So I was with my sister and they had left us in the woods, and they said they’d be back but we didn’t believe them because we had heard them planning to leave us the night before so we were just sort of resting by the fire, hoping that they wouldn’t actually totally (fucking) abandon us but then it became obvious no one was coming back to get us. It was nighttime. I left a trail of breadcrumbs on the forest floor but they were gone, probably eaten by squirrels.

We were so deep in the forest that nothing was familiar. Everything was dark, there were no openings in the trees, all the leaves and brush just matted together. Any movement we could make through the forest we had to sort of squeeze our bodies through branches or thorns or leaves brushing against our face or our clothes or our legs, scraping our skin. It was like, just kinda like oozing yourself through a crowd in a crowded bar like a pick up bar where peoples groins brush against you as you are making your way through the dance floor to the bathroom or to the bar to get another drink. Pressing against other hot bodies, maybe some of them have their shirt off or their bare skin is touching your bare skin and it’s sweaty and it’s dark and there’s no sunlight and there’s no street light there’s just this place and these bodies and this room. Holding everything in holding in the heat and the anticipation and the expectation and the possibility and the hunger.

But anyways you’re with your sister and you’re afraid and the fear is mounting inside you like a giant wave like a giant scream and its going to take over everything, and then you just try to keep breathing and keep walking, thinking, its ok, this is part of it, the adrenalin the thrill, the fear of failure, the fear of rejection, the fear of obliteration, this is part of it but there is always the possibility that something might happen, a connection a discovery, an annihilation, an ecstasy right here right now.

And then you come across this place, And its warm and its welcoming, this place is something you could touch and rub against and consume and lick and bite and chew and ingest and disappear into.

And so you do.

But then later when you are locked up in the stables and you’re being force fed, she is trying to fatten you up. She is trying to fatten you up and cook you and eat you alive. And you wonder, how did I get here? Did I make bad choices? Where is my sister? Is she looking out for me? Is anyone looking out for me? Am I looking out for myself? How did I get here? What did I do? What kind of choices did I make to arrive here and anyway it feels kind of good, all warm and fat inside the stables. I’m comfortable, I’m thinking about endings. Not happy endings or sad endings just endings. It’s a kind of relief. A killing of momentum. A stopping a plugging of a narrative so that something else might happen.