The Pursuit part III
Arty stood in the entry way of the church waiting for the funeral service to be over. It was a bright fall day. The sun pierced through the dying trees and made them almost glow with color. Bright reds and oranges burning against the blue, cloudless sky. His wife stood next to him, although she would have rather been in a separate room. It was Arty’s fault that her son was left to die in the woods. She couldn’t believe that he would just leave his son like that, how he could be so careless. But there was no point in making it known to everybody how she felt. It was easier to pretend for the time being. She would never tell Arty what she thought either; she would just become more and more distant. That would be his punishment, an increasingly miserable home life. Maybe he would die next, that would be true justice.
Arty knew if wasn’t his fault, but couldn’t help but feel that it was. Had they stayed at the cabin a few days longer instead of going home maybe they could have found him. They stayed two weeks longer than they had planned. Everyday they went in search of his son, trying to find any sign of him. Search groups had been called in. It felt as if they had searched the entire forest. In reality they only covered a small portion. The experts had made a graph and created boundaries. “He couldn’t go any further than this,” they would say. He knew they were wrong. Graphs can’t account for reality. Anything is possible. The closest they came to finding him was a deer carcass that looked as though it had been gutted with a knife. It may have been the deer they had been looking for in the first place.
“Whenever you’re looking for something you always end up finding something else, and it’s never something better.” Arty mumbled to himself as he walked out of the church. Everybody else had gotten into their cars and waited to follow the hearse holding the empty casket out to the cemetery. Arty stood alone under the fire red leaves of the trees outside of the church. His wife sat in the car crying quietly, waiting for the husband she couldn’t forgive to drive her to the cemetery to her son’s grave. The casket was hoisted into the hearse. Arty made his way towards his car. He wished they would have at least found the body. At least then he could have said goodbye.
He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he had burned the maps. After it had rained everything was wet and the only thing he could find to burn was the paper in his bag. It had started burning when he realized what he had used to start the fire. Panic set in, he tried to grab at the maps and he burned his hand. They were useless now. He was as good as dead.
He didn’t stray far from the deer at first. It was a source of food, but he couldn’t bring himself to kill it. He needed to wait for it to die. He would have had no trouble shooting it from yards away, but up close, it was too real. The deer stared at him with fear in its eyes. It shook and tried to get up. This creature was so strong not very long ago, but now it is helpless. It felt wrong to not give it a chance. So he waited. Once it died he took some meat and stood over it. He wondered how old it was, if it had ventured very far from this area of forest, and if it understood what was happening to it once that bullet hit. He imagined that it didn’t.
After the maps had been burned it was day after day of looking for a stream or any sounds to follow. He didn’t know what to do in this situation so all he could do was try something, anything, to find his way back. At night he would try to find the North Star, but the clouds covered everything. It was black. It was hopeless. Try as he might he could never find what he was looking for. It was always one ravine after another, surrounded by inextinguishable landscape. Everything blended together, and worked perfectly together. He was amongst the perfection of nature, but he struggled because he was not part of it. He no longer understood how it worked and so could not participate in its perfection. The only way he could contribute is in death. His body would bring life to the undergrowth by decaying. He continued to search for home.
He ate whatever he could. It was not long before he was out of ammunition and could no longer hunt. He drank from tiny streams and rain water. He was able to step into nature every once in a while, borrow what he needed and become an outsider again. He could still never be a part of it. He tried all he could to learn from it.
Eventually he found the way. He could not say how.
He stood outside of the cabin where his father had worried and cried over the loss of his son. He stood outside of the cabin and saw that there were no lights on. No one was there. Just an empty box buried deep in nature. A human attempt at becoming a part of the perfection. He stood outside. He knew there was a phone inside. He would go in, pick it up and call home. “I’m going to be fine.” He’d tell them.
Arty stood in the entry way of the church waiting for the funeral service to be over. It was a bright fall day. The sun pierced through the dying trees and made them almost glow with color. Bright reds and oranges burning against the blue, cloudless sky. His wife stood next to him, although she would have rather been in a separate room. It was Arty’s fault that her son was left to die in the woods. She couldn’t believe that he would just leave his son like that, how he could be so careless. But there was no point in making it known to everybody how she felt. It was easier to pretend for the time being. She would never tell Arty what she thought either; she would just become more and more distant. That would be his punishment, an increasingly miserable home life. Maybe he would die next, that would be true justice.
Arty knew if wasn’t his fault, but couldn’t help but feel that it was. Had they stayed at the cabin a few days longer instead of going home maybe they could have found him. They stayed two weeks longer than they had planned. Everyday they went in search of his son, trying to find any sign of him. Search groups had been called in. It felt as if they had searched the entire forest. In reality they only covered a small portion. The experts had made a graph and created boundaries. “He couldn’t go any further than this,” they would say. He knew they were wrong. Graphs can’t account for reality. Anything is possible. The closest they came to finding him was a deer carcass that looked as though it had been gutted with a knife. It may have been the deer they had been looking for in the first place.
“Whenever you’re looking for something you always end up finding something else, and it’s never something better.” Arty mumbled to himself as he walked out of the church. Everybody else had gotten into their cars and waited to follow the hearse holding the empty casket out to the cemetery. Arty stood alone under the fire red leaves of the trees outside of the church. His wife sat in the car crying quietly, waiting for the husband she couldn’t forgive to drive her to the cemetery to her son’s grave. The casket was hoisted into the hearse. Arty made his way towards his car. He wished they would have at least found the body. At least then he could have said goodbye.
He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he had burned the maps. After it had rained everything was wet and the only thing he could find to burn was the paper in his bag. It had started burning when he realized what he had used to start the fire. Panic set in, he tried to grab at the maps and he burned his hand. They were useless now. He was as good as dead.
He didn’t stray far from the deer at first. It was a source of food, but he couldn’t bring himself to kill it. He needed to wait for it to die. He would have had no trouble shooting it from yards away, but up close, it was too real. The deer stared at him with fear in its eyes. It shook and tried to get up. This creature was so strong not very long ago, but now it is helpless. It felt wrong to not give it a chance. So he waited. Once it died he took some meat and stood over it. He wondered how old it was, if it had ventured very far from this area of forest, and if it understood what was happening to it once that bullet hit. He imagined that it didn’t.
After the maps had been burned it was day after day of looking for a stream or any sounds to follow. He didn’t know what to do in this situation so all he could do was try something, anything, to find his way back. At night he would try to find the North Star, but the clouds covered everything. It was black. It was hopeless. Try as he might he could never find what he was looking for. It was always one ravine after another, surrounded by inextinguishable landscape. Everything blended together, and worked perfectly together. He was amongst the perfection of nature, but he struggled because he was not part of it. He no longer understood how it worked and so could not participate in its perfection. The only way he could contribute is in death. His body would bring life to the undergrowth by decaying. He continued to search for home.
He ate whatever he could. It was not long before he was out of ammunition and could no longer hunt. He drank from tiny streams and rain water. He was able to step into nature every once in a while, borrow what he needed and become an outsider again. He could still never be a part of it. He tried all he could to learn from it.
Eventually he found the way. He could not say how.
He stood outside of the cabin where his father had worried and cried over the loss of his son. He stood outside of the cabin and saw that there were no lights on. No one was there. Just an empty box buried deep in nature. A human attempt at becoming a part of the perfection. He stood outside. He knew there was a phone inside. He would go in, pick it up and call home. “I’m going to be fine.” He’d tell them.
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