Beyond The Path

There had always been, for whatever reason, a path leading into the forest. This was weird, since as long as I could remember no one had set foot back there. It could have been made by deer but I never saw any hoof prints. Plants just seemed to avoid growing on that soil at all costs. The occasional brave mushroom would sprout there, but before long it would wither and die. Something about that path had always fascinated me. Someone ought to know where it led. But every time I dared to traverse it, I never got far. A feeling of anxiety would rise within me, drowning out my thoughts and rationality. All the sounds of the wood around me would seem to grow to a deafening cacophony and I would panic then turn back. I lost count of how many times this had occurred, though it had to have been at least more than eight. The furthest I had made it was on the third occasion. I'd traveled far enough that the trees around me had become unrecognizable, my head had spun with dizziness, and after I had fled I'd thrown up then been plagued with insomnia for weeks.

But eventually, I grew tired of this. I had to know what lies beyond the path. It overwhelmed me, and I thought about it for hours trying to understand why I was forced to turn back each time. Standing in front of the path once more, and began to slowly inch along it. Then before I even knew what happened, my head was spinning again and I backtracked out of the woods. I gasped as the spinning subsided and coughed a couple of times. A small orange spec of something, probably pollen or dust fluttered away from my mouth. Then I thought a moment. And I realized the times I had gotten further I remembered holding my breath. Not because the air had been unpleasant, but more out of panic or anticipation.

I decided to take drastic measures. I acquired an oxygen tank, then I set out to the trail with a new system to back me up. I would steady my breathing, take ten long steps then stop. Close my eyes, breathe deeply. Then continue. I kept doing this, for a while with the oxygen tank strapped to my back. I felt less sick, but my panic increased all the same. The noises around me quickly became deafening just as they had before. I could feel my heart thrumming in my chest, every time I shut my eyes I could see an unusual light pulsing behind my eyelids. I was farther than ever before now, far past the familiar trees. Everything inside me screamed to go back, but I wouldn't. I couldn't, I was persistent, empty with one goal.

Then the ringing stopped. The cacophony surrounding me suddenly ceased, replaced with an equally deafening silence. All at once, my chest heaved, the lights in my eyes flickered. I felt wrong. I could see blues, pinks, oranges all around me and I reached out to them. A speck of orange like the sun's rays hovered gently passed me, and I lurched forward capturing it in my palm. Everything around me was unnatural, the forest was still the forest but it was wrong. I thought I heard singing like from birds I'd never known existed. I felt like I could see waves of color in the air. Then I could have sworn I touched a flower the size of my body and danced underneath what seemed like a tree root the size of a house. And I could hear it. And I tripped.

I woke up at home in my bed. I do not remember what happened. My clothes looked clean, and I could not find the oxygen tank anywhere. How had I returned home? The more I think about what happened, the less I remember. The less it seems real. That is why I write it down now while I still remember a little. Everything in my house looks the same. There is no suggestion that anything might have happened. Nothing out of place. Save for one thing.

I do not remember planting it. There is a sprout growing in my windowsill, orange and brilliant like a ray from the sun.