Written on 16 May 2019
In the clearing, the sun struggling to find the ground through the dense canopy, a chill in the air and rapidly thawing frost beneath my feet, it's here in this clearing that I die.
I can hear the cacophony of gnashing teeth and rabid growls coming from the woodland behind me, but I've been running too long. I can't keep running from something that really is a part of me. I'm accepting my fate.
And the dog walks into the clearing, 40 feet tool, red eyes, matted grey fur, teeth bared and growling as he pads slowly towards me. And I know all I can do is accept him, because otherwise he will continue to chase me, and I'm so tired. My legs are jelly, my brain is muddled. It's either acceptance or this big bastard is going to devour me.
So I sit down on the damp ground facing him. My nemesis. My pursuer. My captor. And the dog stops walking, he stops growling and he stares back at me. He measures me up, and when he's sure I'm not going to start running again, he sits down as well, towering over me.
And I look at him, this grotesque monster, this freak, this abomination. I take in his gigantic teeth, his demon eyes, his big powerful body, his paws the size of row boats, and I decide to not be afraid of him anymore. Dogs are dogs. They're never inherently bad, they are a product of who looks after them, and this one is my responsibility.
And I become a much younger version of myself, in my red pyjamas, gangly legs crossed, to show him I'm not afraid.
And he in turn shrinks. He shrinks so quickly it generates a groaning sound, and I follow his face down as it rests at my level. And when he's done he's just a greyhound, a sickly greyhound. With three legs and sad eyes, and he looks coyly up at me, and I reach out my hand, and he approaches, and I stroke him as he shakes.
And the other dog, the healthy black and white one, he joins us from the other side of the clearing. A black and white collie mix with sticky up ears and a proud stance. He's been on my peripherals for a while. Encouraging me. Supporting me. Pushing me forward.
And the three of us hug, the greyhound crying against my neck, the collie mix comforting us both.
And the two of them together slowly turn to smoke, and they drift into me, right inside my chest, and we become one. And I'm me again, all grown up, and though I'm tired, so so tired, it's the first time I haven't been running for a long time. And though the smoke inside me can be a burden, it can be a crux, it's there. And for the first time I've accepted the smoke.
And the journey ahead is going to be long and arduous, I know that, but for once I wont be being chased. I'll continue the journey with my whole self.