Purposeless

Version 1-
 Off to nowhere, I let my mind go blank. I let the rhythm of my walking stick and noisy boots fill my mind; the only thing left to think about is nothing. After an hour or so, my feet and knees loosen, falling into a pattern. My brain is empty, therefore not telling my legs and feet how to step or which direction to follow.
Looking ahead, there is a green spot in the otherwise yellow portrait. Colorful birds occupy the untouchable ceiling, blocking out the blinding light. I remember my eyes resented the compromise they had to make.
My legs quicken there pattern, and I jog, slow motion to an outside eye, towards the green spot. This green spot not only encapsulates life at the present, but life after now. I had been so sure that it was over for me, so sure I would never again become acquainted with the feeling of shade or moistened lips.
Finally, after a lifetime of looking at green heavens, my toes dampen and fuzzy, unfamiliar green carpeting relieves my calluses. For a bit I don’t know whether to get in the shade or just lay there, soaking hydration in through my pores. I decide it would be best to get out of the fiendish, fiery red sun. I giggle a little at the irony. When I was a teenager living in Seattle my only thought was to get into the sun, and here I am, begging it’s mercy.
Slowly, my senses return. My vision becomes piqued, the colors surging in my head as though I’ve never before experienced them. My ears open up, noticing the faint and scarce chirps from the trees I lay under. Texture surrounds me in a blast of realization.
Suddenly, I comprehend where I am and the danger this entails. I am in a desert. A large empty desert. In this desert I have found an oasis and my life has been saved. I think back to how I got here and remember. I was volunteering in a village in Australia when there had been an attack from another village. The feud between these two tribes had been continuing for 200 years. Nobody knows why.
I had run, anywhere, just run. I had camped in an orchard of one of the villagers, but I had to get help. I remember now that I had hiked for four days in the desert, only hoping for civilization.
All this reminds me of my thirst and my eyes search for a stream or even just a water droplet on a leaf. I crawl from one shaded patch to another, listening for any sign of water. I notice that my palms are three inches deep in water. Confused, I spin about, looking for the source. As I come upon a 90 degree twist, I pity myself. A small, barely running puddle has been slightly behind me the entire time. It’s a wonder I didn’t stumble in it on my way to shade.
These unimportant thoughts don’t stop me in my quest to the puddle. I dive my face beneath the surface, and it soon collides with the bottom, being just deep enough to touch the arch of my forehead, just above my shaggy eyebrows. My tongue becomes tingly and slimy from dry, crusty saliva. It wiggles and loops around the water. This reminds me of days when I was a child, and I would try to lap up water from an over-filled cup. Of course it would only make a bigger mess than the previous one from the over filling, but heck, it was fun.
The water splashes up onto my neck and chills the follicles of my hair. I lay on my back now, with my head floating above the surface. My hands are in the water now, and my armpit happens to collide with my nose. YUCK! I honestly can’t remember the last time I smelled BO. this bad… but then again my nose has been so dry for the last few days I almost forgot what it was like to smell anything at all.
The smell drives my next few actions and forces me to somehow get my torso into the puddle. It soaks my shirt, un-wrinkling the crevices of sweat. It seems as though it could almost make up a diagram of the Grand Canyon. Eventually I lift myself out of the now yellow puddle and make my way into the shade again. Scratching my arm, I awaken. My surroundings surprise me and for a second my heart goes berserk. It takes me a few minutes to make sense of anything, and when I do the first thing I think is that I’m in the village in Australia I had just been getting used too. A few more minutes pass as I contemplate the reason I’m not in my lumpy bed and why I don’t recognize this part of the village. Then I see the puddle. In a wave of relief, panic, and disbelief I become fully awake- memories regained. I scratch my arm again as I figure out what to do next. The first thought I have is food, which my stomach so kindly reminds me of.
As I galumph to my feet, my equilibrium apparently off, I fall into the rhythm of a walk I took to so desperately on what I think was yesterday.
My legs carry me past plants I could have never imagined. I spot a few bugs chomping on the roots of trees, and it only reminds me that all the species here already have their perfect circles of life; it’s only me that doesn’t belong. I’ve never hunted a day in my life, so I keep on the lookout more for berries and fruits than animals. My eyes have never failed me, and they cease to do so now. I spot large star fruit, the size of my foot, hanging on branches about seven feet in the air. I have never eaten star fruit, but have seen it in grocery stores, so it mustn’t be poisonous. Thankfully, the tree in which they hang from have many spindly branches; quite handy for climbing. I slip out of my hiking boots and make for the treasure. My muscles seem fairly stable, but I decide to take it slow for good measure. I step onto the first branch and wait a bit. Everything goes well, so I move to the next, wrapping my arms around and pulling my legs up like a monkey. I repeat these two steps again and again until I reach the lowest fruits. Up higher I notice larger and more moist ones, but this will be just fine for now.


