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Marcus awoke, his eyes staring up at a starry sky. He found himself resting upon the riverbank, far from anything familiar. The boy could still recall the feeling of the stream's current pulling at him, the waves forcing his head under. It had taken only moments for the river to pump his lungs full of water, forcing any trace of air out of his mouth in a flurry of bubbles. Then came the pain, stinging at his eyes until they shut tight, bringing him out of consciousness. But I'm awake now, he thought to himself. I must find home. With that, he rose, making his way upstream.
He felt awfully strange after the entire ordeal. Each of his footsteps felt light, as if he had just awoken from a peaceful sleep. Then again, Marcus surmised that he had been left on the shore for quite sometime, for he found himself to be dry. The only thing that hinted at him ever even being in peril was the raw feeling within his chest. The boy had tried to purge the feeling through various means, from deep breaths to coughing, but nothing had worked. He tried to ignore the feeling, but it would not leave his mind. He continued his journey, nonetheless.
When Marcus saw the sun begin to rise over the distant pine trees, he began to feel discouraged. He had been walking for hours, yet he was no where near home. The boy couldn't find the friendly birch trees that he had grown to know during his childhood, nor could he find the scent of livestock clinging to the breeze. He could feel the worry begin to spread through him, encompassing his entire being. They'll be waiting for me, he frantically thought. I should hurry along. Thus his steady steps flew into a sprint, as he began to run along the river.
I must be very determined, he thought to himself. Marcus had been running for almost an hour, and his legs had yet to give out. It was as if his feet were gliding among the stony shore, for he had not stumbled a single time. The boy found himself grinning, Mother will be impressed. He often found that he lacked any prowess when it came to physical talents, much to his mother's dismay. A weak son served little help as a farmhand. But alas, his new found strength would surely aid her. Marcus kept this in mind as he dashed upstream.
His concern grew once more when nightfall came. He must have been carried farther downstream than he thought. Marcus slowed his pace to a crawl. Perhaps he was going about this all wrong. It was there that he decided he simply would approach the first stranger he saw upon his journey and ask for assistance. With his decision made, he began to advance once more. He honestly was surprised that his legs had not given out yet, nor did he feel any sensations of hunger tugging at his stomach. Then again, he could not think of such things. Returning home was of the utmost importance. Marcus kept this in mind as he continued on.
It was early the next morning when Marcus saw a shape in the distance. He could feel the excitement leap through his sore chest. Without any hesitation, he broke into a furious sprint, his mouth turning upwards as a wide grin began to form. When he was but a hundred yards away, he could make out the form of a sleeping gentlemen on the riverside. In his giddiness, the boy closed his eyes and began to wave his arms.
"Sir, sir, I need your help-"
But his words were cut short, for something was not right. He was now within reach of the stranger, who laid on the ground, unmoving and sopping wet. Everything about the person in front of him was familiar. Besides the graying skin, that is. The dark strands of plastered hair, the all too small nose, and the scar under just below the lip, he had seen it all before. It was his own face. Marcus sunk to the ground, and stared at his own corpse. He had the urge to sob, but he had no eyes to do so. And so a simple sadness began to weigh down on his presence, like a heavy blanket. He was dead, and he would never be seen again. The spirit pitifully gazed at his body for days, a number that meant nothing when compared to an eternity. He watched with a horrified fascination as his former flesh began to rot away, eventually leaving a collection of small bones that had yet to grow into manhood. When he had seen all that he could see, Marcus rose, looking ahead. It had begun to rain, but he could not feel the drops as they passed through his presence without hesitation. I want to go home, he decided. It did not matter if he was dead. He started to move, past his remains, and onward, up the river.
He felt awfully strange after the entire ordeal. Each of his footsteps felt light, as if he had just awoken from a peaceful sleep. Then again, Marcus surmised that he had been left on the shore for quite sometime, for he found himself to be dry. The only thing that hinted at him ever even being in peril was the raw feeling within his chest. The boy had tried to purge the feeling through various means, from deep breaths to coughing, but nothing had worked. He tried to ignore the feeling, but it would not leave his mind. He continued his journey, nonetheless.
When Marcus saw the sun begin to rise over the distant pine trees, he began to feel discouraged. He had been walking for hours, yet he was no where near home. The boy couldn't find the friendly birch trees that he had grown to know during his childhood, nor could he find the scent of livestock clinging to the breeze. He could feel the worry begin to spread through him, encompassing his entire being. They'll be waiting for me, he frantically thought. I should hurry along. Thus his steady steps flew into a sprint, as he began to run along the river.
I must be very determined, he thought to himself. Marcus had been running for almost an hour, and his legs had yet to give out. It was as if his feet were gliding among the stony shore, for he had not stumbled a single time. The boy found himself grinning, Mother will be impressed. He often found that he lacked any prowess when it came to physical talents, much to his mother's dismay. A weak son served little help as a farmhand. But alas, his new found strength would surely aid her. Marcus kept this in mind as he dashed upstream.
His concern grew once more when nightfall came. He must have been carried farther downstream than he thought. Marcus slowed his pace to a crawl. Perhaps he was going about this all wrong. It was there that he decided he simply would approach the first stranger he saw upon his journey and ask for assistance. With his decision made, he began to advance once more. He honestly was surprised that his legs had not given out yet, nor did he feel any sensations of hunger tugging at his stomach. Then again, he could not think of such things. Returning home was of the utmost importance. Marcus kept this in mind as he continued on.
It was early the next morning when Marcus saw a shape in the distance. He could feel the excitement leap through his sore chest. Without any hesitation, he broke into a furious sprint, his mouth turning upwards as a wide grin began to form. When he was but a hundred yards away, he could make out the form of a sleeping gentlemen on the riverside. In his giddiness, the boy closed his eyes and began to wave his arms.
"Sir, sir, I need your help-"
But his words were cut short, for something was not right. He was now within reach of the stranger, who laid on the ground, unmoving and sopping wet. Everything about the person in front of him was familiar. Besides the graying skin, that is. The dark strands of plastered hair, the all too small nose, and the scar under just below the lip, he had seen it all before. It was his own face. Marcus sunk to the ground, and stared at his own corpse. He had the urge to sob, but he had no eyes to do so. And so a simple sadness began to weigh down on his presence, like a heavy blanket. He was dead, and he would never be seen again. The spirit pitifully gazed at his body for days, a number that meant nothing when compared to an eternity. He watched with a horrified fascination as his former flesh began to rot away, eventually leaving a collection of small bones that had yet to grow into manhood. When he had seen all that he could see, Marcus rose, looking ahead. It had begun to rain, but he could not feel the drops as they passed through his presence without hesitation. I want to go home, he decided. It did not matter if he was dead. He started to move, past his remains, and onward, up the river.
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This was a pretty cool piece. I like the subtle shift of emotion he feels as he realizes what's happened.