{"id":142422,"date":"2026-01-27T20:46:51","date_gmt":"2026-01-27T20:46:51","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/?p=142422"},"modified":"2026-07-12T21:59:23","modified_gmt":"2026-07-12T21:59:23","slug":"no-entry","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/?p=142422","title":{"rendered":"No Entry"},"content":{"rendered":"

\nState police recovered the enclosed journal a few miles from the murder scene and thirty minutes from the station near Timberdoodle trail. They have not publicly connected it to the crime, but staties filed it into evidence. Please advise. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nEntry 1:<\/b>\n<\/p>\n

\nFound a dead fox only 30 feet from camp, its entrails spilled on melted snow. Must\u2019ve caught scent of the food I\u2019d left out.\n<\/p>\n

\n[Did I leave any food out? I\u2019d fried several strips of Farmer\u2019s Fresh Bacon, but can\u2019t remember if that was last night or the night previous.]\n<\/p>\n

\nVowed to be more careful with food. Stupid mistakes get you killed. <\/u>Even found scabs on my ankle \u2013 still can\u2019t really tell what it is. The skin\u2019s red and swollen but doesn\u2019t hurt to touch. No impact on walking or any other motor functions \u2013 shouldn\u2019t be of any real concern.\n<\/p>\n

\nThe disemboweled fox blocked the exit to camp on the path that winds around the boulders and away from the Cartesian forest. Had to clear the carcass out of the way. Got a branch and used it like a shovel\u2014hoisted the corpse in the air, minded the ice, found a smooth uncovered 4×4 plot of dirt and grass a few hundred yards from camp. Sun lit up through the canopy like light pouring through a cathedral window onto an open casket. Dew dripped from the tips of frozen branches and tickled the ground: tap tap tap. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nTook a fist-sized rock and dug a shallow grave down to my wrists. It was all the earth would allow. I lowered the body inside and pushed the pile of dirt over it. I had all but ran out of food from my last excursion, but was not about to risk illness with a dead animal.\n<\/p>\n

\nSaid a few words of remembrance \u2013 reflected on the struggle for life, survival of the fittest, etc. The speech was rousing \/ impressive but I don\u2019t remember a word of it now, or else would have rewritten it verbatim.\n<\/p>\n

\n[Not sure if I spoke anything aloud or just thought of it all in my head. I read in the latest Time Magazine that the brain cannot distinguish between real time occurrence and post-hoc recall, or so a study shows.]\n<\/p>\n

\nAfter the business with the fox, I crawled back to camp and laid in my tent for over 20 mins mulling over the whole ordeal. Tried to break the ice in the bucket. Bashed it repeatedly without any promising results. Figured that it\u2019d thaw enough by sunrise to get a pot of boiling water rolling, and then could dunk my socks and remove the filth caked to them. They still retain the stink of unwashed feet\u2014like moldy jam and sweat. Remove socks when wet, not shortly after, but immediately.\n<\/p>\n

\nQUESTION: How\u2019d it die? Did it catch my scent, climb the hill, and split its stomach on a jagged rock? Did something kill it and leave it to die, got bored with its meal, or just killed it for the sick pleasure?<\/u>\n<\/p>\n

\nDoesn\u2019t help being alone while parsing such questions. Can only write by the light of the moon these days.\n<\/p>\n

\nRemain humble esp. when confronting the unknown. <\/u>\n<\/p>\n

\nWon\u2019t spend much longer pondering the situation. There\u2019s blood on the side of my hand from burying its body. Going to wash it in the stream 1 mile down the path, listen to the world around me: squirrels\u2019ll bicker b\/c I\u2019ll be too close to their tree\/home; birds\u2019ll dart around above to find somewhere warmer\u2014a tree\u2019ll moan and crack, shedding one of its limbs and a sheet of snow. There won\u2019t be anyone for miles. <\/u>\n<\/p>\n

\nTO-DO:\n<\/p>\n

\nNeed more food; supplies are low.\n<\/p>\n

\nNeed to make double-sure that I\u2019ve cleaned up after myself at night.\n<\/p>\n

\nWash hands in the stream even when I\u2019m too tired.\n<\/p>\n

\nConduct a second sweep of the path that leads out of the camp.\n<\/p>\n

\nNeed to devise a way to keep water from turning into a solid block of ice overnight.\n<\/p>\n

\n

\n<\/p>\n

\nEntry 2:<\/b>\n<\/p>\n

\nFound an actual working wrist-watch so waking has been much easier: 2:10 AM in the crisp air at God\u2019s hour: the trees hold their breath and nothing dares break the perfect stillness \u2018neath the stars [WHITMAN YES].\n<\/p>\n

