preview of All That Rots & Bleeds

I keep my chin tucked as I scramble my way higher. Their cries pierce my ears, violent and taunting. I feel their talons and beaks, feel each bite of flesh they take. Rock crumbles in the wake of my boots, but I don’t stop. I climb, and climb, and climb. Feathers swarm my periphery. I pant and groan against the endless assault of it. My forearms shake with strain, the muscles heavy and flushed with blood. When I see the verdant summit above, I nearly cry in relief. Another handhold, then another. I scream as one of the birds tangles its feet in my hair, and sheer instinct has me thrashing in defense. I lose my grip, plummeting down the rock face. My gasp is frantic, fearful. I slam into a protruding ledge the next moment, bones aching, breath stolen. But the chaos only compounds. The bird dives, its malicious cry shrieking on the wind. I duck, covering myself, yet there is nowhere to hide. Its beak draws lines of blood across my hand, and they weep like fresh tears. 

My revenge is swift. I rip out a handful of feathers, sending the bird careening down the cliff. Then, I drag myself higher. I scurry up sharp rock, regaining all distance I lost to the fall. The birds still circle, dive, peck. My heart pounds in my chest, ready to burst. Suddenly, what rests beneath my bleeding fingers is no longer biting rock, but crisp, wet grass. I loose a wailing groan and haul myself over the cliff’s edge. My legs kick and squirm across the last shelf of rock. Finally, I reach solid ground. 

 Though it’s been rife with burdens all day, my chest loosens with a heavy exhale, emptying me of all doubt and strain. Each new breath brings the nip of crisp air; I can all but taste Arcady’s bliss. It’s pure. Unspoiled by man and his aims. My eyes flicker open, lashes wet with dew, to witness this place in its full glory once more. I want to remember this when I leave, want to recall the way these dazzling blue waters cascade down into a churning spray that could drown even the strongest of swimmers. It’s the violence of nature, a chaos that one can only admire with a weary eye, basking in nature’s dominion with the knowledge that it could end you if it so pleased. A chill that caught in your lungs. A cut that grew too warm. Things with claws and teeth. Nature is a beast, and it allows us borrowed breath.