Sequel to a thought, also in the making, likea pie.

The fluoresent sign hasn’t been ignited for years. It hangs unlit and spiritless over the desolate back street. The fire escape that we’d made our front door has gone unscaled since that youthful summer so long ago. At the time we  hadn’t realized how powerful that time would become, how it would shape us and influence our futures, we were just living our lives, the only way we knew how.

Int he beginning our homely little alley had been nothing more than a dark corner in the underbelly of an unforgiving city. It didn’t take long for it to transform into the epicenter of the cities artistically vibrant, culturally devoid yet characteristically rich underground scene. The vulgarity and madness of our young bodies fueled creativity and expressionism of our blossoming minds.

The endless nights we spent off our heads in the brightly lit, bustling market of our generation spoiled us for the nights we now spend alone, in the dark.  

One shoe and a tribal cheif.

We thrust ourselves onward through the thick undergrowth, machetes swinging violently ahead of us. It had been 4 days since we’d left camp and rations were beginning to run low. The humidity was dampening our ever tiring souls and the swarms of veracious insects were enough to drive a man to lunacy.

Already one of our group of 4 had been wounded severly and was weakening with every step, his twisted swollen ankle was drainging him of all strength and desire to go on. Each of us with still enough strength to be of use, did all we could to aid him through the more trecherous terrain, but our own strength was dwindling with the lack of substacial food and water. According to our maps and calculations we should’ve made a loop to the river and back to our camp within a day of departure, and yet we seem to be delving deeper and deeper in to the unknown of the barbaric jungle.

Late into our fourth day of bush whacking and backtracking we noted something suspicious. We had come across a partially concealed trail through the thick foliage, it looked as if it had been deliberately created and hidden with intelligence. Perhaps we’ve crossed paths with another team of archaeologists, we all agreed it was the most likely possibility and decided to follow the path which would hopefully lead us to the strangers camp, where we could get our barings.

As we continued along the narrow track we noticed some bizarre remains scattered about the bare foot prints that followed the path as well. I stopped to catch my breath and stooped down to tighten the laces on my boots, while i was crouched so near to the ground I noticed that the bones had been broken and scraped excessively, I picked up what appeared to be a rib bone and was shocked to see the apparent teeth marks in it. I know human anatomy well enough to recognize a mans ribcage when I see it, and this battered rib was definatly that of a man.   

Not wanting to worry my companions, I didn’t confess my suspicions of foul play, and thought it best to continue in the direction we were headed, hopefully we would come to the river before we coming to harm. Although it wasn’t long past what should be dinner time, but the forests conopy was allowing very little light to reach its dank underbelly. The cold crept out of the shadows consuming our tired, shivering bodies. We couldnt’ stop to rest for fear of not being able to get back on our feet, and the trail was becoming increasingly difficult to follow in the dark, but we trudged along, machetes poised and ready to swing.

Gates, our wounded friend, was barely grasping conciousness now, we tried to drag his limp body between two of us, however this proved to be impossibly impractical. To my greatest regret, we were forced to part ways, going from a united team of four, to two pairs. Mr. Aristle agreed to stay with Gates while Smithers and I went on ahead, in desperate search of hope.