\nSpring\u2019s rounding the corner and so a change is sweeping through. It\u2019s probably warm enough now to sleep into the coldest nethers of the night but can never be too careful. <\/u>I\u2019ll continue rising early to keep the blood pumping through the veins\/arteries and not let the pipes freeze. I have awoken encased in a sleeping bag, ice crawling across my chest like a straight jacket, immobile and faltering pulse etc. Enough to adopt a nocturnal lifestyle, ensure that I\u2019m safe and surviving.\n<\/p>\n

\nI\u2019ve spent several hours peeping in the bushes outside a rich cabin getaway, eavesdropping on a husband&wife \u2013 they\u2019ve been discussing travel plans south. Said they\u2019d be gone for the next week at least. It\u2019s the best chance I\u2019ve had in months.\n<\/p>\n

\nBut couldn\u2019t just go trudging up to the front door like a belligerent freeloader. I had to prep.\n<\/p>\n

\nLit the bunsen burner and did 72 laps [counted each one] around the perimeter of camp to get the liquids moving from toes to cranium, and back and forth.\n<\/p>\n

\nStrapped a screwdriver to my hip, and layered up\u2014long underwear, 4 pairs of soleless socks [one tied around the neck], night-sky pajama bottoms, Highland boots, extra hoodie, ski jacket, emergency hand\/feet warmers, beanie, gloves, two pairs of boxer briefs, and what was left of the jerky I\u2019d saved. Felt like a marshmallow man underneath it all. Imagined rolling across the ground like a rock collecting moss, tumbling and hurtling down a hillside in an anonymous plot of land. While strapping up, I noticed an unsightly pelt of hair on the backside of my hand. At least it could help insulate the heat.\n<\/p>\n

\nBe grateful for what you have. <\/u>\n<\/p>\n

\nSet off with a dull pain in my lower back [age is outrunning experience].\n<\/p>\n

\nThe boulders had become slick with ice. Butt-crawled most of the descent. Worked my way down the incline and onto flatter land.\n<\/p>\n

\nChecked the watch: a brisk 60 mins had already passed.\n<\/p>\n

\nHad to hurry\u2014the moon hung like a flickering and dying lamp, a patchwork of early morning clouds passing over, energy waning and waxing with it; and by the time I arrived, the sky was placid as a lake. Body heat was up from the jog, so I returned the beanie to the pack. Flicked up my hood, a lone bead of sweat snaking between my eyes. Cool air rushed in, tickled the beard, made my eyes water.\n<\/p>\n

\nI crouched\u2014waited 20 min, peering down the winding, forested road leading to the garage door. Waited for strange shapes to resolve themselves into bushes, trees, and snow piles. Caught a few phantoms in the peripherals, and a closer look revealed them for what they were \u2013 just a bit of photopsia and faint reflections of the moon. Noticed that husband&wife had left their BMW parked in the driveway, encased in ice, but I immediately dashed the thought of carjacking.\n<\/p>\n

\nBreathing slowed\u2014waited til silence remained constant for several minutes [counted prime numbers to 167, then backwards from 31]. Got to work.\n<\/p>\n

\nJammed the screwdriver into the back doorknob. Jiggled but it wouldn\u2019t give.\n<\/p>\n

\nGot frustrated\/careless and tried to take the damn thing off its hinges. Refocused and self-corrected.\n<\/p>\n

\nNever lose your cool esp. during a break-in.<\/u>\n<\/p>\n

\nInserted the slot-head at a 45 deg. angle, rotated the knob to the left. It clicked. I turned it to the right and the door swung inside the living room.\n<\/p>\n

\nStench of pine-scent and lemon assaulted the nostrils right away. The place had been cleaned within the past 24 hrs. Someone else had a key and access to the premises.\n<\/p>\n

\nI couldn\u2019t waste any more time.\n<\/p>\n

\nI found the pantry and took the non-perishables on the shelf: black beans, beef chili, \u201chomegrown\u201d corn, green peas, sausage gravy, tomato sauce, pan noodles, french onion soup, Cape Cod chips, crunchy peanut butter, paper towels, silverware, a painted plate [for the collection], and an oven mitt.\n<\/p>\n

\nChecked the fridge. Found a dozen eggs\u2014not sure how long they\u2019d been there or if they were far past their expiration date [nothing on the carton], so I took half of them for frying.\n<\/p>\n

\nI ventured into the bathroom and found several rolls of toilet paper. Stuffed the only two that would fit in the pack, now heavy. Quite heavy. Set it on the bathmat.\n<\/p>\n

\nCaught sight of the shower curtain. It\u2019d been pulled closed. I eased it open, half-expecting that something hidden inside waited to pounce on me.\n<\/p>\n

