Is it time yet?

He had been in out of the rain for a while.  The warmth of the fire felt good.  He had built something.   He had been away from the nightmare for five years now.  During that time he had built a shelter.  There was nothing palacial or elegent about it.  It was simple and at first it just kept the rain off his head and allowed him to get warm.

In the early days he was so grateful just to be out of the rain.  He had gotten some distance from the accident but yet he could still see the waxing and waining glow of the fires in the distant as the rain continued to fall.  The rain never stopped.  The yellow orange glow in the distance served as a constant reminder of the wreckage.  But after some time that glow that filled the night sky dimmed until one evening as he was snuggling under the covers he looked out and realized that not only had the rain stopped the there was not orange light reflecting off the clouds in the distance.

He had no idea how long it had been other than it seemed like years.  It took years for the fires to die down.  As he thought about it, there must have been a tremendous amount of fuel to keep them going all this time.  And indeed the amount of fuel was staggering and the fires had been going on for years unabated.

Even after the sky no longer flickered with golden yellow light the fires persisted and he knew this.  He knew they were still there just not strong enough to illuminate the night sky.  He could still smell.  He hadn't gotten quite far enough to escape the sickening smell.  He had set up what he thought would be a temporary shelter.  He vowed he would stay just for a few days and move on.  But he was tired and the days turned into weeks, the weeks to months and then the months collected themselves into two years.

One morning he woke up to a clear blue sky and realized he could not remember the last time he saw the brownish green haze or that "burn" smell.  He looked back in the direction from which he had traveled two years ago and wondered what was there.

At first it felt like he was being shocked in his stomach followed by slight nausea.  He didn't think too much about it at first but a month later it returned.  The feeling was more than a slight shock, now it was a hard tightening in his lower abdomen as if he was being punched in the gut in slow motion followed by a loss of breath.  He did not even realize he was not breathing.  The feeling started to return frequently.  It would happen at randomn times accept for Sunday's.  On Sunday, he could count on it.

He began to realize that this would come on everytime he looked back in the direction of the wreckage or even think about it.  And finally it occurred to him that didn't the night mare happen on a Sunday.

He had to leave.  Didn't he have any other choice?   He began to notice that he was rationalizing with himself everytime the queezy feeling and loss of breath would come on.  He was actually arguing with some one but did not know who.

"I mean there was nothing else I could do!  To stay there meant certain death!  Right?  The place wasn't safe.  I mean how long had the fires burned?"  He would think to himself everytime the feeling came on.  Just stay here and you'll be alright.  Deep down inside, he knew what this meant but only at an emotional level.  He couldn't actually enunciate in his head let alone out loud what he understood to be true at the gut level.

Let's take the boat out.

Wait until darkeness

Let's take the boat out

Wait until darkness comes.  .  .  .

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.