Version 2-
Off to nowhere, leaving nowhere. I let the rhythm of my walking stick and the noisy thump-thump of my boots fill my mind. After an hour or so, my feet and knees loosen, falling into a pattern. The heat begins to burn my skin and dry my throat, causing my voice to become raspy.
Looking ahead, there is a green spot on the otherwise yellow landscape. Colorful birds occupy the untouchable ceiling, blocking out the dutiful light. I remember my eyes resented to compromise they had to make for this devil in the sky, contracting to no end. My legs quicken their pattern and I jog towards the green spot. This green spot not only encapsulates life at the present, but life after now.
Finally, after what seems to be a lifetime of gaping at green heavens, my toes dampen, and fuzzy, hospitable carpeting relieves my blisters. For a bit I don't know whether to get in the shade or just lay there, soaking hydration in through my pores. I decide it would be best to get out of the fiendish, fiery red sun. I giggle a little at the irony. When I was a teenager living in Seattle my only thought was to get into the sun, but here I am, begging it's mercy. I slide to my backside under a tree. Water trickles from it's spindly branches and peachy-pink leaves, catching on my scalp and soothing my sunburn.
Slowly, my senses return. My vision becomes piqued, the colors surging in my head as though I've never before experienced them. The first color I notice is a deep lush green. I start to think that may possibly be the only color that exists in this oasis, but am proved wrong. I begin to notice specks of blue, then specks of yellow. They are in random placement, as goes the nature of wildflowers. Next my brain refocuses my ears, and I notice scarce and faint chirps of birds in the trees I lay under. A variety of sopranos hit forte until one long, loud bass ruptures their finely tuned orchestra.
I imagine that this bird is a great predator, reaching heights some airplanes may even envy. Its wings must flap only a few times to keep it aloft for many miles. The wingspan could wrap around my body, head to foot, several times before stretching to it's last and most lengthy feather. The colors this bird could carry astound me. Indigo being it's most common identifier, the chocolate undertone would act as a moderator to help it hide from it's prey.
While dreaming of this lovely angel, I begin to wander. My feet carry me past new diverse plants. The first to catch my eye has three petals, each curving up from a long, light green stem back to the ground, curling beneath itself and tickling a few blades of grass. It’s as if the blood red flowers are taking care of the organisms that surround them, providing them with droplets of water that gather on their petals and giving the water purpose. I kneel to experience these rarities not only with my eyes but with my nose and fingers as well. The scent is delicate and barely definable, and reminds me of lemongrass and wisteria vines. The petals have tiny peach-fuzz hairs, letting the water roll off onto it’s leaves that stretch low and wide on the stem. Getting a closer look, I now notice fragile orange tiger stripes along the edge of each petal. They point up and towards the middle of the plant, acting as veins to distribute nourishment all the way to the tips of the petals.
I move on and continue to daydream about what types of creatures might live in a place like this. Soon enough my expansive stride takes me past something alive and moving. It’s a tiny bug nibbling at the roots of a tree. The tree itself has a complicated bark, following a complex swirling pattern with many layers. The leaves are jagged on the edges with spines on the surfaces.
Back at the roots, the bug flits across my toes to get to another swirl of bark. The tree emits an aroma similar to that of fish, so I stay for a period of time that allows me to get a brief impression of the bug and nothing more. It has at least twenty legs, ten on each side, and an oval shaped body, reminding me of roly-poly bugs I would play with when I was younger. It has little pinchers in the front that don’t seem to be able to harm anything except this tree.
I continue along the underbrush of the oasis, thinking about the cuteness of the bug I just found and wondering how a bug can be cute. Somehow, this one achieved it. My thoughts take a new turn, and I start thinking about the last time I was this happy. I don’t believe I have ever found a place as peaceful as this. There has always been something to do or somewhere to go, but not here. I never want to return from my enterprise of exploration. I settle myself on a little brown rock about ten feet away from the bug. It has a fairly soft density, and little pieces crumble off as I make myself comfortable. I find that it still has heat and wonder how, seeing as the sun doesn’t reach past the treetops.
I lower my torso onto the rock, face to the sky, and realize this particular rock isn’t covered by trees but a wide blue patch of sky. My breath deepens and my fingers relax. Falling asleep, I haven’t a care in the world and neither will my dreams.

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     XOXOXO, JC