I was halfway down the path, mid sentence when I put my mouth on mute. Not because there was no one to talk to. That had been the case for the entirety of what was now an entire grey-layered week. Wasn’t because of the insistent tap of the knapsack as it beat against my back, bottle of Jack working on a bruise that would eventually take the purple shape of an exact, confrontational arrow. Wasn’t that the drizzle had finally stopped, even though it signaled the end of a seven-day raincloud that had followed me since the beginning.

Yes, I had stopped talking, but not walking, because now there was a new sound. Some crunching, grinding layer of information that didn’t jive with the asphalt path I had discovered. I kept walking, eyes bleary in the twilight. Never thinking to look down. Until I did, and I set my stride on hold. First time resting my steps for so long, and the stillness reached up to the sky.

Found my shoes surrounded by a shiny, dimly rippling blanket. As though the path had come alive. I bent at the waist, bookbag sliding into the crux of my arm.

I sniffed. Sent my spine into cold spasms. Closed my eyes. Gave myself a moment of entangled darkness, where an actual memory or two found its way around the roadblocks. The house I had left behind. The sign in the middle of the woods, pointing the way. Eroded yellow letters suggesting a shortcut.

THE PATH.

I opened my eyes to find the world hadn’t changed.

Snails.

Small snails, maybe a fourth of the size I had come to accept as average. Pebbles with mucus tails, trails. Tiny antennae reaching in all directions, questioning.

I straightened. Stepped back, throat clenching, to see what damage I had done. My foot came down in another deafening crunch. A size nine’s worth of murdered miniatures, and my windpipe turned to a pinhole. I swiveled my neck, turned my head to where I had come from, then back to where there was yet to be. Either way, nothing but a sea of shimmering miracles.

I felt a few tears slither. Drop their deposits along my lips. Felt them teeter close to my chin, when I remembered –

Salt.

So I wiped them clear with my crew-neck collar, kept them from falling on the multitudes below. Stopped myself from crying. Pinched the bridge of my nose, inner corners of my eye sockets.

Looked left. Right.

The path was near ten feet wide. Thick trees on either side, too far to reach. Not without another holocaust for every step. Green leaves like grins, asking me What are you going to do now, Lucky? Seven days from where I had been and too many steps away from safety.

I maintained my balance.

Brought the book bag to my chest. Zipped open. Reached in. Liberated the bottle of Jack. Zipped up. Shouldered the strap, almost knocking myself off balance.

Held out my arms.

Steady.

Cautiously reined myself back in.

Unscrewed the cap. Took a pull.

Fireside burn bringing back another memory or so.

I waited as nighttime fell, and silent snails made their way beneath me, endangered metropolis, movable homes on their backs.

Had another drink.

Focused on staying still.

Stayed on the path, frozen in time, and remembered my way backwards against what lay ahead.

###

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so long and thanks for all the pish.