The Path

A Story by budgie

one man travels a path for months, seeking only one thing for his troubles

Rowan Lazarus was traveling on a road. He had no idea where he was, or where he was going, but walked with a shuffle, red dust stirring around him. On his left side, a few miles away, was a great mountain range, with snowy tops and on his right side was a vast grassland. His dog trailed ahead, his white coat had a reddish tinge and his paws becoming raw and cracked from the route. His mare, who pulled his rickety cart had bony hips that protruded from her body, her ears dropped from fatigue and her scraggly tail swatted at the bothersome flies. She was a faithful mare, as she wobbled unsteadily on her misshapen hooves pulling a cart.

Rowan had been traveling for months. Those days had morphed into weeks, which morphed in to months. He had lost track of time, because everything was the same and everything was identical.

Rowan Lazarus was a quiet and simple man. He had a worn down tanned face with cracked and dry lips, with hands as thick as leather. His fingernails were caked with dirt and he lacked proper hygiene. Whether it was the sun or dirt that made his skin so dark, he reeked of mud, horse and sweat. He wore a long dark cloak with countless pockets, what remained inside his pockets remained mysterious. He wasn't happy, but he wasn't unhappy. He remained partial on his emotions, nor did he feel the responsibility to react on his emotions. His history was also foreign, but his dark toffee eyes told a story.

His cart contained a large dusty decorated rug and a sack of rice. There were some matured apples that rolled freely around, and a carefully wrapped sack of thick strips of liberally seasoned beef jerky on the rug.

At nighttime, he would lay on the rug and look upon the sky. The sky was always black, with no stars or moon in the sky. Rowan couldn't remember last when he saw the stars or the moon. He missed the comforting glow the moon would shine on the ground or the way the stars showed patterns. Before falling asleep, he listed the things he was grateful for.

"My mare, my dog, my rug, my coat, and every night he wished for two things, "let me dream tonight under the stars and let me feel the wonderful feel of rain tomorrow." He couldn't remember the last time he had dreamed, nonetheless he wished for the escape of reality in a world where he could do anything. As usual, his sleep was as empty as the sky next day. He fell asleep to the sound of his mare chomping on her hay and his dog panting. When he awoke, the sun had begun to shine on his face and the humid heat would come in waves. His breakfast; one strip of the jerky, which he shared with his dog and one bland apple. He patted his mare's skeletal body, searching for any additional bones that stuck out, knowing she was to frail to continue for any longer.

As he walked, he thought of the things he missed. He missed rain a great deal, the scent of a rainstorm during a humid day, the sounds of rain pattering on the leaves. He missed the wind, even the simple breeze that would gently stir up the dry leaves. He knew there was no point to wish against the sun, why wish against the one thing that was pushing him to continue. He wondered about that often. He remembered eating juicy oranges, the feel of wet soil. At times he was too tired to run thoughts and memories inside his mind. But he didn't stop walking, instead he thought one foot forward, other foot forward. He solemn thought about when his journey would end, he knew he would know when he had arrived. Arrived at the end of the path, arrived where ever.

So, as usual, he began walking. Hours passed by, and then some. He felt a pebble in his shoe, but he didn't stoop over to take it out. The same path, the same scenery, the same flies, but Rowan's tired eyes spots something ahead. Could it be? He thought, wiping his eyes. Rowan spotted a wide lake, off the trail.

It was sea green, completely motionless, vines from the trees that enclosed around it dipped majesty into the water and the beach had soft yellow sand. The soft tones of green, blue and yellow was a luxury to look at. It was like a magnet, drawing him closer. A few meters away from the path, he parked his mare at a nearby tree and undressed. At the edge of the lake, Rowan stood, enchanted by the simple pleasure of the lake and fresh smell of water. He stares at himself in the water's reflection, he had not looked at himself for a while. He dips a toe in, water ripples infiliently and he walks in, the cool water enfolds in his skin. Almost in a trance, he walked out up to his chest, the squishy sand exfoliating his feet.

Months of grime and filth washed away. Rowan closed his eyes in bliss, he felt at peace. He dove in the water, the fresh water cleansing his body to its purest self. It seemed like hours as he floated around in the blissfulness of the lake. Swimming effortlessly through the water, he scrutinizes the other side of the lake. He can see a large animal pacing along the water edge, it was wheat colored with a lengthy tail that swayed, behind it a jungle with such dense foliage that no sun shone through.

Captivated, he swam closer. It was a female lion, she had bronze stripes along her head, and her magnificent teeth gleamed. She dipped a paw into the water, and then back away, not convinced. Rowan swam closer, coming into a patch of flowering lily pads. The slimy stalks rubbed against his calves. The female lion chuffed, her whiskers stuck out.

