Updated: Oct 23, 2018
Maybe the best course of action was no action at all. That’s why he kept walking, picking and crunching the earth between his toes. It had been a long time since he stopped. The screen of the conquerable landscape that lay at once in front of him and later around and behind him looked so much like a place he had been to before. He occasionally ducked, a game he elaborated to swift anonymous dance, a stiff torso that leveraged weight and obstacles in somnambulant trance. He wasn’t sure what expression his face was making, he might have been smiling or growling, all he knew was he hadn’t blinked for a long time. His focus distorted his peripheral vision where in original recognition of surroundings, images crystallised and dispersed into bright stars careering in phrenetic volume out of sight, leaving the earth and his skin shaking from its power.
He could not retain how he it began, all he knew was that if he stopped his physical condition would kill him. His purpose was once known to him but he had crossed too many roads to remember. He would find clues on the way, something to strike the admission of something important. It was definitely something and not someone; he could recollect never knowing anyone worth remembering.
His fast walk became in tune with the movement of his surroundings, his footsteps made no sound, just a force of immediate presence. In the complete isolation of thought and numbness it occurred that he had always felt like this.
The more he walked, the closer he felt to some sort of self-constructed epiphany. He felt like he had lost inches in height, as if he had worn his feet down to his knees, or perhaps he walked on a different earth tier acquitted to him only through his rewarded ambling experience.
The darkness ceased to disturb him, if anything it provided a security that was illuminated by its celestial power. Looking up and never away, he knew he wouldn’t have to worry about what lay in front of him, no blow, snap, or fall could move him, only the night.