Our Cold Paths

As a brief introduction, I just wanted to thank you for taking interest in my story. As this is my first work that I will have published here on Vocal. I also wanted to note that I thought considerately about which community to share this in, either poetry or horror and eventually decided that maybe it would be best in the 'humans' category figuratively speaking it is a sad satire of human emotion and the role that it plays in the strength of a relationship both with the self and in partnerships. I hope you enjoy and, once again, thank you.

Motionless, she laid there on the train tracks. A layer of frost blanketed over her body connecting it to the stones underneath. Watching the clouds pass along the pine trees that surrounded her. She could feel her chest rise and fall. With every heavy breath expelling a mist from her mouth. Her arms weighted, body melting into the earth. Certain points in her neck, shoulder blades, and chest bled into the shiny black pebbles beneath her crumbling soul. Crows called out flapping their wings against her arms, pecking at her chest and face. As if preforming a ritual, the crows dancing above and about her body.

“Did I make it?” She whispered, tilting her head to the side. The tracks extending in the distance to a tunnel far off. She intended to make it through no matter what. Yet, she could not remember if she had already gone through the tunnel. Did she make it to the other side? Or was she cast back to where she started?

She lifted one of her hands to the sky to touch the blue and feel softness of the clouds. But all she could see was the blood that streamed from her wrists with her hand missing at the joint and the hilt of a knife that was sheathed in her breastbone. A warm tear fleeted her eye, her arm flopped back down to her side. Spongy cloth clung to her skin; blood seeped through her clothes. Sections hardened into a crusty-red layer of dried blood. The crows called out louder, building an explosion of emotion that forged itself into a frustrated shout. The war cry was enough to make the crows flee into the trees. Their wings painted the skies black, bringing another night without stars.

She grumbled, turning over. Her open wounds dripping more blood into the pebbles. She crawled towards the tunnel and used the concrete to pull herself to her feet. Her breath heavy and slow, a mixture of blood and saliva dripped from her lips as she traveled along the side of the dark tunnel. The humidity climbed higher as she found herself listening to whispers and the popping in her ears. Blinded and weak she kept on clinging to the wall. Trudging through the dense fog of voices.

Time passed, and a flickering light illuminated a figure also walking through the tunnel. The figure called out to her in a language she could not understand. She blinked and a man was standing in front of her with a lantern in his hand. His tattered clothes showed signs of hardship and failure.

Her body nearly fell into shock and her legs limp, she stood defensive with what little strength she had. Shaking her head, listening to the man spill out words she could not recognize. Glaring, she attempted to cut through, but he stopped her with his free hand. Gentle and yet firm he gripped her shoulder and lifted the lantern closer to their faces.

“Look at you…” His eyes moved to the knife protruding from her chest. “The years you’ve spent...” His fingers ventured to the hilt of the blade.

“Please don’t pull it out.” Her body trembled under his gaze. “I don’t know how to stop the bleeding.” She confessed, raising her sliced arms.

“Let me lead you out of the dark.” He took hold of her arm and stepped backwards, his eyes never leaving hers. The lantern light guiding them out of the tunnel. Out of the whispers.

She followed him by listening to his voice. She imagined it acted as her bandages. Wrapping her limbs in silk. Tears flowed from her eyes, blinding her further. Had she known what sincerity sounded like, she imagined his voice was an exquisite example.

“You don't know me... don't help me” She pushed him, stumbling as she did so. The man spoke again in his language and the tears flowed ever more. Her gaze fell to her missing hands, and she so wished to remember the feeling of her fingertips brushing against anything. “I can’t feel.” She whispered. “I don’t have the ability…” Her whole body trembled as it seized to move, freezing in the darkness. As all the whispers behind them crept closer and lingered around her head, crawling into her ears like locusts. She fell to her knees and wept at his feet. “Tell me you know what it’s like to feel nothing…” She plunged the stub of her free arm into the ground. Spraying the gravel with her blood as she punched. Anxious to feel some sort of pain.

“Stop.” He said, taking her in his arms. “I am always feeling.” He lifted her back to her feet and slowly began to walk backwards, guiding her as they went. "I want to help you, l'amour"

“I don’t need your help...” she continued to sob. “I don’t want any help,” and she repeated that until he made the choice to pick her up and carry her out of the tunnel. She wept in his chest. “I... can walk on my own.” Her cheeks flushed with a burning sensation and wept for her integrity.

He no longer responded to anything she said, he continued to carry her through the darkness until, after what seemed like hours, the end of the tunnel shown brighter than the light of the lantern. He ran for it, as if the cure to a disease was right in front of his face, and he wanted deeply to heal her. To fill the holes in her spirit to take the dagger out of her heart, stop the bleeding. Be the hero that he thought he could be. And as they collided with the ground on the other side, the consistent sound of rushing water filled his mind with more heroic motivation.

"I will bring you water." He said climbing to shaky knees. "And I will have saved you." He rediscovered his balance. "Look at the sun!" He yelled, embracing his own valiant atmosphere, he began sprinting towards the sound of rushing water.

But as he let go of her, the darkness rose from behind. Drenching the dying warrior in black. Pulling her back into the tunnel by the legs to spend the rest of her days in the blood whispering fog. She dug the stubs of her wrists into the ground. The gravel burning discipline into her will. With teeth clenched she watched the man disappear into the woods, ignorant of what was eating her.

Stumbling over rocks and roots, the man continued to run until he fell to his knees in the cool water. Blinded by his heroic desire, he realized that he did not have a vessel to bring the water back with. “How foolish” He whipped his heart, thinking of any possible way which brought him to submerge himself completely and with his soaked, tattered clothes he began his sprint back to her.

“Oh, the sun.” Her eyes swollen with pain, "I need to rest." She whispered. The pressure on her legs increased with every shallow breath she took. She reached out to the returning hero and slipped away. The darkness pulled her back into the tunnel. Her head bumping down the train tracks and into the fog.

“I was too slow again.” The man mumbled as he stood facing the tunnel. He studied the drag markings and took off his shirt. Wringing the water out then throwing it on the ground. His eyes fell to his lantern, his light remained glowing. “I will try again.” He said picking up his shirt, pulling back on the thinning material. "I'll find you." With lantern in hand, he followed her back into the dark.