The Living Man

A Story by Victor Chavez

Awoken to the Obscure Mist

The Living Man

Night 1

    There was an oak before the awakening man. He stumbled and rose only to fall into the arms of the oak. He felt the threads and gently passed his hand over the decaying and living roots of this organism. His eyes burned and fought against themselves to see what was before them.

    Without the aid of his eyes, the man felt the warmth of kindle, he sought this warmth, it was the small presence of sparks smoothly and gently falling individually from a fire that persisted within his sights. His eyes adjusted themselves to his setting, and suddenly the man felt a cringe, the enormous feeling of loneliness and the sudden fear of defenselessness. He was alone, he thought, and as he stood his eyes wandered and the dark mist of an obscure sky revealed itself to them and they quickly drew back down to the fire.

    He was afraid, this was fear. His hand quickly grasped the barks rough surface and clenched for its response, You are not alone. He turned and found pure blackness but felt the presence of wind, it was dark, and he brought his frail body forward towards the small burning fire. He looked to the sky and saw the beauty of the world and the fires that it created. The stars burned and amassed themselves before him, as to tell him, this was his comfort. He urged his eyes to look forward but a dark mist obscured the view before them. This was the first night for the man and he was to sleep until the next.

Night 2

    The man presently found himself above a desolate view where his vision was heeded by the large and ever growing clouds of mist. There were no beings that he could speak to, what was left to him was the living tree, a companion for the lonely man.

    The man walked forward, away from his companion, then stopped no more than 6 meters away, for he found no footing on which he could stand on. He could not see below but he could feel the mass of emptiness and hollow abyss that looked upon him. Dread overtook him and he quickly withdrew back to the oak. All that was, came to be the grass beneath his feet and the oak. The man became curious at his predicament. He knew that He was alone, but he did not know what had caused him to be so.

    He pondered the thought of death, then, his vision became blurred and he saw what all see when they fear and seek comfort, he saw nothing, he saw the abyss of imagination and saw no more. This became the second night for the curious deserving figure.

Night 3

    He found himself on his knees looking downward finding comfort in the vividness of the full green living grass. He clutched at the sharp blades and it was as if he were to let go that he would be swallowed, taken in by the mist that grew ever so larger and drew ever so near. He looked toward the edge but there was no edge to look upon anymore, he shriveled up once more and winced as though a physical pain was inflicted upon him.

    Trembling he forced himself back and laid himself on the outstretched trunk of the tree. There was no comfort, there was no home, no family, no life that could find him, he knew, he knew very well that he wouldn’t be able to leave. He knew from the beginning that his fate was laid before him, that the white mist would come upon him soon and he, he would make an attempt and stare and plunge his very soul into it, but that was for when the time came, not now, no not now. He’ll wait and see.

    This won’t last very long for truly he knows that that there is no abyss, that there is no mist, that there is no tree; there before his very eyes is death, and death will laugh when he comes to him, sees that the fire has been put out, that the plot has turned black, that the tree is bright and living, and that the ashes sit there, waiting in preparation to be swept away by a coming wind and join the ever growing mist.