All night the man walked through the rain, feeling the steady drips of it on his head and shoulders while his weary eyes searched for darken dangers on the old highway leading from no where to nowhere in particular. The darken night had closed around him; he was wet and tired, his body entire felt almost like drawing within itself. Almost as if the remaining human race and unimaginable things of the night all band against him. The ancient highway losing itself in the darken night, he was dripping wet and felt unfriendly eyes watching from the pitch-black shadows of ancient forest. Behind him he heard in the distance an outburst of pain and then a gut wrenching growl. On his exhausted face suddenly appeared a serious frown.
Now, chilling fingers of wind invaded his rain soaked traveling robe of tightly twisted bear skins and madding droplets of raindrops fell upon his head.
The man was over three hundred years old, he looked younger; his hair untouched by gray however his one year old beard had turned gray. His anxious youthful face was dark from years of exposure to the sun and wind. It was a thoughtful face, long and serious, dominated by firmness. He was over six feet tall in height and carried no excess weight.
His harden body carried both old and new scares of battles won and lost.
He recognized his fascination of this once great land, now overcast with disease created by the hand of man. The stranger was no scoundrel or villain but a wanderer searching through the ruins of a place once called America. He had learned over the past years of his long life to be unflinching and resolute. For the few moments he reflected, he had been born in “The City of Angels,” and raised in the great ever sprawling metropolis of Los Angeles. A crafted quilt blanket patched together and is successful that only a native can understand. People loved or hated LA but it is their city. Now all that was, was gone only to be a distance memory. The memory caused anguish. Then he shakes his head to clear his mind as if he was in some sort of hypnosis trance. He murmurs to himself, “The sons of bitches.”
And yet, through the long years he retained his youthful concern for its struggling people. Only the seriousness of his expression suggested of the edge of his consciousness; but then, he had always been a serious man.
Once he in his remote past had been afraid of heights, snakes, normalcy, mediocrity, the initial silence of an empty house, poorly lit streets, professional failure, artificial intelligence, letting his father down, being paralyzed, hospitals, doctors, the cancer killed his mother, dying for a stupid reason…. Now he was afraid of being eaten alive.
Just then as those very thoughts crossed his mind the walking man felt deep within him a peaceful restless stir. It was still there, smoldering within him, he was not afraid at that particular moment knowing if needed his friend would strike out. Realizing and aware he wouldn't be some nightmare creature's dinner that day or any other day. Yet he must be always on his guard. Smiling to himself he continued walking on the broken blacktop of the ancient highway. With determination, one foot step followed by another as he pushed ahead into the unknown that lay ahead. The moon came out to shine a moon glow ever so briefly. He looks up as he walked; immediately he saw large black birds were circling in the sky as if they were following him. Beyond he spied in the distance lay an ancient building beside the roadside. And as the man grew closer he noticed someone had built a fire inside.
Even as he became even closer he smelled the aroma of roasted wild chicken and the odor of brewing coffee. Dismayed crossed his face as he looked around the surroundings to search for any hidden dangers. Spying none he entered the ruined building cautiously not letting his guard down. The aroma of cooking food made his mouth water and was overwhelming. There setting next the fire and roasting chicken sat appeared to be an old man with his legs crossed on the concrete floor. The old gent looked as if he was asleep or in deep prayer. The stranger not wanting to disturb the old gent who sat with his legs crossed next to a warm camp fire. Several minutes passed, then more time went by, yet the old gent continued his trance never once looking up or to make an effort to give notice to his recent visitor. As time continued to pass the stranger became unsettled and knew he must leave the warm quarters and mouth watering food untouched. It seemed he was unwelcome. Above everything else he had became nervous and suddenly he became aware of being drained and a sensation of being worn-down from hushed silence of the warm still room. Although tired, wet and hungry he started to rise and leave the warm building to face the darkness of night once again. Stretching he was ready to move his seemly lead-filled legs slowly.
Take Care,
Joanna Maharis