\nEmpty\u2014of course.\n<\/p>\n

\nThen I had a short-lived debate:\n<\/p>\n

\nYes\n<\/p>\n

\nNo\n<\/p>\n

\nYes. Your feet are filthy. Your hands, too.\n<\/p>\n

\nAlmost black!<\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nGave into temptation so I shed my clothes and stepped inside. Grappled with the curtain and steadied myself on the slick floor.\n<\/p>\n

\nThe water spat forth as soon as I touched the knob.\n<\/p>\n

\nIt stung and I howled\u2014jumped away from the stream of boiling water. Amazed that it had been hot so immediately. I eased myself back into it: first a foot, then a leg, then arms, stomach, and head. It was numbing. I laid my head against the tile, let the steam rise all around, watched torrents of dirt\/excrement rinse off of my body. Lost all control and peed into the drain; it was tinged red with blood.\n<\/p>\n

\nBut I hardly acknowledged it, and almost fell asleep anyway. There were tiles with yellow lilies painted on the porcelain and they formed a complete portrait around the half-moon of the shower; I followed the patterns for a time and forgot about myself, the winter, etc.\n<\/p>\n

\nHeard a creak in the floorboards and my body jolted to attention. I shut it off, scrambled out.\n<\/p>\n

\nI pulled one foot out of the steam and landed on the shag bathmat. I drew the rest of my body out of the shower and stretched my limbs.\n<\/p>\n

\nSaw a figure at the door, swallowed in shadow \u2013 a misshapen savage. It must have been waiting the whole time to slit my throat.\n<\/p>\n

\nHeart dropped to my stomach. Half-digested food threatened to spoil the floor.\n<\/p>\n

\nI held up my hands in pathetic self-defense, and I yelped. Saw the figure shrink, aping my movement.\n<\/p>\n

\nJust a reflection: a body-sized mirror bolted to the back of the door.\n<\/p>\n

\nFlushed hot with embarrassment, I got dressed, unable to look myself in the face. I hadn\u2019t seen myself in three years and I wasn\u2019t about to start then. I packed my things and ran for the door.\n<\/p>\n

\nIt was an important lesson in not wasting time<\/u>, especially for an unnecessary shower.\n<\/p>\n

\nBut I had to stop for one last thing: the bookshelf. That was a non-negotiable. I nabbed a few for the collection: book called Station Eleven, the latest Dean Koontz, and ah! the holy grail\u2014a copy of Ulysses [my second one!], this edition with Joyce sporting an eyepatch for his glaucoma: leeched, rugged and life-worn.\n<\/p>\n

\nMade for the door after these last few luxuries but was stopped again. All these delays! What sloppy work.\n<\/p>\n

\nThere was a note resting on the breakfast bar that I\u2019d sworn hadn\u2019t been there before:\n<\/p>\n

\nDEAR HERMIT,\n<\/p>\n

\nPlease don\u2019t break in again. Leave us a list of what you need and we\u2019ll be happy to provide it for you.\n<\/p>\n

\nBest,\n<\/p>\n

\nMr. and Mrs. Linderman<\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nI had the distinct feeling of being watched\u2014dropped the note like it was poisoned and rushed for the exit, peering over my shoulder, desperate to spot my pursuers.\n<\/p>\n

\nForgot to even close the door and couldn\u2019t shake that sick feeling until I was home again, panting and exhausted. The sun was cresting the horizon and as soon as I laid my body on the floor of the tent, I fell asleep.\n<\/p>\n

\nI woke, began writing, and prepped the eggs for dinner.\n<\/p>\n

\nTO DO:\n<\/p>\n

\nNever go near the husband&wife cabin again<\/u>. Triple underline.\n<\/p>\n

\n

\n<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\nEntry 3: <\/b>\n<\/p>\n

\nSick. Sick. Very sick. Retching, fever, sweats, shaking, etc.\n<\/p>\n

\nA struggle just to catch an hour of undisturbed sleep.\n<\/p>\n

\nMust have been the eggs. Tasted like spoiled meat.\n<\/p>\n

\nQUESTION: How does one. . .\n<\/p>\n

\nMUST THINK PAST<\/u>\n<\/p>\n

\n

\n<\/p>\n

\nEntry 4: <\/b>\n<\/p>\n

\nCan see a man leaning over me. He smells like burned meat and body odor. Can\u2019t verify if hallucination or. . . telling me my ex-wife\u2019s maiden name?? FOLLOWING ME THIS WHOLE TIME<\/u>.\n<\/p>\n

\n

\n<\/p>\n

\nEntry 5: <\/b>\n<\/p>\n

\nMan still here, eating my food supplies, his fingers fully inserted in the goddamn crunchy peanut butter. Has a cane he twiddles in his fingers. Insists that I call him Jeremiah and that we\u2019re long-time acquaintances from a life I can\u2019t remember. He\u2019s terribly interested in my background. Can\u2019t get more than a few words without passing out again.\n<\/p>\n

