Run

Run

A Story by ~Sorcha~
"

A very very strange short story I wrote while extremely zoned out. I didn't know what I wrote until after I finished, so it's a lil strange hehe; and now I have slightly edited it, yay me.

"

The woods were thick, the night dark; underbrush snagged my clothing, tore at my legs and arms, but I kept running, kept moving. My breath was failing, my chest heaving, pain shooting up from my feet; I did not stop. There was no sight of day or dawn, just night.


I ran.


The trees were heavy above me, branches blocking my eyes from starlight and sweet Moon.


            Why I ran, I don't know. Tell me, if you will, why you ever run. Tell me, if you can, what urges you to push yourself despite pain, despite your body crying out to you, despite the ever strong, ever pulsing desire to collapse and meld into the earth beneath you. I just ran, and I can never know if I was scared or searching. If I was scared; of what I cannot know. If I was searching, I never found it.


            I cannot remember seeing any life aside from the trees, the brush. I ran along no path, I never came to a clearing. I never faltered, I never tripped. I ran and only ran. My arms reached out in front of me, pushing back at the ever grabbing bushes. Low tree branches whipped at me, pine needles, sap-covered pine cones all stuck to me, getting caught in my tangled hair.


There was no sound but my breathing; quick, cracking, sharp. I could not hear my footfalls, or the brush, the branches, all that I pushed around my body; it was all silent, and undisturbed.


            I remember longing to see the Moon. I remember wishing to gaze upon her face. But sweet Moon, no matter how cold a mistress she can be, was not the reason I ran. I will never know why, but I don't think it matters, not anymore.


            I still long to see the Moon; my sweet and cold mistress of the heavens, but she rises no longer. The Moon, no matter how harsh a mistress she can be, was no match for the Sky. The Sky is so much colder, so much darker; the Sky is truly made of stone. Neither Moon nor Sun can match that of the Sky. I could not match the Sky, the Sun, or the Moon. I could not match soothing Terra, for in the end I lost. In the end I could run no longer.


            I do not remember stopping, I do not remember falling or tripping. I only remember night, dark, shadows, everything was black. But no matter how dark the night shone around me, it was never gloomy, never truly terrifying. At least, it was not something that would scare me into running.


            Running... running is what I can remember the most. I do not know how long I ran though. Do you know how long I would have to run before I could forget? How long could you run before you could not run anymore? I know you know that pain; that rush, that feeling that all your bones are melting into each other and you are truly one being.


            At some point the running had to have ended, otherwise how could I be here? I am no longer in the forest; I am no longer in the night. I cannot see the Sun, but I feel the Sun flying across the Sky. I feel as if I have been here an incredibly long time. But when did I get here? How? What did I do to arrive in the place? There is nothing here, no walls, no ceiling, nothing. I am not outside, I am not inside. I am here. Where is here? What is here? Here is endless and vast, but I cannot move, I cannot feel or touch or hear or see. There are no flavors, no textures, nothing. Is this death? Did I run so long I died? No, I can't have died; I feel the life flowing through me. I feel myself floating in this nothing.


            I do not know when or how it happened, but I can feel around myself. I am not moving, not touching, it just is there. Cold, warm, it’s the same. My body is being cooled and warmed at the same time; the false air is tousling my hair lightly. My hair is brushing my cheek, tickling me. I feel like I am floating in water and air, I feel like everything and nothing has molded itself together around my form. I am all that there is, all there has ever been. I think I should be afraid, but I am not. There is so much I can be afraid of; there is so much in existence that is terrifying. But none of it scares me. Not anymore.


            Fear, hope; I somehow seem to have forgotten those along the way. Hope... hope is such a frail thing; like a dew drop, a glass tear. Hope flows into my body, soothing and gentle. Frail, yet strong. Fear licks along my skin, touching me, caressing me, but never becoming part of me. I feel it, but it cannot penetrate my core. I float along, the fear slipping around me, twisting into the hope, clothing me. Softer than silk, clinging to me so closely.


