The wood was looming tall
miserable and old.
I too, was sad and felt drawn in.
The path wound and wound, past
clearings, over fallen trees until it split.

The feeling rose inside then, the feeling
of something bigger than the wood and me.
Round the corner they waited,
round the corner I came.
Three beings cloaked in black
and dark grey. Hoods covered their heads and faces.
shadows slid from left to right.
Dust, decay, smoke, dirt
burned my nostrils, I smothered a cough.

The central one stood straight,
thin and tall
old yet still strong and powerful.
The one on the left concealed large wings,
once white and full now brown and balding,
poking through large tears in the cloak behind his back.
A golden beard glinted in the limited light.
The one on the right was hunched over
clutching onto a staff to keep upright
and an almost white beard flowed to his knees.
Their faces, from what I could make out
through the blurry haze of shadows
marred, scarred
battered, from wars and fights perhaps.

The tall one spoke
with a voice, smooth and light yet muffled
like somebody who had been recently crying
“Try not to look at what we were.
We used to be creatures of importance.
Significance, magnificence.
The elite of the highest races on and off earth, but
now our misery has become our religion
and who we are.”
They pleaded that I join them
in the misery and the acceptance of
misery.
They handed me my own cloak and hood
but before I would put them on
I had to think.

It’s true these things have offered me
a way out of the pain of
pretending to be satisfied.
Here with these creatures, life
could be easier.
Being able to be miserable without the nagging
“is there something wrong?”
“you seem upset.”
these questions mostly asked without
care, emotion,
sympathy, empathy.

I thought for a long time.
They waited, dark and creepy.
Garden ornaments
motionless, emotionless
lifeless. Just staring,
more through than at me.
No names. Nothing
about them could say who they were.
a life without identity. A life without goals.
a life without purpose.
a life without…

Would I end up like them?
Unable to die but continuously getting older?
Scratches on my face and hands,
the shadows covering everything
that brings light to a life.
All these things I pondered while they
waited…
but could I reply with what they longed to hear?