The sun shone on the water, lighting it gold and clear. Rowan could now stand, and he faced the pacing lion. As if he was unaware of the danger, he reached his hand out, as if to pet it. The lion stopped and stared, as if she was thinking of what to do. Rowan stared into her yellow eyes, her beauty was mesmerizing.

"Hello." He spoke, "my queen." Rowan bowed, still holding out his hand like an invitation to join him. She snarled, lifting one lip and twitched her tail.

Far away, his dog barked. In a flash, the lion strikes out, and lashed his arm. Blood surged from his arm and Rowan yanked it away, out of his trance. Blood splattered on the lily pads. He stepped back into the crowd of lily pads, nursing his arm. He awkwardly began swimming out.

I shouldn't have left the path, he repeated to himself, confused and embarrassed of his actions. The water was polluted with his blood and he swam to shore. His bloodied arm was coated in wet sand, and he became cold. The sand stung his wound. He took leaves from a nearby plantain tree and wrapped his arm. He gazed ahead of the path he had yet to take, and the path he traveled. He looked at the sun that once again blared on him. His journey had yet to continue.

The day, as usual, began hot. Nothing was hidden from the sun. A blueberry bush; yet to be scorched by the heat had appeared on the side of the path, displaying small midnight blue berries. Rowan knelt to remove some from the thick bush, his large calloused hands caressing them. He popped three in his mouth, tart and tangy, but Rowan was still pleased with this find. His mouth had become adjusted to the bland apples and salty tough jerky, so the berries were a simple delight. The sun beat down relentlessly, and when he begins smelling thick smoke, he turned around. Behind him, the path was ablaze in fire, brushes and trees singed and blackened in seconds. This sight brought small anxiety, the fire seemed to follow him, and he began to sweat profusely.

His mare looks over her shoulder, as dark ash begins to roll on her back. His dog trots further ahead, his tail wagging warily. The smoke stings his eyes, as he continues, he almost wanted to stop, to engorge himself in the flames. The end to his never-ending passage. Tempted, he looks back and the fire roars, spreading faster, consuming everything in its path. Blinking his watery eyes, he shook his head

"Follow the path, and you will be paid for eternity." Rowan repeats to himself internally, his mouth too parched to speak. He wipes his brow and trudges on, not looking back. A rumble of heavy thunder erupts, and it begins to pour. The fire defeated, left the path charred and ruined. Smoke still filled his nostrils, but he pressed on. The heat seemed to have left, and it had become cooler. Rowan became tired. He lost his drive to continue. He stopped in the path. Both horse and dog looked back at him with confusion.

What is the point? Rowan wondered, I have traveled for un-countable days and this is what I endure? He felt irritable, he questioned what he was doing, he felt alone and betrayed.

"We will stop for today," Rowan decides, speaking aloud. His throat croaked from parchment, and his voice sounded like gravel crunching. He lost that persistence that carried him through unbearable conditions. Sweat stung in his wound. His feet ached, his back ached, his eyes ached from the sun. He sat under a tree, the stiff and ridged bark dug into his back. He closed his dry eyes. I need to rest. I just need to rest.

At night, 3 stars and a crescent moon hung in the dark. Rowan had awoke from his sleep, rubbing his eyes, surprised from the light shining on him. But then he noticed. The moon shone upon the path, lighting it up. He stood up, stiffly, almost stumbling over his coat. He stepped off the path, the yellow prickly grass rustling as he stands in it. He breathed deeply and gazed with thrill at the large creamy moon. Rowans eyes sparkled with excitement. It was a sign. It was a sign that he was close to the end.

"We are close," Rowan declares. He could feel it. With built up excitement, Rowan decides to travel in the moonlight. He decided that the moonlight would guide him, and with new determation, he set off.

It was daytime once again, and as usual, it was a muggy day. The sun seemed to magnify. Wind gusted through the past, bringing a gust of dust with it. A snake slithered across the path, its black and yellow scales shimmering. His mare barely glances at it, continues to plod along, to tired to care. He sighs, he as well exhausted from his journey looks ahead. He squints ahead. He sees something shiny and glowing ahead of him. With a spout of energy, he clucked to his mare and began to walk moderately faster. He shaded his eyes

"Is this it? Have I arrived at the golden gates?"

Everything he had endured seemed non-existent. He arrived. The golden gates seemed to glow from where he stood. He had walked for years and months, and as he was led to this moment, he knew he would do it repeatedly to reach this destiny. His arm no longer ached, his thirst quenched. He no longer felt the sweat running down his face and the heat became absent. The smell of sweet nectar flooded his nostril, a scent he had almost forgotten. He heard a subdued sound of rushing water, bubbling water over cool rocks, a stream perhaps. He felt a calm rush of icy blood run through him. He had arrived.