The loosely docked canoe nodded against the gravel shore; its bobbing metronome serenaded her eyelids heavy. Using only her drive to be more comfortable, she hoisted her arm up to pull off the dead headlamp. The dammed sweat cascaded down her face and neck, soaking into her shirt collar. She paid no attention to the uncomfortable cling. Exhaustion invaded all forms of reason, like a sleepwalker conversing with inanimate objects.
She fumbled for the water bottle and took several gulps of water before standing. The change of gravity rushed blood out of her head, temporarily narrowing her vision. She took another drink. The liquid cooled her empty, burning belly. With a surge of energy, she spiked the paddle into the wet gravel.
Her shaky eyes struggled to pull together the scenery. Weariness slowed her recovery, as the darkness played tricks on her vision. Shapes shifted in the black terrain. Tree roots reached, splitting the soil like weathered leather. Boulders carved into smooth knickknacks, and saplings pressed into clumps of wet fur. A northerly wind forced these creatures to shrivel and bow to her as if introduced to a true master. She squeezed her eyes shut, shook her head, and reopened—the disciples recoiled and settled.
She disregarded the hallucinations, lifted her left leg out of the canoe, and clutched the wedged paddle for balance. The shift in weight lifted the canoe away from the anchored paddle, stretching her legs awkwardly apart. She pulled the canoe back into the shore with her right leg, grimaced at the overstretched muscle, and nestled her boots into the soggy gravel. She closed her eyes. Thankful she was on solid ground, she teased sleep. Standing amongst the night calls, she soon realized that one sound was absent.
Before her tired mind could comprehend the unfolding events, her body lunged for the run-away canoe. The weight of her body had wedged the canoe into the shore, but now that she was out, the canoe was at the mercy of wind and current.
Unsheathing the spiked paddle, she sprung into the lake after the escaping canoe. Adrenaline and fear of abandonment revitalized any strength thought to be depleted. Knee-deep in the chilly water, she barely hooked the lip of the stern with the outstretched paddle. She felt a pulsing current fighting for the canoe, as water seeped into the tops of her waterproof boots. Using the last reserves of her energy, she fought against the strange pulse. Cursing and grunting, she pulled the canoe within grasp and annoyingly dragged it a safe distance from the water’s reach.
High on exhaustion, she slurred a curse at the canoe, abandoned it in spiteful anger, and dragged her sopping boots along the mile-long path to the site. Each flex created a vacuum in her boots, sucking and sloshing its soggy innards.
She navigated through the dark with eyes half open and remarkably dodged obstacles in her path. Her torso twisted through narrow passages; bent under low branches. Her legs lifted over downed trees, accessing long-forgotten muscle memory. She was being led and had no qualms with following.
After several yards, a ghost of smoke brushed her face. She knew she was close to desperately needed rest and wanted to quicken pace, but she was locked on a steady pulse.
As she reached the clearing, she caught the scent of her musty gear slowly drying under a loose canopy. She walked directly to her tent and clumsily unzipped the door. Once open, she fell to her knees atop her sleeping bag and awkwardly pulled off her wet boots. With soaked socks still in them, the heavy boots clunked on the dirt floor, startling nearby bugs to silence. Her wet feet cooled in the night air; she paused and listened for a message. The crickets resumed, and she awkwardly zipped the door half closed, cocooned into the bag and slipped deeply asleep.
| 3 |
That night she had a reoccurring dream; it was possibly her first-ever memory. It wasn’t necessarily a nightmare, although it certainly induced fear and anxiety. In the dream, she is asleep but aware of her surroundings: a dark, empty room lit with the glow of a dying candle. She is paralyzed under the spell of sleep. Lying on her stomach with arms tucked under her chest, her breathing is slow and deep. The breaths are loud, as if they are amplified to the point of feedback. Reminiscent of a rising tide, each silence between breaths is more abbreviated and louder than the last. She hears a rustling in the darkness—she is not alone. Without warning, a figure occupies shadow in the orange light. It is uncomfortably close, almost smothering her face, but remains a sliver away from touch. It resembles something human, but its fluid movements followed by uncoordinated twitches make it seem alien. The surrounding darkness hides its true size, and the lack of air masks any odor.
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