\nQUESTION:\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\n<\/p>\n

\n

\n<\/p>\n

\nEntry 6:<\/b>\n<\/p>\n

\nI hardly remember writing the last few entries\u2014fell into depths that I hadn\u2019t known before. Still feeling the residual effects of sickness but surviving, living, able to struggle on. I can stand now, write in clear sentences, and eat the food I have.\n<\/p>\n

\nNone of the supplies are gone which makes this \u201cJeremiah\u201d in the previous entries an obvious fever dream. Still shaken about it though. Every shadow makes me twitch. I\u2019ve been checking and rechecking the food supply every hour.\n<\/p>\n

\nSlept well past 2am and so ran a serious risk of freezing entirely and not waking up at all.\n<\/p>\n

\nSpring is closer than ever. <\/u>\n<\/p>\n

\nSpent a full hour in meditation today. I had much to clear from my mind. Sat by the creek which had thawed enough for water to gurgle through the rocks, sticks, and such.\n<\/p>\n

\nTried my best to keep my mind sharp, but invariably it led back to Jeremiah and to oblivion: both waited like a phantom assailant around every corner, and when given my fullest attention, they vanished.\n<\/p>\n

\nI was brought back to reality, noticing all of my nails, fingers and toes were crammed with dirt. I tried cleaning them with a branch.\n<\/p>\n

\nPatience with troubling matters esp. re. philosophical quandaries that have plagued mankind for centuries<\/u>.\n<\/p>\n

\n

\n<\/p>\n

\nEntry 7:<\/b>\n<\/p>\n

\nFinished Sun also Rises b\/c lauded as a great american novel [even though it\u2019s written as and by an ex-pat] and b\/c of its supposed artistic merit, etc.\n<\/p>\n

\nWandered back to Joyce after considerable distress\u2014resolved not to stray again.\n<\/p>\n

\nSpent the day rereading Oxen of the Sun.\n<\/p>\n

\nThe temperature was on a steady incline but the ice and snow still clung to the tips of branches and the base of the hills. The panorama sparkled all around: an unbroken image which no photo could capture, nor any words could depict, so I shall rightly not even attempt to do so here.\n<\/p>\n

\nDrifted off to sleep after reading for several hours\u2014lost in a Joycean sentence-labyrinth.\n<\/p>\n

\nDreamt of my past:\n<\/p>\n

\nwrapping my ears when there were too many voices at once, bickering, arguing. . .\n<\/p>\n

\nrunning my hand over the surface of every table in every room. . .\n<\/p>\n

\nscraping my sharp knuckles on the walls of the house. . .\n<\/p>\n

\nputting my hand above the lit wick of a candle until burning the tips of my fingers. . .\n<\/p>\n

\nscreaming when my family contradicted me, throwing plates, silverware, and the salt&pepper shakers against the wall to watch something shatter\u2014felt the rush of satisfaction that I had the power to do so. . .\n<\/p>\n

\nmy son and his mother cowering like I would hurt them, like they\u2019d seen me truly for the first time. . .\n<\/p>\n

\nfinding her hours after she had found him, way too late, locked in the bathroom, the life draining out of his arms. . .\n<\/p>\n

\nStartled awake \u2013 I reassured myself that I was alive and safe, food stocked in the cooler, my survival guaranteed for the week.\n<\/p>\n

\nMy only responsibility is to myself<\/u>.\n<\/p>\n

\nNo people. No guilt. No distractions.\n<\/p>\n

\n

\n<\/p>\n

\nEntry 8: <\/b>\n<\/p>\n

\nI woke up this morning with blood all over my jacket.\n<\/p>\n

\nI peeled it off and found blood caked to my arms, across my chest as well.\n<\/p>\n

\nI pressed the back of my hand to my forehead to check for a gash and more of it came off in flakes.\n<\/p>\n

\nDirt and blood under my fingernails. I gnawed at them, but the saliva did no good.\n<\/p>\n

\nChecked my watch [also covered in blood] read: 7am. Ran to the edge of camp, climbed a boulder to look around: everything seemed <\/em>normal.\n<\/p>\n

\nA few birds disembarked from a tree branch\u2014a few trees bent to a breeze passing through. A terrible thought crossed my mind.\n<\/p>\n

\nI checked the food stock, flipped the latch on the cooler and threw it open. It was all gone.\n<\/p>\n

\nEvery last bit of food: the cans, the noodles, the French onion soup.\n<\/p>\n

\nI felt dizzy and sick. My head throbbed and I fantasized about murder.\n<\/p>\n

