Shoeprints wound behind me, recording a journey no one would remember. They pointed to a personal quest, trivial to most, but borne of a real, surging, powerful urges. It was a quest to satiate an intense hunger inside of me. Not a spiritual hunger, or metaphorical hunger, mind you, but an extremely literal hunger. To put it simply, I was hungry.
I stopped momentarily, letting my aching feet rest. I could feel the sides of my feet waging a silent war against my shoes. Glancing at my watch, I could actually feel the tone shifting from casual reflection to hurried panic. Three-forty two. It had been almost eighty minutes since I had last eaten.
I was running out of time.
Stomach acid chiseled away at my gastrointestinal lining. I clutched my gut, trying to fight through the stabbing hunger pangs. The worst part, however, was ignoring the little voice in my head taunting "This is the end of the line". Part of me wanted to agree. It seemed impossible; the Mini-Mart was more than a block away, and my gas tank was running on empty. But somehow, I continued fighting on.
I shuffled along, feet dragging, and spirits low. Right, left, right left. So long as I focused on my footsteps, the hellish fire burning in my stomach was bearable. Left, right, left, right, left, left, damn it!
I collapsed, a mere ten yards from the oasis. I dragged myself through the mud and dirt by my shaking arms. cold stagnant water groped my face from a wide, brown puddle. Just as the world was fading away, I glanced up.
There it was.
I felt a second wind pull me up. I threw the door open and strutted in, grabbing a Snickers bar and slamming it on the counter.
"Ring me up!" I shouted, spitting a little.
"That'll be one-twenty nine," the cashier mumbled, obviously impressed.
The rich hearty flavor rushed down my esophagus. Being so close to death, I realized, had never brought me closer to life.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)