|The First and Last 10
Author: Adrian Grey PM
Everyone goes through a seemingly impossible journey at one point or another.Rated: Fiction T - English - Hurt/Comfort - Words: 479 - Published: 10-31-10 - Status: Complete - id: 2860395
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I have been walking for a while now. For how long, even I don't know anymore. I've almost forgotten why I'm walking alone to begin with. No, that's not entirely true. I've passed by familiar faces along the way who made sure that I kept going. But for the most part, I've been alone. The days are long and the nights are lonely, yet I still walk. I wonder why I do. The day I started my journey seemed so long ago. How long have I been at this I wonder? Fatigue has sunk into my bones, telling me to stop. But I keep walking. I wonder why, but keep on walking instead of waiting for an answer. I've lost my shoes somewhere, so now my feet bleed with each step. It hurt at first, but now I can't even feel them anymore. Every part of my body compels me to just stop this seemingly pointless journey, yet the cries fall on deaf ears. Bit by bit I lose myself along the way. I can hardly remember the point of this all, except that I must finish. The road doesn't seem to end, so I continue to walk. Will I ever finish? What awaits me when I do? Why am I doing this?
For nearly ten thousand miles I've left a trail of bloody footprints in my wake. For ten thousand miles I've pushed my body to its limits. For ten thousand miles my mind has slowly deteriorated. Why? The answer isn't so clear to me anymore. But somehow I know that my journey is near an end. Somehow I know that only ten miles now separate me from the end of the road. I collapse. So tired am I from all the walking that the last ten miles may as well be another ten thousand. So tired am I that my strides have been reduced to a mere crawl. So tired am I that I just want to stop. But a hand pulls forward. Then the other. Then the first. Then the other again. I pull myself forward, crawling at a rate so agonizingly slow. Something screams at me to just stop. But why should I? I've already traveled this far. I don't remember why, but it would seem like such a waste of time and energy if I didn't at least finish what I already started. Maybe I'll remember the reason for all this at the very end of my journey. And so I crawl. Inch by inch. Foot by foot. Yard by yard. For ten more miles, bloody handprints glisten in the light. For ten more miles I struggle. For ten more miles I wonder. Will I ever finish? What awaits me when I do? Why am I doing this?