Flesh Failure Read Free Page B

face causing dirt to get into my eyes and waking me up. It was so dark.
    There wasn’t much of a moon, which created a terrible darkness in the woods. Fear slipped through me, no doubt fueled by nightmares. Why be afraid now when I could move, than when I was immobile for days?
    Many sets of glowing eyes peered at me from the trees. Some were up high, some were down low, even passing right by me. Foxes, perhaps, or even fawn.
    Glowing in the darkness much like many lanterns were dozens of eyes and then there were rustlings. Something swooped above my head and then swooped away. There was a scuffling of flapping wings and squealing of prey.
    I dozed off again and slept until the morning sun woke me.
    On the seventh day, I spoke.
    The dew was moist and more leaves clung to me as I stood. My stomach rumbled. Hunger was becoming an overpowering urge. I looked up at the two birds chattering above me. They noticed me looking at them and flew off. None of the blackbirds had returned. The flies remained around me, buzzing and whirring. Sometimes the swarm would leave for a while but they usually returned.
    It was time to walk some more. Time to leave the woods and see what lay beyond.
    Slowly I lumbered through the woods, my long, clumsy limbs stumbling over tree roots, slipping on leaves and snapping fallen branches.
    I came upon what appeared to be a path. At the time, I didn’t know what a path was, I just knew it was enticing because the way appeared free of trees and weeds and was a bit cleared out. It was so much easier to navigate once I was out of the winding maze of bushes and trees. There weren’t trunks or leaves to slip on and hop over. At least, not as much as my unseen traps.
    I heard a sound that wasn’t the birds.
    A high, sweet, lilting sound floated over the trees.
    There was a clearing ahead and several caravans. They had colourful paintings on the sides, carnival signs boasting fortune telling and the like. There were several horses fastened with ropes, grazing. The horses looked up at me. I looked at them They looked at each other and then resumed their feasting.
    The sound was louder now and it was clear that this wasn’t a bird. It was definitely an instrument of some sort and I wondered what it was and who might be playing. It was a soothing melody, mournfully beckoning me closer.
    The leaves that were stuck to my wounds rustled as I walked over to the circle of caravans.
    I approached the first caravan. This one appeared in dire shape. The wooden frame was sagging and the canvas mural was half stripped off by the elements. It was difficult to judge what the original art might have boasted at one time. I walked up the little stairs and drew back the curtain that separated the inside from the outer world. It was very dark but as my eyes adjusted, I was able to make out various shapes. The room was stuffed with clothes and pots and pans and dozens of trinkets hanging from the ceiling. There was a bed against one side and in it lay a man. He was sound asleep, his snores whistling softly. He snuffled and rolled over.
    There was nothing for me in this cabin.
    The music was coming from the next caravan. I entered and this time, the room was more organized but still packed with decades of life. There were two chairs and a small table as well as a large bed against the wall. In one of the chairs sat an old man. His beard was long and grey, his eyebrows thick, grey and bushy, and his long shaggy grey hair reached past his shoulders. He wore a scarf around his head to hold his hair back. His clothes were colourful although well worn.
    He lowered the flute to his lap, his eyes seeming to look around the room, but he didn’t focus on me.
    He coughed, holding his hand to his face.
    â€œWho’s there?” he asked. I didn’t say anything.
    â€œHello? I know someone’s in here as I can hear you and…smell you.”
    I opened my mouth but only mud and feathers dropped