            The air, water, the essence that floats around me is ever present. I can feel it the way I can feel soft music lightly prickling my skin; I see it in colors I never knew existed. Blues, pinks, purples, reds, greens, yellows, blacks, browns; it's all there, all blending, all separate, and everything in-between. I float along this endless nothingness as everything comes to exist. Music dances around me, holding my hands, pulling me farther into whatever I have become. Or whatever it is I ever was. The beat urges me forward and I laugh; my laughter joins the dance of existence. My laughter a cloak around my shoulders; like water it slides along my skin.


            My eyes open, and the vastness is lit to me. It is not sunlight I see; it is just a light, bright and there. I twirl and float; my feet pound into air that lifts me ever higher. My lips part and flowing from my mouth are words, a song. I do not know the language, I do not know anything. But I sing out to all things of my presence. Here I am world, here I am.


            My fingers become entwined in the colors, and the colors become my rings, twisted and knotted and beautiful. Like Earth, my sweet Terra, and Sky have joined as lovers around each finger and become mine and mine alone. The colors continue, ribbons twisting along my arms. Bracelets jingle on my wrists like stars, pretty bells. Tattooed along my upper arms are more knots twisting like all life, burning brighter and hotter than any fire. The colors continue, grasping my shoulders, my chest, my face. Warmth flows through me; life is mine to hold over all things. I cannot see them, but I feel the colors tattooing my body, my skin anticipatory and burning, and the air around me cooling all things.


            The music is never ending, dancing around me, dancing alongside me. My singing is loud, clear, like crystals shining into the light that comes from nowhere. The existence around me tastes like the sweetest chocolates; I drink in the air and taste a soft water somewhat like that of a mountain spring, and somehow it is so much more. It cools the burning inside me, yet makes it stronger.


            What is this burning, this urging inside of me? It feels like... like passion. An intense passion, like throwing oil on a fire, unable to be put out until it chooses. The passion flows through me, streams from my body into the vastness. The music grows louder, more powerful, more urgent. The colors flow swifter, encompassing me completely but never blocking me from my purpose. I continue forwards into whatever lay above me.


            My fingers tangle themselves into the colors, separating some, blending others. I pull them, silken ribbons of color to obey me. I pull them, thinking of flower petals. Silken petals cascade from the colors, raining below me, frolicking in tune to the growing music. I pull at more colors, remembering the flavors and textures of rain and snow. Rain drops and snowflakes flit amongst the petals, butterfly kissing each in turn.


            I reach into the music itself with my left hand, my right entangling its self in more colors; twisting the two together I think of birds of all colors, all voices. From the blending entanglement burst thousands of birds, all kinds, their calls joining into the music. Feathers glance upon my skin as the birds beat their wings in time to the drumming of the music. I twirl, laughing, my joy powerful all around me.


            I reach into the light around me, pulling it close, squeezing it tightly to my chest, pushing my heartbeat and passion into it. I pull it away and throw it around me. It shreds into millions, billions, or glittering stars. Everything but the stars goes dark. Night has fallen around me. The twinkling starlight pushes back the darkness but never destroys it. The darkness pushes against the stars, but they cannot be extinguished. Balance between the two, it begets perfect harmony.


            I pull from the music, the colors, and the light. I blend them together with my passion, with the warmth in my body. I mold them into a sphere; fire bursts between my hands, and I toss my creation into the air. Sunlight penetrates through the night, banishing all the darkness.


            From the Sun I pull a small piece of light and emboss that light with the coolness inside myself. I press this together into another sphere, and a chill erupts between my hands. I toss this opposite the Sun and there is my harsh mistress once more, the Moon. No matter how harsh a mistress she is, I feel her love and passion as she shows the light she has received from the Sun. The two will always belong to each other and that can now never be changed no matter what any wish.


