me? My head hurts and a sharp pain stabs into my ribs. Why does it hurt? What is “it?”
Suddenly I feel a breeze come from behind me. It is soft, gentle, and warm. This is quite welcoming in such a dreadful place. It is soothing. I swear that I can hear a voice in the breeze. I don't recognize it and I cannot even tell if it is from a man or a woman. Perhaps it is coming from me? I hear the faint hint of words but I cannot make sense of them. I must know what it is! It is the only sign of the possibility that I am not alone in this isolative prison.
“Keep going.” That one was clear though still soft. Why does it encourage me so? Does this voice know something that I do not? Am I even hearing a voice or am I imagining it? After all, I cannot even be certain how long I've been walking let alone how I got here. Something tells me that I can trust it though, even if I have my doubts.
I take the advice that I had perceived and begin walking again. I notice that as I begin to move that the breeze continues to gently push from behind me. I take a small comfort in knowing that at least this breeze is present and moving with me when all else seems to be frozen in a state of decay.
This was a story that I had written back in November of 2015 when I was trying to get myself in a better place. I hope this fictional creation helps you in some way.
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