\nI fished some matches from my pocket to quell the anxiety. Lit one of them and held it to the base of the burner.\n<\/p>\n

\nI stopped, pulled it back.\n<\/p>\n

\nStared at the bunsen and the flame crawled up the match. When it brushed my finger, it clicked:\n<\/p>\n

\nJeremiah. Toying with me.\n<\/p>\n

\nHe left the note. He made me sick. He covered me with the blood of some helpless animal. I grabbed a crowbar and laid it beside me\u2014pet it like it was an obedient dog.\n<\/p>\n

\n

\n<\/p>\n

\nEntry n:<\/b>\n<\/p>\n

\nForgot which entry I was on; writing has not been a priority.\n<\/p>\n

\nShouldn\u2019t write for too long\u2014it\u2019s easy to lose concentration.\n<\/p>\n

\nFound a particular way of crouching to avoid cutting off blood flow to my feet and keeping them tingly and warm. I stand to feel the head rush and get dizzy and little fish swim around my vision\u2014\n<\/p>\n

\nI have a few pieces of jerky left. They were buried for emergencies. I dug through an ant pile to retrieve it. A few of the nasty buggers assaulted my left hand and made it look like an abused pin cushion. I pulled the jerky and fiddled with the plastic wrap, laid each piece atop my tongue one at a time so they\u2019d soak in saliva for as long as possible.\n<\/p>\n

\nCaught sight of Jeremiah and his silver cane\u2014his coattails badly hid behind the trunk of a giant pine tree. Tore after him and made a ruckus doing so.\n<\/p>\n

\nPATIENCE PATIENCE PATIENCE<\/u>\n<\/p>\n

\nGrabbed the crowbar and hacked through the branches.\n<\/p>\n

\nAll that bushwacking came to nothing; he had slipped away.\n<\/p>\n

\nIt was at the southeast end of the hill, looming over my camp \u2013 directly adjacent to the Cartesian Forest.\n<\/p>\n

\nNote for the non-existent reader: This part of the forest is arranged like a grid\u2014trees in perfect rows and columns. Probably planted after a fire or bug infestation.\n<\/p>\n

\nI do not, repeat, do not go near. Most definitely haunted. Have had several nightmares where I can\u2019t escape, sprinting through infinite X and Y coordinates and axes.\n<\/p>\n

\n

\n<\/p>\n

\nEntry ?? <\/b>(scribbled on a loose-leaf paper shoved into the journal)<\/em>:\n<\/p>\n

\nAnother mystery of the \u201cgreat\u201d american canon\u2014this charlatan, whose rag, \u201cWalden,\u201d I\u2019d been thumbing through. Here, he spends a few brisk weekends on his plot of land \u201cin the woods\u201d and spends the remainder of his life cashing in on the rugged ur-american image which it affords him. Imagine being only a few hours walk from the city, and only half a mile to the train station!\n<\/p>\n

\nA true recluse seeks no external validation. He scoffs at the idea of recognition or the delusion that the press of a publisher will grant him immortality. True self-reliance requires no codified set of rules or philosophical contrivances. All it requires is an unshakable faith in the self. [Note non-existent reader, that I intend on burning each of these scribblings as soon as I\u2019ve put a period on the final sentence\u2014I\u2019m only writing to relieve an itch when it needs to be scratched.]\n<\/p>\n

\n

\n<\/p>\n

\nEntry n+1:<\/b>\n<\/p>\n

\nBarely have the energy to write, and haven’t eaten in almost a week. Collapsed after capturing a bird that was injured and would have made a suitable dinner. Was clinging to a branch. Placed a hand on it\u2014it flew away and I slipped.\n<\/p>\n

\nHit the ground\u2014coughed blood all over my jacket. Prayed for anonymous rescue. Tried screaming SOS but was only heard by the wolves.\n<\/p>\n

\nThought I had more food buried but none in the burial site to be found.\n<\/p>\n

\nTrying to think of \u2013\n<\/p>\n

\nIf this is my last entry, c\u2019est la vie. Was a thrilling ride.\n<\/p>\n

\n
<\/p>\n

\nEntry n+[x+1]:<\/b>\n<\/p>\n

\nCan hardly fathom that my latest entry was two days ago. Feels like months have passed.\n<\/p>\n

\nMade the decision to crawl for food since so few options were available.\n<\/p>\n

\nBy all means, I should have died. I had done the basic arithmetic: I didn\u2019t have the energy to make it anywhere on an empty stomach and still expect to survive.\n<\/p>\n

\nFound a bush of berries and didn\u2019t bother to check if it was safe to eat or not \u2013 it didn\u2019t matter.\n<\/p>\n

\nWhat mattered was finding something\/anything to keep the muscles contracting, blood flowing, internal organs operating.\n<\/p>\n

