I began my walk.

I began my walk.

I was nervous. I reached my hand into my pocket to feel my wallet and my keys, but my fingers grasped nothing, basely scratching at cloth. I had bought a bus ticket a week ago for Akron, Michigan. I knew absolutely nothing about it other than I had blindly pointed to it on the bus station’s poster-sized map. I really bought the ticket because I had become disillusioned by the pace of my education: elementary bled into junior high bled into high school. I was not about to be curried off into college for a degree in something I would determine most likely by the professor that most inspired me in my first semester. So I bought a bus ticket. I took nothing with me except the clothing I was wearing and a small journal. It was my plan to somehow earn enough money to afford a bus ticket back home; I hoped for anything that would force me to interact with those I had never known and those I would never know again.
I really just wanted a coming-of-age experience, something outside of a controlled environment. I had been raised in one since birth. I was born on an island: Manhattan, and like so many other young children I was wisked away to the suburbs on the prospect of a top-rate, public education. I learned my letters, my numbers, how to read. I even got a gold star some of the time. After some time I learned how to right a good ole five-paragraph essay, thesis in hand. I learned advanced math and enough science for my high school to proudly present me my diploma, but most importantly, I learned I was afraid of being swept up in the bow-shock of opportunity passing me by. My uncle has always said that preparation is the mother of luck. I wanted a trial-by-fire experience in the real world. I wanted that preparation to spawn its ecumenical rivulets. I was ready to be a citizen of the world living in a new, unknown construct.

I followed the streetlamps to the center of town and made my way to an inviting park bench in loving memory of Grace Ichabod. I thanked her as well and put my head down to rest. The world snapped shut into blackness and disappeared into dream.

It was shocking, really.

It was shocking, really. I had never expected so much. I scoured the fresh pages of my moleskine and raped away their blankness with the scratches and scrawls of terrible description. One word repeated itself: blood, blood, blood, blood. That splotch had winked at me. I was sure it had. I should’ve asked Helga if she thought so, too, but I didn’t even think of the issue until we had walked at last to Akron. It was refreshing that I had to make the last mile to Akron a walk, under my own volition. A step, and another; a dead deer. I thanked it as I walked by. The crackling street lamp. Akron in the distance; too small a city to be awake at this hour.

Hematite Man

Perfectly balanced. Not a drop of glue. Marvel at this photograph of the 5 seconds it was actually standing.