If You Are Still Reading This…

A fog lifts from your eyes. Immediately, panic sets in. A flutter of green casts its shadow over you, the sudden movement making your vision spin in discomfort. Below, the dirt of a worn trail pricks against your palms as nails dig for traction. You fight to find some bearing. The unfamiliar surroundings strike a call for caution. With bated breath, the outline of foliage is like a den of unknowns waiting to spawn monsters. The very air stings your lungs.

You try to yell in some desperate measure to fight back the uncertainty, but pain immediately grips you by the throat. A miserable cough racks your body, and with it, a splash of blood erupts onto your palm.

Nothing is right with the situation. A sheen of sweat glazes over you, on top of the stickiness that had long dried before. A bead of it drips down your forehead in anticipation.

But for what?

A silent wind blows past you, carrying a chill with your realization.

You recall nothing. Not of the current situation, nor how you came to be here.

A minute passes, and then two. You stare dumbly around, unsure what to do next. All you know is that before you. And that you aren’t well. You search for some means of safety, your gaze looking down for clues.

A journal sits by your feet, and instantly, your hand snatches it like it’s your ticket to salvation. You turn to the first page.

If you’re still reading this…

And then, the next.

Make your way to the cabin.

Your vision darts around. Sure enough, a lonely structure amid the forest acts like a beacon to your destination. Your eyes look back to the journal, a speck of hope emerging.

August 6th:

I found this abandoned cabin on a hike. This seems like a nice enough place. Quiet and secluded. Away from the buzz of constant reminders and harsh criticisms. I’ve come to hate being around people, so I’ve made up my mind. No matter what others say, I am fine on my own. If I’m ever lost, this journal I left behind will lead the way.

Or rather, being lost isn’t so bad. There’s only danger in continuing further. If I happen to come upon these lines, it should serve as a warning.

You squint at the page, bemused by the different tones. A hard look at the writing makes you notice the different penmanship, an addition that was placed to mislead. You trace the curves in your mind, finding something off.

Someone is hiding secrets, you conclude.

A feeling of mystery envelops you. The owner of this journal appears to be missing, as it is now in your hands. Yet, another voice clamors to keep you away, likely a mysterious foe having harmed you already.

You look behind you. A lonely trail stretches on and on. Who knew where it would take you? Anywhere but here.

Hesitation draws you back toward the cabin. It is closer, more tangible. A sense of curiosity causes you to take one step forward, and then another. You clutch the journal tightly as it is the only source of information. Rather than paddle away, you ponder holding onto this buoy in a sea of unknowns.

You think you hear a voice telling you to turn back, but no one else is here.

It is your choice if you wish to know. To turn the page and appease your curiosity. You’ve made it this far, so the words continue to tease you forward, inches at a time. But before you’ve gone too far, a heel digs into the ground.

A single moment to clear your mind and decide your next action.

Will you continue or will you discard these words from your memory, never to return?