Coming Together

The moon was bright, a beacon of hope in a pitch black sky. Everywhere one saw, there was darkness, shadows were coming alive. 

Hūr Amran didnt know how much worse it had gotten since he had been in this country. He didn’t even know what the rest of humanity knew, the humanity, who was doing one of three things at the moment, were glued to their television screens anxiously watching the news, were the ones being murdered on the news, or were part of the organization who was turning people to murder on the news. Of course, the masses of humanity did not know about the organization. Yet. If they ever would. 

Hūr had made his way to this country before much of it was known. Much after it had began, when it was in the shadows, so to speak. He felt drawn, he had just been laid off, because a girl had complained about him, falsely, it didn’t matter. What was done was done. He had grabbed his passport, ready to pick a spot on the spinning globe. He picked one. Somewhere in africa. Yet his heart wouldn’t let him. He spun it again, just once more, he had thought to himself. France. He didn’t feel like it. His eyes drifted to the bottom corner of the world. It had taken him fifteen tries, each more feverish than the last. His finger stopped the globe on a spot in Oceana. Fifteen minutes after that, he forgot the fever dream. He just knew something inside him really wanted to go there. It had been fifteen months since he had been running from the police. He had survived on berries, and by stealing sheep, albeit reluctantly. Even towards the end. When he had been ready to drop dead, exhausted from the chase, he had wandered into a clearing that looked like a gateway to the forest. He had found sleep in the clearing, and at night, he walked into the forest. Not really knowing why. No reasonable excuse. But the fever dream had taken over him once more, maybe it had never left, and he looked down and saw one foot walking in front of the other, he was giving the commands, but who was pulling the strings in his head? Soon, he forgot that thought. It sounds absurd, he laughed internally.

It was dark, but for the light of the moon. Even that was dimming. The forest was silent, but for a whooshing sound that came from ahead of him. Deep in the forest, yet close to his heart. The air was earthy, the trees felt alive, swaying silently from side to side. He could taste pine, and fir, and joy in the air. It was alive. Dancing, breathing every moment as it came. In the moment. In the now. Living for the joy of life, and nothing more.

He walked on, following the shadow, drawn but he did not really know why. His mind constructed excuses that were enough to satisfy him.

Hūr wondered much later what would have happened if they had not interrupted the ritual. Then he corrected his thoughts, and sighed as he realized there was no point in thinking such a thing. What had happened had happened, and he would not survive if he held on to regret. No one would.

He found his destination, the one that he had travelled seven thousand eight hundred and fifty nine miles for.