The three year anniversary of the murder of someone I love is coming up. I wrote this around a week or so after his death, originally posted as two, but, fuck it. The day he died, I happened to go to a bizarro boulder field, and I was thinking about him even more than usual that day, and singing Tool in my head. Not sure if I can add a video properly, but Tool's Sober is most definitely the soundtrack.



He can tell it is sunny, although no light reaches the forest floor, still damp and cool beneath his feet. Birds twittering and singing above cover the sound of his soft, slow footsteps. He plods on, with no destination in mind. Looking up, he notices a larger chunk of blue than was previously visible. The sounds of the birds seem to have lessened. Sunlight begins to reach the ground around him, which has grown rocky.

Larger stones, more blue and fewer birds greet his every step. He experiences no sense of foreboding, but finds his senses heightened. The weariness that had hunched his shoulders lessens somewhat, as he finds himself warily looking forward.

What greets him is wholly unexpected: a field of boulders, completely free of vegetation. This is no mere stone outcropping. The vegetation is missing in a huge chunk, slightly below the outlining trees, likethebottom of a humongous rectangular basin. As he reaches the border, he looks out and wonders if the gods had been fighting in this spot. Nothing else seems to explain the immense space seemingly devoid of all life, occupied instead by rocks.

Confused, he seats himself on an edging boulder, fairly near the massive trees. Water has run over these rocks and left its circular mark apparent. The next thing that catches his eye is a vast assortment of large black spiders, creeping between and over boulders, two and three to a stone. Flies buzz hungrily above. He pauses and considers what the flies eat, as there isno obvious decay or growth. Even the birds seem to have abandoned this clearing.

Fascination draws him into the field. Walking seems to take forever. The sun has moved, but his progress is barely visible. Spiders are everywhere. The feelings of emptiness and awe mingle in his soul. He finds his pace slowing, shoulders hunching once again, an unconscious effort to lessen the pain in his back. He has grown hot in the midst of these rocks, and begins to strip himself bare.

Hunched shoulders are not the only sign of his decaying body. What was once his muscular abdomen was now shriveled yet fleshy. Arms had lost their muscle tone, and the legs were soon to follow. That was barely noticeable to him, but the gray that was beginning to show amidst his pubic hair mocked him In fact, his penis mocked him too. It had long ago abandoned him, refusing to participate in any activities that didn’t strictly involve pissing.

As he picks his way slowly across the field, the reek of cigarettes, pot and last night’s beer runs from his pores, cleansing, while simultaneously reminding him of his vices. His fingers itch to hold something to his lips, something, anything that will soothe his cravings. Absently, he lifts his right arm in front of his face and runs his fingers through sweaty hair. The gray there mocks him almost as much as the pubic hair, but just almost. Somehow the hair on his head defying him seems less insulting. He won’t allow himself to touch empty fingers to his lips. His eyes begin flitting back and forth, thinking too many thoughts to process at once. He closes them and takes a deep breath.

He wishes his brain would quiet down again. When he first reached this strange barren arena, the sense of calmness that overcame him was welcome. Now, doubting his sanity for crossing the expanseof rock, among other things, all calmness has fled his weakened body.

He is nearing the center and not sure he can reach an edge in any direction before exhaustion overtakes him. Lying on the boulders seems to be the only reasonable option for rest. Those damn spiders still lurk in almost every crevice. Ignoring them, he painfully eases his body on top of and between the formations. He welcomes the pain almost as much as he welcomes the stillness.

Despite the sun, the crevices between rocks are cool. As he reclines his head on the bundle of malodorous clothes, he notices the sound of running water beneath him. Unclear as how this could possibly be, he presses his ear as far into a gap as possible. His nose touches an ancient water etching while the sound of the improbable repeats in his ear. A spider tickles his bare ass.

Finally, after brushing away the spider, he poses himself on the boulders once more. This time he positions himself with arms outstretched, face looking toward the broad expanse of blue above. He wishes for the water to rise to the surface and wash his soul of pain. After a few minutes reviewing his aching heart, he wishes for the water to surge forward, only to retreat quickly, dragging his body with it, back beneath the stones.

Perhaps that was the original purpose of this place, he muses. Maybe all who entered to be cleansed drowned instead, and the sympathetic gods covered it in such a manner as to assure no one would be misled and lost again. Then again, maybe the water WAS cleansing and freed man from all pain and a malevolent god decided suffering should continue there on earth. In any case, it is covered now, and he is left lying there, waiting for release.