Intermission

When you were born, a shackle was attached to your left foot.

Not everyone has the shackle on the left foot, some have it on their right, but that is very rare. You’re shackle is on the left foot, I am certain of it. This shackle is connected to a chain. The chain is fine, weightless, practically invisible, you can see it, if you look hard enough, but mostly it exists independent of notice.

The anchor point for the chain is far out of your sight. By the time you realize the chain is there at all, you have traveled too far to see where the other end is fastened. The shackle is feather light, it does not chafe, but it grips unwaveringly. Its caress is soft, unobtrusive, and its chain is slack.

It has always been there, and you just assume it is supposed to be there, like your hands, or your lungs, or your heart. Maybe you need it to live, maybe it is essential to your life. Regardless it is there, it cannot be removed and it is not bothersome in the least. It does not restrict your movement, forward backward, left, right, you can move with adroitness, smoothly and quickly.

The latitude you are awarded seems an overkill. In general you’re only compulsion is to walk ahead, by the time you want to know where it is anchored, it will be too late, but for now you don’t give it a second thought. In fact, you feel as if there is a power herding you forward, silently nudging, gently prodding.

Then one day, the chain becomes taut, unyielding. You can no longer walk forward. You tug tentatively at your restraint, but you are bound. Odd, you think to yourself, but you can still go left or right, and you can see verdant pastures in both directions. You could go back, but there are atramentous clouds on that skyline and besides, you have already been that way, there is no reason to explore a path you just traversed.

So you turn left. Right would make the walking awkward, what with the shackle on the out side, and it seems like both paths are equivalent, so why not take the one that offers the least hassle.

You walk in this direction, in a straight line, the chain forgotten again in the midst of the wonders along your path. A myriad forms assault you, fascinating you at every turn, hurting you, making you laugh, breaking your heart.

Still you walk, anticipation of the next experience like a poison and its antidote in the same pill.

Your journey is arduous and exhilarating, sometimes your pace slows, sometimes it quickens, often you look over your shoulder and visit things behind you, but eventually you continue your trek forward, always to the left.

You are aware that the shackle is slowly making you veer in a circular path, but its radius is so beyond your scope that you do not see the circle, only the line. It is not until then that you notice, for the first time, that you have been here before. It is not until then that you get a sense as to the vector of your peregrination. But it has been a while since you saw this landscape, perhaps it is just similar, certainly it is only a dull resemblance, maybe a forgotten dream?

This is, of course, wishful thinking. It takes some thousands of circumnavigations to see it, but you are in the mean, you take the average amount of time to notice that you are walking in a circle, and the circle is shrinking. This is when you notice the storm that was once so far away, is a little larger, looming a tad bit closer, noticeably so, but only because you haven’t looked toward it in so long, you tell yourself. It is still so far off, you need not fear it.

But you have noticed the chain shrinking, closing the distance ever so slightly, and you slow your pace. Partly because you think it may slow your decaying orbit, partly because you have become weary. More and more often you see landmarks you recognize. More and more you notice that the peaks are not novel, the valleys all too familiar.

Panic is a tiny bubble of discontent in the bottom of your stomach, it’s enough to notice, but it is not powerful enough to alter your journey, but like the clouds, once you notice it’s progression, it is impossible to ignore. Denial is your weapon, your aegis that protects you from the truth of this walk.

Why is this shackle on your ankle? Who put it there, what is it attached to? Why have you never wondered at it before now? You have come across many skeletons in your travels, and they had no shackles attached to there bleached ankles…why was that? Why had it not been an important detail until now?