The Disillusioned Land

Chapter 4 - The struggle of man

As I open my eyes once more I find myself in a forest devoid of life. That isn't to say it's dead, both the trees and grass are vivid, colourful and filled with vigor. A certain feeling of emptiness fills the air, however, no sounds to be heard, no movement to follow. Examining the trees in further detail reveals, for lack of a better word, a lack thereof. It's as if they were dragged into reality from a Victorian age painting or a restful night's dream. The trees stretch far into the sky, but are thin enough to see through, providing me with an unimpeded view of the full moon, perched in the very centre of the sky. The sight of it unnerves me, my rational mind deems it to be unnatural and foreign, but some part of me is glad to finally see moonlight again after years in the infernal sun. Truly men like me were never meant to live in light so pure.

My wandering thoughts are cut short by an immediate threat to my life. Had I not been on high alert from my unexpected abduction I may very well have missed it, a faint ephemeral sound coming from below me. Yes, I am now faced with an enemy that has felled many of my brothers and sisters on this earth, I am hungry beyond words.

I search my pockets for the sandwiches I brought earlier, I find them quickly, but they offer me no peace. The rot has already claimed them, in this state they are inedible, it seems I was unconscious for longer than i thought. Not one to give up hope so easily I search my remaining pockets for anything to save me from my predicament. "Oh thank god, I still have it." I exclaim to myself as I pull out my salvation. I am not a wealthy man by any measure, so I must make do with the most frugal of meals, the object I retrieve from my back pocket is one of such, an entire lobster.

I scan my surroundings for a way to boil my new crustacean friend, the land is less than hospitable so I will have to improvise. Using only what I find in the wilderness: loose branches, dried grass, a cow's skull, a large rock, a Samsung smart stove, a pressure cooker and a worn out shoe, I construct a makeshift kitchen to prepare my wretched meal.

As the lobster boils I gaze up once more upon the moon with which I have been reunited, its light cleansing me of my past worries and fears. Well in truth there is no such thing as moonlight. Sitting here, in complete serenity, I finally understand. Why does man lament at the moon? Why have so many in history gone mad as they look upon this shining monolith? What compels us to write songs, poems and even stories in its name? The moon is nothing but a mirror, a hollow attempt to replicate something of greatness. In this we are alike. The moon was born with nothing, is nothing and will become nothing. Every ray of light that leaves it has been stolen from those who are better off than it. And yet it still adorns our sky, be it through tenacity, or perhaps spite? I think back to my brothers and sisters, born into chains, buried into prisons. Those who have crawled across the ground and torn into eachother just to keep on living another day. Truly the moon is just like us, betrayed and deprived, yet indomitable in its will. Even as I lived in the light it was at my side, watching me, though I never noticed.

And yet our reunion must come to an end, for the same reason it began. If I am to survive this ordeal I must make haste once more and venture out into the unknown. I quickly finish my lobster and pack my bags. With newfound fire in my eyes I walk steadfast, deeper into this beautiful and lifeless forest.