\nDidn\u2019t walk as much as stumbled from trunk to trunk\u2014pausing at each one and willing myself to the next.\n<\/p>\n

\nCertain that I\u2019d lose consciousness\u2014probably did but kept delving further.\n<\/p>\n

\nArrived at a ring of wooden buildings. Was very dark \u2013 the moon obscured behind heavy cloud cover.\n<\/p>\n

\nStruggled with the screwdriver at the door for over an hour. Kept leaning my head against the cold metal door and drifting off.\n<\/p>\n

\nDreamed two or three times that I\u2019d unlocked the door and fallen into a full buffet: sausage gravy, buttermilk biscuits, crispy bacon, blueberry jam, milk, oatmeal, deviled eggs, pancakes, crunchy peanut butter, and a slab of T-Bone steak. Had, each time, slathered a pancake with peanut butter and pressed it to my lips, only to jolt awake in the subzero temperatures, an imprint of my forehead on the door.\n<\/p>\n

\nWith the last bit of energy, I jammed the lock and nearly pulled the handle out of its socket. It gave \u2013 I fell and just barely caught myself from collapsing on the floor.\n<\/p>\n

\nThere was no breakfast feast inside, but I did liberate a number of canned goods from the pantry.\n<\/p>\n

\nI opened the refrigerator door and a vanilla-cream cake glowed from within, bathing my face in its glory like a protagonist-adventurer uncovering an apocryphal pot of gold.\n<\/p>\n

\nLess ate the pastry than smashed it with my face and inhaled every bite.\n<\/p>\n

\nAfterwards, I fell to the floor with frosting dripping from my cheeks and chin. Lay famished like a voracious romantic having just made life-affirming love and feeling for a fleeting moment that he\u2019d satiated his desire from then on into perpetuity.\n<\/p>\n

\nArising, I followed the small bit of light shining through the window. Outside was a sign: Joshua Martia\u2019s Boys Club of Washington County. <\/em>On it, carved and painted, was a river and a boy peering across it, a compass in his hand.\n<\/p>\n

\nAmateurs.\n<\/p>\n

\nThe light shifted. A figure swept across.\n<\/p>\n

\nI saw him at the window, both his hands over his eyes pressed against the glass, a devilish smile across his face. He scrunched his face and twiddled his upper lip, as if to say, \u201cGot you, my friend.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nMy heart rate spiked. I leapt to the door, but he\u2019d taken off down the lane.\n<\/p>\n

\nHe crossed the courtyard and edged the corner of a cottage, up the path that led to the building at the center of the camp.\n<\/p>\n

\nI\u2019d lost sight before I could even get down the damn steps, but I couldn\u2019t let him escape. I tore off across the courtyard in a full sprint, running whichever direction seemed most promising. I hadn\u2019t made it much past the length of the central building before I collided with an unknown shape. The force of impact knocked it flat on its back quivering in a heap at my feet. Had not a second of realization before the shape emitted a scream quite unlike anything I\u2019d heard before.\n<\/p>\n

\nA chill swept through my body.\n<\/p>\n

\nThe figure resolved itself into a middle-school boy still wearing his scout uniform that he\u2019d just soiled. Piss dripping down his leg, he scrambled backward, shrieking like a wounded bobcat, the noise making mincemeat of my eardrums. Lights exploded from within the building. Voices yelling, doors slamming \u2013 more of that infernal screaming. A door kicked open and the silhouette of a grown man emerged into the cold. He pointed a shotgun at me and the blast ripped a hole through the air. Instinct took over \u2013 I fell to all fours and propelled myself forward. Clods of debris exploded in my wake. A shell of pellets ripped a branch from its trunk and nearly crushed me on my zig-zagging escape.\n<\/p>\n

\nI sprinted away in an uncertain direction and didn\u2019t stop until I was at the edge of town. I fell on my back, chest expanding and contracting faster than I\u2019d ever experienced before. Struggled for well over 30 minutes to catch my breath in the frozen air. I tasted metallic at the back of my throat.\n<\/p>\n

\nClouds drifted overhead and I saw bits of snow spiral around a lamppost\u2014most of the flakes disappearing before they hit the ground. It was a bit of peace before I heard sirens screaming in the distance. I had to keep moving<\/u>.\n<\/p>\n

\nI sprinted up a path that weaved between cottages.\n<\/p>\n

\nA tall courthouse lit up behind me.\n<\/p>\n

\nI saw him again: Jeremiah stood at the far side of the building, as if to make sure I would see where he was going next. We made brief eye contact and then he ran down the steps that led to the fountains. He glided across the water and turned the corner. I knew what he was trying to do. When I caught up, I stopped at the door of a triplex to look inside \u2013 gazed at the antechamber and the plush leather chairs that were still there. I saw the door within and its numbers \u2013 it was my old home. A pain jabbed inside of me like a razor dragging through my esophagus. I placed my hand on the silver doorknob, but there was no entry. I felt homesick and for a brief moment, I thought of my family, and sitting around a fireplace. I thought of the radio and the smack of a baseball hitting my hand.\n<\/p>\n

