Relief

(another one of this blog's Nonsense stories)

He had been running for the longest time amongst the trees and the filthy mud of soil and rocks, his hands had become so bruised and cut he thought he could no longer find any use for them, and his bare feet had become swollen by the cuts and incisions made by the many thorns and the hundreds of blood sucking maggots that somehow, despite a conscious effort from him to avoid making contact with them, had found their way through him quite effortlessly. He had been runnning after that night spectacle for days since the unfortunate time when it came to him and showed itself to him, though without an intention to do so, and had since made itself known to him completely, luring him towards itself perhaps without the knowledge of him at all nor of the deep fondness from him which seemed to associate them both to each other-

And so he had been running after it to no avail, and he's quite aware of this himself, for everytime he believed himself to be in an arms length close to it, it eludes him quite too easily with a swift shuffle of feet,or with a sharp ducking maneuver, or by simply bending or if matters comes to worse, with a piercing shout would yelp at him then roll out into the woods- and in a brief interval of time, before he even becomes attuned to its attempt to advance itself away from him, leaves him behind a good mile away, waving at him from that distance and at times yelling complements at him if it deems the task to be appropriate to do at the moment.

And so now the night spectacle stood at the summit of the hill looking sharply down at him complementing the dark night with its own luminuous presence, as he himself, after coming to an abrupt surprising halt, stood helplessly at the edge of the lake and then began to raise his right arm and quite carelessly, pointed with his one of his fingers, at the direction of the spectacle.

The wide and inanimate lake prevented him to go on with his intentions to run after the spectacle that now settled itself- staring intently at him as in a gratifying manner- and as though the spectacle itself was breathing hard from too much of its own running; and as if in provocation as well- up at the summit of the hill from where the same soil somehow connects the hill to the land from where he now stood.

He then turned his gaze to the thick bushes that trailed to the left of the lake and found exactly the same symmetrical observation to the right of it- there is absolutely no possibility whatsoever that any sort of path could lead him or bring him towards the hill, not even to the foot of it.

So he made a condecsending shake of a head but not while his right arm extended its stretch a last time, a few inches closer to it- pointing and cursing at it in an excessively blunt and exagerrated manner.

Then after a long while and probably just out of plain exhaustion, he had found himself succumbing to a bow on his own, and at any rate, he eventually found it sensible to declare it too unnecessary to even contemplate on what to do next nor even try to come up with a plan, or anything at all that would suggest the pursuance of such incredulous intentions. For the mere separation of the hill and the lake, and the gripping force of gravity that held him to the ground, and the death that lay on the lake itself, became evident to him- too evident in fact that it seemed only inevitable and fitting for the spectacle to had deserted the summit and had disappeared into itself as soon as the sun peered through and shone its light across the hill, and above it all.... 'what a relief' he finally thought to himself and then turning his back, flew home.