VIII. 

Across that field, worn and twisted frames of mirrors protruded from the earth, jagged pieces of glass clinging to them, or littering the ground. 
Though I was the only soul who walked that land, in the reflections I could still see the faces of those who broke the mirrors, as twisted and broken as the wood and glass, shame and disappointment in their eyes, disgust at their own appearances. 
But to me, they were beautiful, each and every one. 
Except for my own.

A Field of Broken Mirrors

​IX. 

I felt something then, similar to what I'd felt when that creature had chased me in the house when I first arrived here, eons ago. Though where that was a feeling of displacement, of being chased or hunted, this was the opposite: a pull where that was a push, a collapse where that was a hanging. I heard a voice, a sobbing, pure sorrow, and followed it to a woman amid the broken mirrors. It looks as though the dust collected around her, but when I was closer I realized it was a cloud of flies, buzzing and landing upon her and dropping dead with the passing of time. She made no attempt to dissuade them, only sobbed, her hands on her face. Then she looked into a mirror and screamed, and I saw her take a piece of jagged glass from the ground. I looked away as she gouged out her own eyes. She continued to scream, not in agony, but in the same pain that had come from seeing her own reflection. When her screams returned to crying, I could bear to look again, and saw her discard her eyes, throwing them on the ground. Flies surrounded them, devoured them, laid their maggots within them. The passing of time saw the woman's eyes grow back, tearful, blood streaking down her cheeks. Then she saw her reflection, and again gouged out her eyes, leaving them for the insects. I realized it was an endless cycle, and I wished I could help her. Could I convince her not to look in the mirror? No, I'd rather convince her what she saw wasn't worth her reaction. Before I could do anything, I felt a familiar fear, one I'd felt lifetimes ago, and turned to see the creature from the house, finally caught up to me.

Surrounded by Flies, She Carves out Her Eyes

X. 

All the walking was nothing compared to the effort of the climb. Each jagged rock cut at my fingers, each lift of my weary legs threatened to be the last. But I had hope now, something I'd been missing for a while. Once upon a time, I'd jumped into the sky. Now I climbed. Up and up I went, where that creature couldn't follow, above the mirrors and the ash, where the air was clear and something like stars shone above, little lights or maybe little holes poked into a sheet of darkness that covered this place. Maybe I could reach one and claw my way out.

The 8th Day

​XI. 

From the summit I could see everything: 

All the things I'd left behind. The reasons I'd left, how they paled in comparison to what could've been. I could see the hole I'd left in the world, all the things that had left holes in me, and the things that would've filled those holes if I'd only kept going, kept walking, kept climbing. 

And here, I could see the wasteland wasn't endless, in fact it wasn't even all that expansive. I could see the creature, how it too was a part of me, not something to run from, but to embrace. All the things, good and bad, that come together to make up a person.

I Can See Forever

​XII. 

But what good did it do me now? Here, in this place? 
Atop the mountain was the trunk of a long-dead tree, long-dead like me. I squeezed myself into a crack in the tree, sat inside the stump, safe from everything out there. I felt sheltered, secure, even in my loneliness, even in my emptiness. 
I couldn't help but laugh. Had I learned nothing? giving up had gotten me nowhere. Climbing mountains had brought me here. There must be something left out there.

In the Hollow of a Tree I Contemplate the Hollowness in Me

XIII. 

With only one way to find out, I ran down the mountain.

Run Down the Mountain

XIV. 

If you were beside me, it would've been different. 

I wouldn't be in this place. (I'd be somewhere.) 

I never would've leapt. (I'd have stood my ground.) 

I never would've run. (I'd have faced my fears.) 

Never been alone. (You'd have been right there.) 

But you aren't here. You weren't even there. 

You meant the world to me. That was my mistake. I shouldn't have lived for you. I should've lived for me.

You Made Everything Better

XV. 

Sometimes things disappear when you aren't looking. Sometimes small things, sometimes things you don't even miss. Sometimes everything, and you'll never be the same. 
Everyone leaves. Drifts from the tree. My roots are planted, and I stay here. 
But summers come and go, and even when you fall, someone else comes along and fills that void in me, at least for a little while. At least I'm warm again. Not alone. Not always. 
Maybe someday someone will even stay. 
What a beautiful place that would be.

Blinded by the Sun, He Loses Everyone

XVI. 

You held out for me 
A handful of hyacinth petals 
I held out in return 
A handful of dust. 

And when time had frozen 
And all stars had settled, 
All memories fading, 
All worlds gone to rust 

No words were spoken 
No shedding of tears 
Just both of us wading 
Through oceans of years 

What do we find 
At the edge of time 
But beginnings and ends 
The world starting again? 

I looked in your eyes 
You looked back at mine 
We stood at the end 
Waiting for death, my oldest, dearest friend.

Hyacinths

​New wings. New day. New winds. Fly away.

From a Novelist