THE ANCIENTS
I felt sedated. Discombobulated. My ability to process differentials had vanished into a haze of inconsistency.
I sat cross-legged on the deck as a swarm of bugs awakened into the night, their persistent buzz no more than another drone in the murk of my mind. The world had receded into an ominous palette of purples, pinks, and deep, engulfing black. The skies turned to water and the water to sky.
I was alone, but I could feel the ancient ones scrutinizing my catatonic form. Their bemusement was palpable.
I rocked gently back and forth, a rhythmic seesawing motion that served no purpose. Where had everyone gone? Where had they left me?
My knuckles dragged across the weathered wood, sharp splinters of wood digging into the flesh. The trees buffered back and forth in a mute gale. The silence was more intimidating than the shifting shadows it birthed.
I had traveled far and wide to reach this point and the destination suddenly seemed unworthy of the journey. I had sought them out and was now on the verge of the ultimate humiliation: rejection.
My original intent was lost to me. Why had I come to them? What had inspired me to seek out their ancient wisdoms?
I had been a normal man of normal means and now I was at their mercy. I was staring into the void and to my amazement, the void was indeed staring back. And in that void, they mocked me, their condescending rejection an affront to my entire existence.
There was no solace here.
There were no answers.
All that remained was an upside down life of empty promise. I had surpassed my destination and was left in this swirling nowhere of familiarity.
I had failed.
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