Discarded Man

A chill, autumn evening greets me as I stand before an intimidating wall of trees. The cool breeze blows the dead, dry leaves over the tops of my shoes. I look over at my best friend standing beside me with his hands in his pockets, and he gives me an encouraging nod to make my way into the forest. 

Fast forward a ways in, and the sun is on the verge of slipping beneath the slopes and bringing night upon us. I don’t know where we are going, but the steady incline gives me a weary feeling, and I’m not sure where it will level out so that I can rest. My friend moves ahead, and I fall behind. 

It is at this point that I feel the ground soften beneath me, and it becomes increasingly more difficult to pick up my feet and carry on. I look up the side of the hill, and my friend motions for me to keep going. He is so far ahead of me now that he is disappearing into the shadows of the trees. 

Finally, night is upon us, and only the washed-out blue remnants of day remain. I have a flashlight, which I switch on in order to see. I hold the light out and find that my friend is nowhere to be seen. All is quiet. When I try and call out to him, my voice cannot be heard, no matter how loud I try to be. 

It is then that I feel a firm grip on my lower leg, pulling me downwards. I turn to see long, metallic fingers grabbing me, and those fingers belong to a man made of scrap-metal, garbage, and other discarded items. His arms and legs seem to be molded from old crutches, and dark clothes are stretched over his body. He, too, is struggling to climb the hill, and using me for support. I try to shake him off, but he does not let go. He grips me with his other arm, and I bash him with the flashlight, but it is no use. He simply will not let go. 

I look up ahead of me to find my friend again, and this time is standing only a few feet from me. He is looking at me calmly, nodding ahead and motioning for me to keep up. I can only look at him and shake my head as the discarded man drags me down.