The Trail

 As a child I ran 100 laps around my Aunt Denise’s duplex. My cousin couldn’t keep up. I then noticed that I’d been running for so long that it became quiet. It was as though everyone passed away and I’d been running in heaven while feeling like hell. It was hot, and when I looked down I’d made a path in the yard. When I got done, I was sweaty, and threw up. No one asked me if I was okay nor did anyone offer me water. Tired and exhausted, I drank from a garden hose with no fear of pesticides. I took this journey not knowing if I was going to return home. I had no food. After a few breaths, I went off course, and no one came looking for me. I ran through the woods; Age 8; fearless. Pretty soon the street lights were on and I could hear my mother calling me. Mom cared, she always did care so I  left the trail to return home. Tired and exhausted, like most young boys at my age, at the end of the day I soon realized that mom was the only one who actually cared and when she died it became quiet. I grew up, no wife, no kids, just me and the trail so I ran until I passed out. In the end, eventually someone would drop all of their bad habits and find me kicking up dust, passed out on a rock completely exhausted, yearning for a breeze and a second wind. Passed out under an apple tree on the trail, I had the weirdest dream that mom was calling me, but when I woke up it was just me alone on the trail. I guess that’s why we dream, so no one dies, even the person running.

The Trail.