Join My Cult - Original Falcon Press

Interlude II
The Myth of Orpheus
…The chill night air was somehow comforting against his skin, as
was the rustling of grass underfoot and everything else that connected
him with his environment. He felt incredibly thankful for these connections,
only now realizing how long he had gone without them. But where
am I? Who am I?
This was no philosophical dawdling, since his well being in many
ways rested upon the answer. Funny that we can be so self-concerned
when we don’t even know who we are, he thought, trying to sort through
the patchwork of images that comprised his past few days memories.
Clocks, a woman in a cage, the terrifying empty house he had once lived
in, an abandoned bus, vacant houses, the never ending expanse of desert
that only seemed to end when he collapsed in resignation under the
coarse sands—back and back this thread lead.
He was passing a small gazebo now, and then a semi-circle of thick
bushes. Many yards away, he could see tall trees, many of them oak and
birch. They were long slender trees, covered in brilliant leaves like smoldering
ashes.
What stood before him now was a thick forest, smelling of early
autumn and earth. From deeper within, he could hear the scuffling of
animals running about, and occasionally baleful eyes would peer out
from the gloom, and then sink deeper in. For many minutes he stood
awestruck, maybe even a little frightened.
Overhead the moon finally rent the clouds asunder and poured pale
light across the earth again. The leaves on the trees, now bathed in this
light, burst to life, no longer a smoldering fire. Now they were the sun at
night, the lion in the desert, and this feeling electrified him. Before he
knew what he was doing, he padded into the forest, cautious but determined.
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