#loonyunicorn

I could forever get lost inside of my mind but instead chose to get lost in the world, get lost in the present, get lost in the room that has become my prison

all of life is something we got.

The Man claimed the water was dirty, but they made it that way. They claim the trees and wildlife made the water dirty, they made it brown and cold, undrinkable, but they did. The Man came and poisoned the water, like they did everything else. Their simple presence was anything but simple, they took away the sky, they took away the life, they took away the magic of the world. I to this day wonder what was beyond the fields, I glanced out not many months ago onto the field, in cover of the trees, in the distance I could hear rolling and screeching of something large and deadly. It scared me. I was rarely scared anymore, Man had scared me once before the day they broke into the world taking the lives of those first fallen deer, but never again. I would not let them hold fear over me. I was not scared of the fleshly beings, I was displeased and angry with them, anger was something rare for my kind I was told. The fact I was able to hold it in my heart was a mere miracle. It did not feel like a miracle, it felt like a boulder which I carried everywhere, it felt like an unshakable cold. The world carried anger, the world had an unshakable cold, the earth used to speak to all living things. But Man killed her too. Maybe she was alive somewhere deep underneath the surface, sometimes I would hear a mighty breath, a feeble attempt to get Man out and off of her, he did not belong.

The Man clobber to the deer which lay dead on the valley floor, he was a father to many. They say a prayer to the thing, soulless and gone, if only he were alive to hear it. They begin to take off an article of clothing that surrounds their opposable thumbs, as they get weapons out of their bags, as if they have not done enough. I hear the other Man in the forest sigh, they always do that after a bang. In jealousy of not catching the deer himself. I begin to hear the ripping. The ripping of man cutting open the deer, gutting his stomach. I grimace as the organs pool out, onto the soft snow. This is the circle of life. I remind myself, kill or be killed. I never want to kill, I will never subject my sacred body to the torment of being a murderer. I hear the organs pool onto the ground as the cutting goes on. I rock my body side to side to comfort myself. How am I so sensitive to the killings just as the first? Any living thing would be used to it by now, a formality, the token of existing. Why not I?

My heart jumped, I was startled awake by the sound which I had come to know as Man, since they first began stealing away the deer, their weapons had become loud, made of something I wasn’t sure of. It was something grotesque and perverted, something evil. Man makes lots of things, things they do not need. They call themselves the only living thing on the planet, the only smart thing, but I think they are ignorant. They communicate with sound, they don’t hear anything but themselves. They trudge around the forest disturbing the harmony. The trees and I are the only ones who hear them, the only ones who can sense them coming. The trees shiver in the cold as they are skinless, they shudder and call out to me, to wake me and warn me. Go to the water, they are coming. I pick up my head and body with a breeze as I look around, the forest is white, covered in the chilled powder. Snowfall. The first of the year.