I walked for a long time, but I also walked for no time at all, I walked along with every season, but I also didn't.
Spring, it happened at dawn, when everything was waking up, the grass, the flowers and the leaves were covered in morning dew, the sun was shimmering on those cold droplets of water that the slow, almost invisible rain left behind, he walked through spring and into summer.
Summer, it happened at noon, when the sun was mercilessly shooting its rays through small cracks in the crowns of trees, it burned when a ray hit me, the heat was suffocating, I endured it and before I knew it, I was plunged into the chill of autumn.
Autumn, it happened at dusk, when the once burning sun was setting, beginning to hide behind the horizon, painting the clouds with blood and dandelions, drowning the plants around me in the sickeningly saturated colors of yellow, red, and orange, by the time my eyes adjusted to the unpleasant orange hue I walked out of autumn straight into the cold winter.
Winter, it happened at night, when the sun was fully away as if it didn't want to be seen by me ever again, I wasn't afraid of the sun coming back, I was afraid of the mood coming to greet me; it was pure silver, everything around me glimmering white as if a foot of snow fell down on the forest around me every time I blinked; my bare feet gently walking upon the non-existent snow, it hurt the soles of my feet, it felt as if the snow was tearing my feet apart, I started to think that maybe if I turned around I would see bloody footprints left behind, but I didn't look back; I didn't have the courage to face away from the moon, afraid of what it might do to me if I did.
After I walked a couple more steps out of winter, I really did feel the blood, it was pooling at my feet, so much so that the leaves on the forest floor were sticking themselves onto my feet, along my heels and toes.
At this point in time, that so strangely seemed to pass by, I sat down. I seated my body on a log of a dying tree.
I reached my hand out, a movement to touch my feet was made, to touch my bloodied soles, my frozen shoulder cracked in such a way that it sounded as if it broke and was about to fall off.
It stayed attached and now I did touch my foot, indeed it was dripping with blood, the tiniest of twigs were swimming round and about the blood.
I drew my fingers away and as if something had possessed me, I did the unthinkable.
I discarded my clothes and started drawing and scribbling on my own skin, I felt like a demon pretending to be an angel with divine paintings on my skin.
I painted and painted, but the blood wasn't stopping. When every bit and piece of my body was covered in blood red art I stood up and I left, never to return.
