The Field

The stampeding shadows of the many clouds, plunging and braying, dashed across the field, pursuing the butterflies and cotton tree seeds. Kylin lay, sprawled out on the grass. The breeze ruffled his shirt, tugging it slightly off to the northeast. The world was nearly silent.

Kylin felt peaceful. The wind was comfortable on his exposed features, soothing his nose and mouth. For the first time in days he was comfortable. The Homeric journey of his past few days had sapped him of his energy. He had gone back and forth, back and forth, until his legs were being skinned alive. He had faced giants, and sirens, and remained unfazed. His mentality had been tested, his morals tried. He had resisted them all. After all, he didn’t care anymore.

Nothing that happened now was of any interest to Kylin. His classes seemed trivial, his work a chore, and games held no joy in them. The world blurred in front of his face. He was trying not to remember the past. It wasn’t working.

He had lain here, all those months ago, in that exact same spot. It was a little warmer then, summer being in full swing, but not uncomfortably so. He remembered the pressure on his arm, the weight on his chest. It crushed him even now. He didn’t want to remember.

The sky was beginning to darken. He wished to forget. He wanted nothing more than to lie there, completely separated from the rest of the world. No, he wanted to join the rest of the world, and leave his memories behind when he stood.

The lights came on. Kylin felt a rumble beneath his head. The grass shook as what felt like hundreds of people converged on him. He still couldn’t hear.

A helmeted face descended over him. He knew who it was, but couldn’t put a name to it. It looked worried. The man above him reached down to help him up. Kylin accepted the hand and moved to stand. The world went black. When he awoke in the hospital the next day, he couldn’t remember anything.

Copyright 2011 | Sam Zimmerman |

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