            I close my eyes and sing at the top of my lungs, the Sun drifts, slowly falling, descending into sleep. The Moon rises higher, whirling upwards into the sky. Night ascends, day sleeps. The stars shine bright, the darkness pushing against the light, unwilling to give in. The starlight kisses at my feet, sheathing them in glittering light, but the always persistent darkness pushes between each glittering light on my feet and blends, the night becoming my shoes, graceful and elegant.


            As my song comes to an end, the Moon starts to descend. As she slowly drifts downwards, the Sun starts to rise. With the Sun's ascension comes the end of night, and so the darkness runs and hides; the stars remain but their light can never compare, they become dim.


            I continue dancing and twirling along the sky, drinking in all that surrounds me, becoming part of it all as it all flows from me. My hands mold and create, my passion and heart and warmth and cold all blending into everything that exists and can exist. This is all mine, it has always been mine. Ever since I started running, it all became that which only I can know and understand.


            Perhaps I had been running for this, so that I could come back to this, so that I could find it again. Perhaps I had been running just because I needed to run. I don't know. Perhaps you know and just won't tell me? If that is the case, then I cannot care. Who needs to care anyways? I have found purpose, found what I needed to find. Light and dark, music and silence, color and nothing. It's all one and the same, no matter how different, they are all the same, and they are all from the same. One existence is all that is needed, because from one comes two, from two comes three, from three four, four to five, it is a cycle, never-ending and never needing to.


            The cycle is started; I have started it again. I breathe my life into all things. It will not end now, it can't end now. For even should I end, another will run and come. Through fire, through ice, through earth and cold, through sky and heat; another will come.


            As I dance into the Sky, I feel myself being pulled backwards. The music and colors urge me forwards, pull me, but something else entirely pulls me backwards and away from all the light and life. I fight against it; I try to pull away from whatever is dragging me back towards where I started. I cannot let it all end, not like this, not unfinished. I must continue forwards, I need to, it is my reason. I reach my hands out in front of me, grabbing at the music, the light, the colors. I cannot touch them. I cannot feel them. They have become transparent, they elude my grasp.


            I fall; it feels like forever. There is no ground to land on, just endless expanse to fall into. The light, color, music; it all fades away. I stop suddenly in nothingness once more. I don't know if my eyes are open or closed; I don't know if I am upright, upside down, sideways or back-ways or any way that there is a way, I just am.


            As time passes I slowly start to forget. I lose the ability to feel my fingers and toes, my hands and feet, arms and legs. Soon I am just my head sitting in existence. Fear is the only thing I can know; an uncontrollable rage stems from my fear. The rage erupts from my mouth, a scream tearing through the nothingness. Piercing through the fabric of this place, rage and fear bringing about hatred of what I have become. I have fallen down so far that not even darkness exists. I have fallen farther than where I started. Like finding a shovel once hitting rock bottom and digging deeper, I have gone farther down than that. I have found the core of non-existence it seems.


            I start to feel a cold pulse through what is left of my broken form. The cold makes me more fearful. Will I die here? Is this my end? I don't know if I feel life anymore, is this what death is like? If I have died, then is this what it means to no longer exist? My fear and anger twist, as unending as my falling deeper into this emptiness.


            I cry out, yelling and screaming, trying to stop the falling, stop the painful cold, the emptiness. No matter how I cry, nothing about my surroundings changes. Slowly I start being unable to feel my hair brushing my face; then I no longer feel my chin and forehead. My lips tremble before fading from existence. My cheeks disappear, my nose twitching once then gone. All that is left are my eyes; I try to blink but I forget how to do it. I see nothing, feel nothing, know nothing anymore. My eyes fade as a single tear drifts above me.


            I cannot feel anything, I no longer exist, nor does anything else. That is, if anything else ever truly existed to begin. As I non-exist here in that which is truly nothing, I somehow remember running. I remember feeling my legs propel my body forward, pushing past underbrush and tree branches, pushing through the nighttime and the darkness. I remember feeling my breathing steady at first, but it quickened, and soon started hurting. My chest had grown heavy with the weight of air in my lungs. But I pushed forward anyways. The bushes whipped my skin, cutting my arms and legs, scratching at my face, tangling my hair with pine needles and sap-covered pine cones. I still pushed forward. I still ran. I ran and ran and ran. I don't know why I ran, I just ran. I had to run; if I didn't then everything would be over. It would all end and nothing would matter anymore.


