Sweet Revenge

Where on Earth am I? It is the question that has been plaguing my mind for a good few minutes. To prevent my muddled brain from looping another three times with my jumbled thoughts, I decide to focus on the facts that I confidently know to be correct. I am in the woods, near my house, in New Jersey, I know that. My name is Frank Andrew Iero, I also know that, but why I am here and why I have a pair of heavy duty garden shears grasped between the fingers of my left hand, I do not. To add to this involuntary confusion I don't own any garden shears. I don't remember buying them surely I would remember paying or receiving this destructive item. Wouldn't i? Especially as the shears I am trying to hold as far away from me as humanly possible are as heavy duty and dangerous as they seem. I am beginning to wonder why I don't just leave the shears on the ground and leave these woods but, for some reason I feel as though I can't. Part of my mind says 'yes' the other part says 'no' and my body is conflicted and must be caught somewhere in the middle of the two. Thick mist rolling over a long lost lake on a miserable wintery morning or playing a video game that you have never been shown the controls for, is how my brain feels right now. Tranquility still seems to be the word that is coming to mind now matter how disconnected from the world or unsure about my situation I feel. The woods feel similar; there is no movement and no sound, excluding my short sharp breaths and sighs of confusion. No birds. No wildlife. No people. Nothing. Completely disconnected from the busy outside world by this natural looming army of aged wooden soldiers.

After a few more minutes of pondering, I decide to start trying to get out of this isolation that I have been placed in, seemingly against my own will. Cringing at the sonic boom like noise my first few footsteps make across the fallen leaves and twigs that make up the dying undergrowth beneath me, I urge myself to keep going. The crackle of decomposing leaves under my feet has always been one of my favourite sounds and it's paining me that at this moment it feels like the worst sound imaginable. I keep telling myself that if someone is trying to find me in these barren woods, they would already have found me by now. With all the noise I have been making to provide the necessary information to my obvious whereabouts, it wouldn't take much to find me, no matter who this potential stalker could possibly be.

Who knows what I'm doing here...maybe I'm a escaping a murderer?

By focusing my panicked mind on the detailed and picturesque setting around me, I manage to forget about my heavy thudding footsteps and sharp sudden breathing. Anxiety and panic are quietly starting to force their unwanted presence into my physical and mental state. The tension left behind from my previous thoughts regarding my current situation was not helping me to cope like a normal functional human being. Garden shears are not the most positive object to be carrying through some lonely woods by myself however, in the abnormality sparks a hint of beauty. Reflecting off the smooth steel blades are the chestnut browns, fox fur reds and an occasional shimmering glimpse of golden autumnal leaves in the delicate afternoon sun.

A few hours later I realise I have walked one large and seemingly never ending circle. I never noticed quite how vast these woods are. As the afternoon was hurriedly escaping with a soft pattering of light rain and the evening attempted roll in unnoticed, I edged my tattooed hands into the skin-hugging pockets of my black as a crow's wing, snug skinny jeans. Another wave of confusion hit me as I felt a crumpled and worn out piece of paper within the depths of my tight right pocket. A newspaper clipping. I only have to read the headline to know why I am here in these beautifully complicated woods with some menacing garden shears. As cheesy as it sounds, everything starts falling into place. However, with every recovered memory I mentally curse for remembering the harsh and devastating facts. All the memories don't come back like the nice steady trickle of a calming stream, they come back like the most powerful and intense waterfall on Earth slamming down an ancient and rugged rock face.