A Pilgrimage

Snow topped mountain peaks jutting out of an otherwise smooth horizon. Jaded people staggering here and there with drooping faces, and glass eyes. I see myself among the masses, one of many who have come here to make their foretold pilgrimage. We march along the shorelines of questionable pasts, and false memories.

"Are you okay?" She says.

The ground slopes downwards without warning or notice. Down it goes into deep deep valleys where we shall begin our first trial. Falling is easy, you see, but that climb is an absolute drag. Before the climb comes the shadows that haunt each and every one of us. They swoop in from all around, and rise up to form a canopy of forgotten trauma that shields the sulphureous sky. The shadows disperse once again in macabre choreography, and fall leaving streaks of darkness as they seek their personal hosts.

"How are you feeling, my love?" She says.

I inhale my shadow, and feel it burning my insides. Images flash within the caverns of my mind as I cower away; a withering child. I am blinded and consumed by the darkness as if it has become a part of me. I am invader and invaded, yet I am innocent of these crimes. I feel foreign claws tear away at my corrupt flesh, and hear a scream that vibrates my bones. My eyes roll into my skull and I fall once more.

"It's going to be okay, baby," She says "I got you."

I am made aware of a sound in the distance. A lulling voice that halts my mutilation. I take a good look at myself and realise how much damage I have caused my body. I am tired and in pain, but I force myself to rise. I grab hold of my sordid shadow and begin to push it up the hill; to the source of those dulcet tones. I am conscious that my bane might be that of Sisyphus, but I still rise and rise and rise. That is not because of some prize atop that valley, but because my best revenge is to flourish.