\nBut that was in the past.\n<\/p>\n

\nJeremiah tapped me on the back and I swung around only to swipe the dead air. He laughed and backed away through the alley.\n<\/p>\n

\nI was at the steps within a few seconds\u2014down the stairs and then, almost at the corner, there was a great white light. I held up my arms. Someone shouted orders behind a flashlight. Neighbors shrieked.\n<\/p>\n

\nI whipped around and sprinted up a set of stairs, fell on all fours, and when a shot rang out and clipped the concrete arch above my head, I gripped the top step with both of my hands \u2013 propelled myself over the awning and towards the woods. I beat a path through the trees and back to the hill, not hesitating for a single moment.\n<\/p>\n

\nNot a single thought passed through my head.\n<\/p>\n

\nAfter a half-hour of sprinting, finally, I collapsed in my tent and sobbed through the night.\n<\/p>\n

\nSafe for just a brief moment, I whispered a prayer of sorts: I have my body and my mind<\/u>. I repeated it like a mantra until I drifted off for an indefinite period of time.\n<\/p>\n

\n

\n

\nEntry n+[x+y]:<\/b>\n<\/p>\n

\nHe caught me dozing [first mistake] and stole the little food I\u2019d left unsecured [second mistake]. He dismembered another poor animal carcass on the threshold of camp and set up wooden crosses just to taunt me.\n<\/p>\n

\nWoke up to him laughing like a cheap b-movie villain. He sat perched atop a boulder inhaling from a long pipe, smoke curling from his nose, his eyes, his ears, and his forearms. His mouth opened unnaturally, covering nearly half his face.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cTop of the morning,\u201d Jeremiah said, proffering his pipe.\n<\/p>\n

\nI had no choice. I wouldn\u2019t tolerate another moment of his torture.\n<\/p>\n

\nI was on him, a beast on its prey, galloping towards him. He squared up, and I charged, but my hands found no purchase. We rolled down the backside of the hill and across the boulders, tumbling down the incline.\n<\/p>\n

\nCouldn\u2019t stop the fall with my arms so my back did, against the broad side of a tree trunk. I heard a sharp snap and I cried out.\n<\/p>\n

\nJeremiah was already on his feet, and he scurried down the rows of the Cartesian Forest.\n<\/p>\n

\nI hoisted up and gave chase as best I could.\n<\/p>\n

\nHe weaved in and out of the trees, creating a jagged line across the coordinate plane, and I couldn\u2019t keep up. With each step, my back spasmed harder and harder like increasing electric shocks from an executioner.\n<\/p>\n

\nThe canopy cover was thick, and the further into the forest we ran, the more dense it became, the more light it obscured overhead.\n<\/p>\n

\nI clung to the bark of a tree and steadied myself.\n<\/p>\n

\nThe world started to spin; my peripheral vision blurred. The bark slipped out of my hands.\n<\/p>\n

\nI felt someone catch me.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cHey there, big guy,\u201d Jeremiah whispered.\n<\/p>\n

\nHe held up his cane and wiggled it for me to see.\n<\/p>\n

\nHe pulled something from my leg: it was a dart, blue fletchings on its end. There was a stripe of red from my blood.\n<\/p>\n

\nI lost consciousness and everything faded to black.\n<\/p>\n

\nWhen I came to, it was nighttime. I peered through my bleary vision. The canopy above wasn\u2019t as dense as before, but the clouds had taken its place, forming a patchwork ceiling across the whole sky. Two captures held onto the sides of a wheelbarrow and huffed with each steady push.\n<\/p>\n

\nI heard their voices. They were debating in hushed tones between gasps of breath. I started to decipher the particulars.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cFive thousand is not <\/em>unreasonable. It is, in fact, quite reasonable for the bounty.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nWe stopped.\n<\/p>\n

\nA man wiped his brow with the backside of his hand. He shook it and scoffed at the filth. He produced a handkerchief and dabbed his forehead. He was short and stout. He wore a cowboy hat and a badge \u2013 had a pistol strapped to his waist.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWe can talk all the financials you want once we get it to town. Once you\u2019ve fulfilled your end of the deal.\u201d He jabbed his partner in the chest. This other man wore a trench coat and had black, slicked-back hair, tied into a knot.\n<\/p>\n

