I will look for you. I will. I will. I will.

After walking for hours I came upon an old man crouching in the dirt. He heard me drawing near but he did not turn around.

I spoke to him, but he did not care to respond. I asked him a question, but he did not answer me. So I decided to wait. A dry wind swept the ground and whispered at my back.

After a time he stood up and turned toward me, his eyes dark under a defiant brow. I could see that I had disturbed his work: I was not supposed to be there.

His strong shoulders strained against his hunched back as he walked slowly, deliberately, toward me. I noticed his fists harden at his sides. As he approached I did my best to stay motionless and brave. My eyes widened imperceptibly and my toes curled into the ground.

The grayness of the coming night enveloped us and the cool air kissed the back of my neck. Sweat glistened on his forehead and slipped into its creases .

And then, staring at me with raw hate, he spoke: "When the time comes, I will not forget to kill you."

And thus, with putrid anger leaking out of him, he walked away--a briskly dissolving silhouette. The orange sun hovered inches above the horizon.

I was left alone on an open flatland surrounded by the endless dead-white sky.

The flower he had planted stuck out from the ground in front of me. I approached and knelt beside it. I wondered how he could have been ashamed of such a delicate thing. Small petals of blue sprung from its wire stem. I dragged my fingers along its base, pushing the soil down, and pinched its roots.

Then, easing it from the dirt, I discovered a string tied to its end, which slipped back into the ground where the flower had been. I pulled it from the dirt a few inches at a time.

The end of the string dripped red, moist with what tasted like blood--and I knew at once there was a living creature buried under me. I had seen the old man's hellish eyes, soaked with guilt and hatred. I now knew that he would have buried me too if he'd had the strength.

I looked behind me just in case. And then I started to dig.

The soil came up willingly in smooth, hand-fisted clumps. I dug until the hole opened wide before me into a tunnel I had not dug. The tunnel ran deep and wide; it was wider than I could see and reflected only blackness. I stuck my hand into its depths and felt how cold the air was.

I was consumed with childlike curiosity.

I leaned further in and lowered myself down, pressing my hands into the dark dirt walls as I went. Crawling halfway in, I felt the tunnel stop--there was nothing more to push against--just a massive, empty cavern. I yelled into it, but no echo was returned.

I had discovered the cold, black void of outer space four feet below the ground. I felt around next to me, on the ceiling of the cavern I was sticking out of, and I found a protruding root, coated wet with what could've been blood. I reached farther, as far as I could, my scissored legs slipping deeper--and I touched something warm.

Something that felt a lot like skin.

Wedging my knee against the dirt wall while holding tightly to the root that I had found, I stepped further in, upside-down, and I searched farther still. Barely holding on, I grasped for the warm skin that I had felt.

I found a hand--small, delicate--attached to an arm. Reaching beyond it, I felt her shoulder, her breast, and reaching further still, her neck. And I felt the root that wrapped firmly around it, holding her head against the ceiling. And then I noticed that there was a tendril lightly wrapped around the arm closest to me, so I pulled at it. It came loose and her arm swung free.

I braced my other foot against the tunnel wall and pushed against it as I groped for her neck again, tugging at its slick noose until it loosened.

Then I grabbed her unbound arm and pulled her toward me, feeling her hand weakly gripping me. Grasping at the dirt above me, I dragged myself from the hole, and brought her with me. I tore her from the roots that bound her.

And I laid her on the ground in the dying sunlight. I was exhausted, and I fell down and lay beside her.

Upon recovering my strength, I stood and examined her. She was dirty but her features showed through. Her right arm was severed bloody just after the elbow, cut roughly like a rose stem. The left side of her face was covered in scars from burning, as if the hand of God had touched her cheek and dragged its immaculate fingers across her neck. Half her mouth twisted into a frown; her neck pulled taut against her throat.

She looked fragile and soft and beautiful.

Her chest moved. It rose slowly and then fell. And her mouth opened, breathing in deeply...coughing hoarsely. Her eyes opened and she looked at me with blind, open-mouthed innocence.

Struggling to sit upright by leaning on her right elbow, she covered her breasts with her perfect left hand.

And then she stood, facing me. Her damaged arm failed to conceal her womanhood. Her throat was lightly scratched and bleeding.

Her eyes were colored blue.

"Why..?" she said to me.

And as we just stood there I thought there might be a mirror between us.

Reviews

[Indigoshadows]

I was enthralled. I rarely get to read such works that are such a powerful combination of intelligence and imagery. It is so bizarre, like a dream or a nightmare I would have. I hope you continue writing.

[Writer CW Kirkland]

This has all of the elements of a fantastic story. I was mesmerized from the beginning, and each paragraph drew me further into the scene. You have proven an ability to effectively describe details that many authors typically overlook. The closing sentence is brilliant, and you made me go back to reread the story again. I am impressed by your intelligent writing, and I plan to read more of your writing in the future. (Please feel free to send me read requests too.) Thank you for sharing this with us.