The Walk That Never Ends
Poetic micro fiction about a labyrinth that doesn't let go
Winding, snaking streets that usually echo dozens of footsteps and voices, now quiet in the twilight. I reach the intersection as the light changes to red yet I drift on without any cars in sight. Severed, I’m wandering along familiar streets in the chilling stillness. We were here, I think, as I pass the same place over and over.
Have I really been walking in circles? Is it just that all the streets look the same? My feet hurt from walking, I sense a chill on my skin that almost raptures it into a thousand crystals in pain. Although I want to be a ghost, I can’t help but feel within this heaviness. The body. Memories gnaw at my spirit.
I spin like a spider her web and trap myself in my own fate. So close again to the point where it all ends. Where time stops and I repeat. Round and round, I’ve been down this route before.
The sun rises over my labyrinth and I find myself standing by the exit, hungry for change. Exhausted. Just one more step and I can learn how to not make the same mistakes again.
