Lost and Faded

Autumn crunched beneath my feet as I traversed the treacherous forest. The dense grasses were so tall that I could taste the dew on the tip of my tongue, feel their itch against my skin. The pristine smell of nature found its way up my nostrils. Bugs chomped my flesh and my head spun with the thoughts of fear and doubt, but I pushed through the depths of the timberland regardless.

Every once and again I’d stop in fear of the silence. Fear the possibility of a wild animal’s approach. I’d shut my eyes and imagine myself in front of a grizzly bear. I’d see myself watching the fearsome beast, feel my heart pounding, listen to my breaths heavy as I feared the end, just like the scared little boy that I am inside. I’d listen to the crickets. Breathe. Then continue the run.

Just because I hiked through the bear-infested Canadian forests without a gun doesn’t make me some hardened badass. Hiking through the timberland with no end in sight, I was scared. I was scared out of my mind. I wanted to fall to my knees and cry but I knew I had to keep going. I had a hungry daughter who needed a safer home.

The harshness of the sun pierced my skin and shocked my eyes as I hobbled continuously through the forest. Felt a sting on my bottom lip. I clawed a mosquito away from my mouth, tasting the blood he managed to suck out of my skin. Little bastard.

I was in pain. I was thirsty. So very thirsty, but there was nothing but an endless valley of trees ahead. Nothing but the dullard sun and viridescent vegetation as far as the eye-can-see. The nearest source of water had to be miles away. My legs felt like iron too, thudding against the monstrous grasses as I pushed so despatarely through the infinite valley of trees.

Fear came back, like it always does. I stopped and listened for the crickets again.

There were none.

My heart pounded.

I moved faster. Listened. Crickets. Crickets. No crickets. There weren’t any. My chest tightened in pain. I tried to breath. Tried to reach for my gun. I didn’t have a gun! Air was coming out, I felt it, but I still felt like I couldn’t breathe. Everything was so dizzy. So blurry and confusing.

Thinking back, I should’ve known that I was having an anxiety attack, but at the time I was certain I was dying. Probably from dehydration or maybe even a heart attack, even though I knew good and well in my heart of hearts that my heart was perfectly fine. But I felt the opposite of fine, and I ran. I started to run. Started to sprint despite the drastic pain in my tightened chest and my stony legs.

Fear. Thirst. Fear! Thirst! Everything was so frightening and I was just going on pure instinct and the only thing that could stop me was my own two feet and of course that’s exactly what happened!