\nThe third was Jeremiah, wandering a few feet behind us. He clearly had not touched the wheelbarrow at all.\n<\/p>\n

\nWe made brief eye contact and he smiled. Gave me a wink for good measure. I tried to squeeze my eyes shut, but not in time: he ran over and kicked me across the face. I roared in response.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cThe beast is awake!\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nThe pudgy one dropped the wheelbarrow and spilled me onto the cold ground. He went for his revolver, but paused when he saw I couldn\u2019t move.\n<\/p>\n

\nJeremiah laughed for a long time. First at me, and then at his partners. He pulled his cane to his lips and blew.\n<\/p>\n

\nA dart sank into my neck and all the muscles went slack \/ darkness returned.\n<\/p>\n

\nTheir ensuing debate degenerated into nonsense.\n<\/p>\n

\nNext thing I knew we were at the edge of the Cartesian Forest. I saw the length of the tree and snapped my eyes closed. I prayed Jeremiah hadn\u2019t seen me again. The wheelbarrow was gone and they dragged me by my armpits through the underbrush.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cHurry up!\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nThey pulled my body away from the shade and laid me in the moonlight. I could feel the light on the surface of my eyelids. I felt the warmth prickling up my arms, its power like a stiff shot of epinephrine. I began to hear the creak of the woods for miles in each direction. I could smell their sweat. I could hear the man\u2019s pistol rattling in its holster. I peeked through a sliver of an eyelid, saw the clouds drawing back like a curtain, dissipating. Pale light stained the sky and obscured the starlight.\n<\/p>\n

\nThey dropped my limbs and keeled over in exhaustion.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI swear the beast is getting heavier!\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cThere\u2019s a very simple way to make this a lot easier and a lot safer for ourselves.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cDon\u2019t be ridiculous.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cIt\u2019ll be the same goddamn amount of money!\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nIn one swift motion, the man in the cowboy hat swung the gun around to my forehead and squeezed the trigger. It clicked.\n<\/p>\n

\nA faint whine escaped my throat, the sedatives still potent.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cDamn thing isn\u2019t even loaded.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nHe fumbled with the ammo in his pouch, but I wouldn\u2019t make the same mistake twice.\n<\/p>\n

\nFur sprouted along my arm and up my back. I licked my muzzle through my canines, swelling and sharpening. Claws sprouted between my fingers. Muscles bulged over my body and I could feel the adrenaline pouring through my veins, incinerating the poison that had paralyzed my limbs.\n<\/p>\n

\nI descended on that pudgy one first \u2013 drove my claws into his pelvis and unzipped his flesh all the way to his sternum. Blood and viscera sprayed me like a firehose.\n<\/p>\n

\nJeremiah drew his cane to pierce me with another dart, but I ripped the tube from him and crushed it with a single fist. I held it up to strike him with his own weapon, but he didn\u2019t even flinch \u2013 just straightened up and undid his cufflinks. He rolled up his right sleeve showing me the scar that wrapped around his radial artery. He smiled again and gave a last wink before evaporating into the air.\n<\/p>\n

\nThe man in the trench coat took off towards the Cartesian Forest. I ran him down like a helpless animal and quartered him with the brute strength of my arms. I even took the time to make a Christmas tableau with his entrails and a pine tree \u2013 a touching sight.\n<\/p>\n

\nA full transformation! I smiled and for the first time, felt at peace with the world. Blood dripped from every limb, and I howled into the cold of the night.\n<\/p>\n

\nI left the bodies rotting like that \u2013 gutted and bleeding, melting the snow and nourishing the dead earth. Steam rose out of them like hot vents.\n<\/p>\n

\nI couldn’t stay to admire my work. The townspeople would not be far behind.\n<\/p>\n

\nOnce I burn this journal, I\u2019ll be back on the road\u2014going south. A new place, new buildings, new food to steal, new place to break camp. I will read so many books.\n<\/p>\n

\nI will write again when I\u2019ve reached safety.\n<\/p>\n

Stephen Mirabito is an English teacher working in Littleton, Colorado. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Every Day Fiction, Constellations Magazine, and Peatsmoke Journal. He is currently a candidate of the University of Denver\u2019s UCOL Professional Creative Writing program.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

State police recovered the enclosed journal a few miles from the murder scene and thirty minutes from the station near Timberdoodle trail. They have not publicly connected it to the crime, but staties filed it into evidence. Please advise. Entry 1: Found a dead fox only 30 feet from camp, its entrails spilled on melted …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":110242,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,20220],"tags":[20221],"class_list":["post-142422","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-tcl-56-summer-2025","tag-the-colored-lens-56-summer-2025","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/142422","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/110242"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=142422"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/142422\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":142430,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/142422\/revisions\/142430"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=142422"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=142422"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=142422"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}