#warpofthewoods

I wake face down in the mud, barely able to breathe and just able to raise my head.  When I can look up, the sky is far above and the walls of the hole I’m in are covered in slime.  I know I must pull myself out.

I crawl, pulling myself upwards, but my feet can’t grip and my hands and arms are covered with scratches from thorny needles that I can’t pull out.  In the distance I can hear a rhythmical ssh ssh, a breeze through treetops, I am in the woods.  The weight in my chest impedes my progress, it’s as if my lungs are filled with tar and yet I feel no pain, only exhaustion as I stop to rest halfway out of the hole. The tree root I’m gripping breaks and I go sliding back down to the bottom again.  I should have kept going.

I don’t want to try anymore, but then I hear the fearful name whispered in hushed voices – Sepsis, the worst wolf of all, he is coming to eat me from the inside out.  Fear seizes me and I scrabble on all fours, my hands searching for grip, my feet pushing me on as I crawl upwards desperately. I look back through the fading light, the ground at the bottom of the hole is moving.  A claw is sweeping aside the mud, paws emerging and then his nose, the gleam of red eyes.  My heart pumps wild and erratic, I am drenched in sweat, struggling against this weight in my chest, trying to keep climbing and climbing before the wolf is free of the mud.

In the darkening woods someone else must be in trouble because I can hear an alarm and a woman’s voice shouting; “I need a doctor!  I need a doctor!”  I want to help, but struggling free of the hole is taking all my strength.  With one last effort I’m out and lying in the arrhythmia weeds and the low systolic and diastolic plants.  The ssh shh breeze is louder now and the birdsong is an odd rhythm of chirpy bleeps.  I wonder if they sing all night.  At least the woman has stopped shouting now, I hope it’s because she’s safe.

I cannot tell if the wolf is still coming, I just know that I must carry on through the January night. The weight in my lungs means it’s still impossible to stand, so I continue to crawl, longing for the comfort of my armchair and my tidy home.  Brian is keeping newspapers there for me, for every day I’m in the woods.

Suddenly I’m racked by a fit of coughing, my body is being swayed from side to side, I can feel something rising through my chest and I reach into my mouth.  I swallow my hand, my wrist, my forearm and grasp it, horrible thick slime.  I pull and pull and out it comes, thick black tar rushing from my lungs spreading over the woodland floor, merging with the mud.  I gasp for breath and rise to my feet in triumph, no more undignified crawling.

A long drawn howl drowns out the ssh ssh breeze, Sepsis!  I run, my heart pounding again, the heat rising through my body.  He is leaping through the low diastolic and systolic plants and I can’t escape, the arrhythmia weeds tangle around my legs and I fall.  I turn on my back and face the wolf.  I stare him directly in the eyes, if this is it, so be it.  The image of my home, filled with my children and grandchildren at New Year gives me courage and peace.  The wolf doesn’t seem interested now I’m not panicking, he sniffs my face, and then sits down to watch me.  Cautiously I untangle my feet from the weeds and pick my way out of them.  The wolf follows.

Brian has renewed his driving licence online.  Clever man, I know he can cope without me, even though he keeps telling me he can’t. Apparently my brother is visiting tomorrow, I hope he’s not coming into the woods.  I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.  It’s been days now and I’m used to it, the bleep bleep birds don’t let up, neither does the ssh ssh breeze, but these sounds are comforting.  I am putting distance between myself and the wolf, walking beside higher systolic and diastolic plants.  The ground is much easier, but I’m not out of the woods yet, I’m simply entering a clearing.  As I walk into the sunlight, I hear someone asking me if I can open my eyes.