An Exercise in Futility

Scrubbed

In, out, in, out.

That's the way it works, he tells himself. Just breath in, and then breath out. Don't stop. Never stop. Just keep going. The boy keep s running, stumbling over protruding roots and small shrubs and pebbles. All around him the forest is silent, but he doesn't stop. He knows a silent forest is bad, but  but is he being chased? Or is he the threat?

Who knows. It doesn't matter, he's got to keep going. Out of no where it reappears, flitting about in the golden green light of the descending sun being flitted through the forest canopy.

He reaches forward, fingers grasping, but it slips away, jerking sharply upwards as if to say "not for you, boy", and he almost falls. Almost, but not quite and so he keeps going, even though he's lost it.

"Shit," he swears, letting it come out of his dry mouth. It feels good, and so he allows another curse to leave his parched throat, followed by another and another until a whole chain of them has come out.

As he curses he fails to notice the things around him, like how the land starts sloping upwards and how the tree roots are being replaced by jutting shale and , black against the soft green of the woods. Suddenly, just as it reappears, just as he reaches out his grubby, dirt and blood crusted hand to finally, finally catch it his foot hooks unto a protrusion of rock, and he goes down.

Without warning the trees around him vanish and now he's rolling down a smooth prairie hill, bouncing off small bumps, the air being pummeled out of sore lungs, and he catches sight of the end of the hill as one particularly nefarious bump sends him heels of head. It's a cliff. A big one, ad frantically he tries to stop his momentum, to no avail. As he approaches the end of the hill he finds himself praying, eyes squeezed shut, and just as he feels himself go airborne he hits solid ground.

Dazed, he sits up and recognizes the now familiar sight of wood floors and a roaring fire and the pile of handkerchiefs next to a quilt covered bed.

"You," he tells the room's other occupant, who's giving him a disapproving stare from his position in a chair next to the fire, "have the most impeccable timing."

The blond snorts and stands, pulling him up and brushing him off. "What were you t doing?" H he demands, blue eyes a mixture of furious and confused. The other boy smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I was ah...trying to catch time."



Unscrubbed

In, out, in, out.

That's the way it workks, he tells himself. Just breath in, and then breath out. Don't stop. Never stop. Just keep going. The boy keep s running, stumbling over protuding roots and small shrubs and pebbles. All around him the forest is silent, but he deosn't stop. He knows a silent forest is bad, but  but is he being chased? Or is he the threat?

Who knows. It doesn't matter, he's got to keep going. Oout of no where it reappears, fliting about in the golden green light of the descending sun being flitered through the forest canopy.

He reaches foreward, fingers grasping, but it slips away, jerking sharply upwards as if to say "not for you, boy", and he almost falls. Almost, but not quite and so he keeps going, even though he's lost it.

"Shit," he swears, letting it come out of his dry mouth. It feels good, and so he allows another curse to leave his parched throat, followed by another and anoter until a whole chain of them has come out.

As he curses he fails to notice the things aoround him, like how the land starts sloping upwards and how the tree roots are being replaced by jutting shale and , black against the soft green of the woods. Suddenly, just as it reappears, just as he reaches out his grubby, dirt and blood crusted hand to finally, funally catch it his foot hooks unto a protrusion of rock, and he goes down.

Without warning the trees around him vanish and now he's rolling down a smooth praire hill, bouncing off small bumps, the air being pummeled out of sore lungs, and he ctaches sight of the end of the hill as one particulaly nefarious bumpsends him heels of head. It's a cliff. A big one, ad frantically he tries to stop his momentum, to no avail. As he approaches the end of the hill he finds himself prayingeyes squeezed shut, and just as he feels himslf go airborn he hits solid ground.

Dazed, he sits up and recognizes the now familiar sight of wood floors and a roaring fire and the pile of hankerchiefs next to a quilt covered bed.

"You," he tells the room's other occupent, who's giving him a dissaproving stare from his position in a charir next to the fire, "have the most impecible timing."

The blond snorts and stands, pulling him up and brushing him off. "What were you t doing?" H he demands, blue eyes a mixture of furious and confused. The other boy smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I was ah...trying to ctach time."