Short vignette: Content Warning, allusions to murder and grief
"It's strange really. Why did you rope me into this?" I said, fiddling with a small blade of wildgrass.
"You'd have thought we'd grow tired of each other by now. Tearing each other apart."
Beyond my bubble of comfort burned a fresh camp fire. The billowing smoke deciding I would be the first to feel its gift.
"Well, you can't say we are necessarily the most agreeable... we can't stand each other, just in different ways." The long blonde hair of my friend swept out from behind the campfire smoke, brushing it aside before sitting across the way.
He accosted me again "Not like you're the introspective type. Seems like such a random time to bring that up."
He wasn't wrong. The gentle heart of this camping trip was slowly being tainted by my questioning. It made me feel embarrassed to admit.
I flicked the blade in his direction. "Well some of us want to look back on their lives. I feel like I have all this potential at my finger tips..."
My friend interjected before I could finish "but you feel like it's wasted being here with the people you enjoy."
His comment traded my embarrassment for shame, that couldn't be further from the truth, but suspicion wasn't unfounded.
I tried to wave away the notion "that's not what I mean."
My reassurance fell on playfully deaf ears "Mhm, and you have a twelve pack and three days of hiking, stuck with me, so I'd suggest giving your strange ideals a vacation too?"
He traded me a smile, though he was difficult to see in clarity. The billowing smoke occluded the pine freshened air between us.
I could see he was looking for a way to purposefully move on the conversation. Things change you though, and as I sat there staring at him, I couldn't help but feel the dull ache of an empty plastic bottle in my pocket.
The rustling of the trees became distant intermittently, replaced by the rushing of a hidden pursuer.
"I'd encourage you to make the most out of these moments." The gentle demeanor of his face distorting beyond the flames.
The weight of the bottle anchoring me to the earth, the remnants of occupants long metabolized, lapping against the shores of my sanity.
Fear brushed a gentle chill across my neck. I thumbed the bottle, trading the distortion with the last cries of help I could muster.
"Wait, I'm sorry." I said, half demanding, and yet his face sit beyond the fire, unchanging, smiling. Terror and guilt crept up my spine.
Within the cruel wave I felt the weight. Pressure enveloping my chest, though not robbing me of movement, instead incentivizing my writhing heart.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump
"You know I can't do that." His smile slowly giving way to indifference. It was disgusting, the feeling. He dare rob me of comfort.
HE did this.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump
His gentle blonde hair slowly greying with the whisps of the trees. His indifference held firm, though his visage refused. Emaciation beset his face, sloughing the youth from his cheeks.
HE did this to hurt me.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump
Though his age began to show, he still turned to face me, child-like whimsy within his hazing eyes.
"I'd encourage you long and hard to enjoy... every moment." he said with wry intention.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump
The forest went quiet, all of existence stopped in one cruel instance of interrogating silence. My friend only continued to stare at me, expectingly.
I screamed "I'm sorry! You forced me to do it!"
The indifference made way for a pitying smile. He spoke to me with honeyed words for the first time of an eternity of punishment. "I know, and still you did it anyway."
His aging visage gave way to dust, becoming one with the smoke of the fire.
Thump, thump.
Thump, thump.
I was alone again. Beset by the patience of the forest, I could focus on the land around me. I gaze into the fire and see the prominent ridges of scattered wood logs.
The peculiar arrangement was more for the lack of experience in camping, more than the blatant hiding of evidence.
The weight of the plastic bottle in my pocket reminded me of my hubris. I reached in, thumbing the clear orange bottle. It's white top with a familiar ridged curvature.
I tossed it too into the fire, mixing with the unusual boards of wood.
Towards the evening, as the fire began to die out, I had made my way through the beer, trying to pull myself to the shores of sanity, focusing on the fire.
Though my focus did nothing more than remind me of the horrors of my new reality.
Thump, thump.
I know
Beneath the ashes of dying fire sat a burning skull, it's prominent brow ridge staring daggers into my heart.
Thump, thump
... and you still did it anyway