I tripped over my own two feet. And I knew then and there that the run was over.

~~~

I blacked out. The next time I faded back into consciousness, I was in a warm and cozy room, the air gentle and smelling strongly of fruit and cinnamon. The pain that was in my chest was gone. I was no longer thirsty.

I sat up and breathed, and even though my muscles were sore – especially my legs – man, did it feel good to breathe.

A petite redheaded woman stood across the room, wiping her pale hands against a wet washrag. I tightened my muscles and flattened my hands against the floor, ready to stand at tension.

“Relax,” she said, her quiet and calm voice easing my tense muscles. “You’re another American, right?”

I ducked my eyes. Tried to think of the words, but couldn’t respond.

She sighed. “You were trying to escape that hellhole, right?”

The year was 2020. The president was assassinated by Russian militants. The third world war was on, and the so-called homeland saw bloodshed it hadn’t seen since the civil war.

I exhaled. “Ruth,” I whimpered.

“Ruth?”

“My daughter. Ruth.” I took deep and heavy breaths, almost hyperventilating. “She’s still living in the states. I need to get back.”

“Then why did you leave the states in the first place?”

A sharp pain emerged in my stomach – at first I thought it was just the weight of the question. I wish it was. “I guess because I didn’t really plan on coming back,” I admitted. “I told her I was going to buy food at the market. I started running, and I ran all the way towards the border. I didn’t come back.”

“And you didn’t even bring a gun?”

“They’re harder to come by these days.”

“Right.” The woman swallowed. “Name is Lauren, by the way. Who are you?”

“Ben.”

She tilted her head. “Last name?”

Her request for clarification on my surname confused me. The only time anyone ever asks for your last name tends to be if money is involved. Who was this woman?

“Redhead, huh?” I said, attempting to change the subject out of distrust. “Same as my daughter. You don’t have any freckles, though. She has so many she almost looks pink from far away. God. She’s only ten, and I just left her like that. Why am I so stupid?”

Lauren rolled her eyes, seeing right through my digression. “How old are you? You know what, never mind. Wait here. Going to get you something to drink. Must be thirsty.”

As she disappeared into a neighboring room of the house, something clicked as not right with me. A drink? Came to think of it, when I passed out I was incredibly thirsty. Now I wasn’t. But thirst only goes away if you have something to drink.

That’s how I realized I did already have something to drink.

I stumbled to my feet quietly as I could, following Lauren into a neighboring room. Tiptoeing. The pain in my stomach. It came back. But I ignored it because I had no other choice.

The neighboring room was completely dark without a trace of furniture; I could barely even make out Lauren’s hazel eyes. Where the hell was I?

I squinted. She had a cellphone raised to her ear.

“Yes. The runaway is awake,” she said into the speaker. “What do you mean we shouldn’t? I already—”

She spotted me and hung up. My mouth hung open at a loss for words.

“Already what?” I asked, my heart pounding as I marched towards her. “Poisoned me? Huh? Is that what you did?”

“…”

“Were you ready to give me some more poison? Finish me off?"

“…!”

“Answer me!”

Lauren gasped. “Please! Don't kill me!” Her face became bright pink. I could hear her heart pounding even standing over her. “I've got a sick grandmother to go home to. Whatever you think I did, just calm down and we'll talk about it.”

I wrapped my hand around her wrist. Slid it down towards her hand. Unwrapped the phone from her palms. It didn’t take much force. “What are you going to do? Call the police? You think they care what I did to you?”

“…” I opened the phone and navigated towards the call screen.

“Who are you calling? What do you think you’re doing?”

“Shut up,” I beamed, turning away from her. “I’m calling my daughter. Need to say goodbye.”

I never managed to figure out who Lauren was, or why she decided to poison me in my sleep. My personal guess is she was some kind of Canadian spy sent to kill any American who crossed the border. But being an American, maybe she was a former secret service member who played a part in conspiring towards the assassination of President Trump.

I stepped out of the small house into the dark frost of the gloomy night, ready to say last goodbye to my Ruth. Explain to a ten-year-old girl that I abandoned her and tried to run to Canada, but was caught and killed by someone who didn’t want me there. Like a starving animal who just wants somewhere warm to stay, and gets shot right in the heart, all for nothing.

“Hello?” It was Ruth. I knew it from that adorable, precious voice. “Daddy? Where are you? Did you get me candy?”

“…”

“Daddy?”

I gulped. Without warning, tears came down my eyes. “Daddy is going away for a while,” I whimpered, the pain in my stomach insufferable. “We’ll see each other soon, okay? Just know—”

“What do you mean by that?” I could sense the frustration in her voice. “When Mom died, you said you’d never go. You told me you wouldn’t leave like she did! You promised!”

“I’m sorry,” I whimpered. What a coward. I did this. It was all my fault. “Ruth. I love you so much—”

“I hate you,” Ruth said.

The words pierced my heart.

“I hate you. I wish…I wish you were dead instead of Mom.”

I had to drop the phone to vomit, and when I picked it back up minutes later she was gone. That was the last conversation I ever had with my daughter.

And that got me where I am now. I only have a few more minutes to live. I still can’t imagine where I’ll be when this life fades, and I have no idea who to blame for why this life is about to fade to begin with. Vladimir Putin? Lauren? Secret Service? Myself? I have no idea, but one thing is for sure.

I’ll actually miss the bite of a mosquito. They just want to live, after all.