            My legs had been burning and aching, my body's desire to collapse grew stronger and stronger with each step. I had run a long time, and I had never intended to stop.


            I wonder when I stopped running and if that is the reason I am here now.  I don't remember falling, or tripping, but I had to have fallen because that is the only way I would have stopped. I had to have fallen, or died, to have stopped. So maybe I really did die. But if I died, then this place I am in is neither a heaven nor a hell. It is just nothing. So is my afterlife doomed to nothingness? Is it your fault that I am here? You must be the one who told me to run. You have been here the whole time watching me. Perhaps you can tell me where I am, what I am.


           Who am I? I seem to have forgotten somewhere along the way.


            Can you tell me why I had been running? No? I see. I guess it really doesn't matter, does it. I mean, I am here now; I am not there, not running anymore. I would like to run again though. But I don't seem to have legs anymore. Well, I don't seem to have any limbs really. I guess that is my own fault; I couldn't fight against myself to stop myself from pulling me here. I am my own worst enemy in the end. Now I am nothing in nothing, I am non-existent in this non-existent place of nothingness. It really does seem to have no end though. I wonder if there is an end to nothing, because this nothing seems to truly go on forever.


            But I do seem to have plenty of time since I stopped existing. I guess that can be a bonus at least. When I existed, I ran. When I ran, I never seemed to have stopped. I ran in a place that had no light; it was just me and the trees and the underbrush. I wonder if I ever found an exit from those trees. I wonder if I ever found my mistress, the sweet Moon. Perhaps I did and that is the real reason I am here. I wish I could remember why I had been running though. I wish I could remember anything aside from running. I ran and ran, what end was there for me? Do you know? No? I suppose you wouldn't, after all, I don't even know who you are or why you are here. I guess you stopped existing when I did. I was everything once upon a time, I'm sure I was. I don't remember being anything, but I do remember running, so I must have been everything if I am now nothing and I was once something.


            Anyways, I'm sure you are busy. I won't bother you anymore, so have a nice non-existence, though there isn't much to do here. If ever you need me, I'll just be falling over here, falling back into what once was or never had been. I enjoyed talking to you, although you are quite the quiet fella.


            Bye bye...

© 2010 ~Sorcha~


Author's Note

~Sorcha~
The fragmented sentences are on purpose. If there is other mistakes I didn't notice and words I didn't catch, my bad then.

My Review

Would you like to review this Story?
Login | Register




Reviews

The first person, present tense is an unusual form...one very difficult to pull off unless one is Papa Hemmingway. This had a dreamlike quality to it in places but the conversational tone negates those qualities to more simplicity than surrealism. An interesting write.

Posted 10 Years Ago


A strange yet wonderful story, running to become multiple things...to become one with nature and possibly to die or to be transformed. I loved the images of holding music and color, of tasting sweet existence...this middle part of your story is absolutely wonderful. I have enjoyed your story greatly.

Posted 10 Years Ago


I like it, the thoughts, but I don't think that the running suits them. I like the last lines, 'I enjoyed talking to you, although you are quite the quiet fella. Bye bye...' makes quite a different change to the story.

Posted 10 Years Ago



Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Stats

594 Views
3 Reviews
Rating
Shelved in 1 Library
Added on May 23, 2010
Last Updated on August 17, 2010

Author

~Sorcha~
~Sorcha~

Kaiserslautern, Germany (deployment), WA



About
I like to write; these past few years I have just hit writer's block after block. There are so many things in my life I could write about, but I can still never seem to find the words for any of it. .. more..

Writing
Requerrence Requerrence

A Chapter by ~Sorcha~


The Masque The Masque

A Book by ~Sorcha~



Related Writing

People who liked this story also liked..