The Road

Let me tell you about the place where I was found. Let me tell you about this little town, with its quiet streets and vacant shops, where old bicycles collect dust and stand outside, where the only signs of life are these brown trees and its rustling leaves. There beyond the city scope and border lines, beyond the rail road and street signs – I died. I found my body in a limp state, broken at the chest, bleeding from the arm. I felt the wet stains on my cheeks and water filled my eyes – I cried. I walked this road alone, the road I ran through screaming for help, with a still heart beat pleading, begging that cop car to stop – it didn’t.

Let me tell you about the mountain that I searched through for a soul, where the cold air hovered at my ears and made me short of hearing that the only sound left was silence. And in my anxious state of the looming sundown I saw a farm. There behind the crops sat a man with his head lowered to the ground – I made a sound. But motionless, he kept his head bowed. I ran, I screamed, I pleaded and begged – he never looked me in the eye. And in the moment I thought I was dead, he raised his hand and showed me the road.

And there on the road I ran against the setting sun, I saw an old restaurant and went inside. But with empty tables and my own footsteps’ sound, I saw no soul was present and no body here. And in that moment I convinced myself of death. And there through the dirty window where sunlight made visible that golden dust in mid air, I glimpsed a moving bus. I ran into the road believing he would not stop for my dead heart pleading, from my broken chest, I held out my bleeding arm, with my water filled eyes streaming down my cheeks – it stopped for me.

And with shaking hands I held out all the silver I could find, he waved me off to a seat saying that this ride was free. I sat beside blank faces and wry smiles of old villagers who never left this town, with its quiet streets and vacant shops that collect dust, where the only signs of life are these trees and its rustling leaves – I knew I had died. For this ride was a one way ticket on the wrong line.

Photo taken in Yeongwol, South Korea


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