Dusk, I followed the tracks into the woods.

  I'm not making it home.

  It began to snow.

  I thought of turning back, the shelter of that tunnel would be better than this. But something wouldn't allow me to turn back.

  Hunger?

  Fear?

  Loneliness?

  I followed nice and slow…

  to slow… something wrong I feel like I'm walking in quicksand like I'm being pulled towards something again. I don't remember the trees caving in towards me like this. They hooked,

  and pulled,

  and waited.

  I don't like this, this is wrong. I’m cold, I’m tired, this is useless… I broke away from the last parts of humanity and moved slowly towards where I hoped my camp would be even without the trees wandering; the dark doesn't care about me getting home.

  Something about the darkness even now it’s full. I missed this calm, quiet hope, I won't allow myself to waste it, a chance at a normal life that's all I want.

  I just need to stop being stupid, life's not out there, life's what I clawed out of the earth with my bloodied, aching hands.

  I'm alive.

  The bug wandered their light shining true leading them through the woods,

  but where there is light there is shadow.

  and I think, it must be faced head-on.

  The wind blew cold and sharp, the moon watching over the piece of the valley's plateau, the stars proving their worth to the sun by tending to their own life.

  The scale was balanced, as for the game, the acts are no longer in motion as they have been waiting for your move,

  the bugs move,

  but,

  This isn't a game anymore,

  Life is a cruel and unfortunate thing.

  A calm night, a slow night, the forest as sickly quiet as it's become is rabid, lapping at the feet of the youth trapped in its walls.

  The ground soft lifting coating covering, leaving a weathered trail behind.

  As our bug trudges forward

  a second path awakens.

  Not animal,

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  Not human,

  Our Bug, already injured and starved,

  there's no fight to be had.

  But a fight is what had them.

  leaning forward hiding their neck and face pulling their weight to balance,

  Steadily,

  strong.

  Pulling both hands out bearing their weapon and their teeth.

  The land shifted under their feet pulling, pushing.

  As that thing made the first move spiraled twisting.

  Every muscle in its body contorted.

  Moving like it had no joints or bones restraining it. Bug threw their arms to block, the force of the hit rung through their mind like the toll of a bell.

  Unlucky, they are still human.

  Humans fight with words and machines.

  They are animals now, no humanity, no pleasantries.

  They felt their weight shift forward as their body took over.

  This is for nothing over nothing, just like the most human war to be fought.

  Our bug was never made to fight.

  But like all life, they'll fight whether they choose to or not.

  Wary, and weary, they fought with blooded knuckles and bloody nose.

  They fought with bruised shins and torn clothes.

  The blood fell.

  Before they realized

  Black,

  Blue,

  red,

  coated their chest and arms as they fought.

  Rage pulled at every fiber of their soul,

  sorrow at every piece of their heart,

  and fear in every corner of their mind.

  Until there was nothing left to fight.

  It was over.

  All over.

  The woods settled once again

  waiting.

  I woke Before the sun again, it has the strangest feeling doesn't it? Not many know the smell of the morning. But it's clean and pleasant.

  I don't think I'll feel that way for a while now.

  At least I know now, that thing,

  it's not human, it's just a husk, no noise, no fear.

  It's empty.

  Or that's what I'm telling myself.

  I begin to force myself to stand.

  I don't feel very strong.

  I don't know how to describe it.

  It was warm, crushing, something like pride but it was hollow. it's wrong… I shouldn't enjoy this feeling.

  My hands still burn and I can see the blood on my knuckles.

  I think it might be my own.

  My arms aren't obeying me, they are shaking terrified, but I don't feel frightened.

  Maybe they're afraid of me, I wouldn't blame them.

  The feeling it’s Respite? Freeing?

  There's some solace in it.

  I feel othered… I need to get away from here.

  The longer I stay the more volatile life becomes towards me. It's trying to rid of me,

  I overstayed my welcome.

  I'm sure of it.

  I collected my things and began to turn my back to this.

  I won't be what you want.

  You can't have me.

  I won't fall for your traps.

  To live here is to be separated from life.

  Running only prolongs the inevitable.

  They will become what they fear whatever they choose it to be.

  “Water.” “lighter.” “lichen.” Both edible and flammable. Dry wood is becoming harder to find… shame, I don't have any more.

  I've gotten lucky.

  I'm not going to get lucky anymore.

  I won't survive another fight, not like this.

  Not even against myself.

  It's time to go.