Every night, a quarter till the midnight hour; I hear them
howling. Their desperation is unmistakable and their pain could be felt deep
within my skin. I wondered about many things while listening to their cries. I
wondered if they were cold, if they were hungry and I wondered if they wondered
about other things as I do. Maybe they didn’t care about the world around them.
Maybe their desires were so loud that everything else faded in comparison.
80 words and counting...I wondered then, what it would be like to run down the road
on all fours; to feel the cold pavement beneath my hands and feet was something
that I was currently contemplating.
I know that they call to me. The thought just made itself
known and proved to be the fact of the matter. We all want to be free, and
contrary to popular belief; we all want to run, to bay at the moon and to
become something else entirely. For without this desire, we die empty. For we
all die alone and the pack will leave us to rot.
195 words and counting, my fingers tap tap tock on the keys
till the joints ache. After 30 minutes of howling, the dogs next door have
grown tired. My mind grows tired with them and I have all but forgotten about
my running on all fours. I have grown older and the thought burdens me deeply.
I know that If I open that door, I will run. I will leap upon the bannister and
drop to the earth; sniffing the wind like one of those other beasts. I will
run. I will be as a flicker of light among the shadows; dancing with the torment
of the days before. I will run. I will climb into the trees and rub my face
against the rough flesh of the pine. I know this way, I flee from man and I
run.
321 words and I am still running. The dogs have begun to bay
at the moon again. Their eyes shine in the night like demon sentinels. My
laughter greets them momentarily and I stop by the fence so that I can see
them. They pace back and forth-back and forth; in with the rhythm of their
captivity. At once, we all bay at the moon again. With my greeting so is my
depart as I take my leave of the muts. I run.
I run past the church on the corner with the steeple that
touches God. I giggle at the insanity of my sins spread before me. I wonder if
I shall ever bind the wounds of my descension. I wonder again and then pass on
by. I run past the park with its Eagle encrypted pathways; so I take a deep
breath and trace the design of the intricate sidewalk twists and turns. I see
the beauty in the community artwork…but I grow bored. And so, I run again…past
the hills and the lanes-past the railroad track and the biker bar. I feel like
I have run the world over. I am not tired, I am not of strife.
I see the small town lights and let the hostage breath find
freedom. The mist curls up before my nose, making pretty swirls in front of my
eyes. I see the whole world for the thing that it really is and so I squat upon
the ground in reverence. With my palm upon the skin of the world, I close my
eyes and say a prayer for my humanity.
591 words…just shy of 600…and so I run again.
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