Tyler Chase

The Witness

I woke to the feeling of a hundred hands. They surround me, holding me, lifting me towards the surface of my self. I continue forward, opening my eyes to the light of the world. My perspective shifts as I lift my left hand from the black polyhedron. As I sit up to a room of rust, an ominous picture hangs just before this room's passageway. Their bones undisturbed on a rusty ski lift, no semblance of fear in their being; it must have happened in an instant. The solitude of these heights.