When I was younger there was a little stretch of woods behind our house. Within this stretch of wood lay a dozen small holes in the ground. They were almost big enough to fit a casket. They did wonderful things for our imagination and rpg games. My uncle, brother and I went through a series of phases that took us through our rpgs, at first our favorite game to play was Ghostbusters. Every day we would go out to the woods and pretend that we would catch ghosts. Our second big phase was Resident Evil. Now this is where the holes did wonders for our imagination. We would pretend that zombies had dug themselves out of the ground. Us kids would run around with our bb and air soft guns killing these 'zombies'.
As time went on we got more creative and started coming up with our own games. One of which was called 'The Game'. (Extremely creative...I know) The Game was my favorite. I was then old enough and creative enough to be fully apart of this grand adventure. I especially liked to hold the guns. Now the holes were more of a strategic advantage. We could hide in them to surprise our enemy or set up small traps. Many of us had fallen more then once in these holes, thanks to our enemies.
Now those holes are all filled in and a fresh coat of grass covers them. The trees are all removed, but I remember. Today I recieved a birthday card from my aunt. Within that card was picture of Jay and I taken a year ago at the camp grounds and a little baby spoon. At first I was completely puzzeled by this strange gift, but I have learned not to ask questions when it comes to my aunt. My question was answered however, by my small cousin Mason. He came up and asked whether or not I liked the spoon. I of course said yes.
Then he announces, "I dug it up Kayla. I was digging behind the house and found it buried in the ground. Don't you see Kayla. I found you buried in the ground!" He then points at the end of the spoon. Engraved into it is my name and birthdate.

Kayla 5-24-89

"It's very special," He says.

The smell of summer: hot crisp air, foliage, sweat, dirt and growth fill my nostrils. I wipe the back of my hand across my forehead, the sweat smears across it. I taste salt and copper. The clearing is eerily quiet except for the muffled cries of animals, the breeze tickling the trees and foliage, and another sound that seems out of place. Almost like a weeping of sorts….

My vision is blurred but I can see a glossy dark chocolate color ahead of me, just a smear of mocha nestled in a deep rich green and grey ocean.

I feel numb.

I rub my hands against my eyes angrily in an attempt to clear my vision. My eyes are wet. I rub at the wetness. Why are my eyes wet? I crouch down low to the earth, the smell of freshly cut grass and dirt hits me like a blow to the head. The dirt smells dry and earthy almost stale. I can almost feel the sandy grains in my mouth, tasteless, dry, and brittle. I am forgetting something important. I can’t remember exactly what it is. The more I try to remember the more my head hurts. I can smell the sweat under my arms; I can feel it soak into my white blouse.

Something touches my shoulder. It is warm. Its long fingers grip at my shoulder and rests there. What is that? I look up. I can’t quite make out the figure but it is large and towering. It smells wrong mingled in with nature. The colors are wrong. Too bright. It’s talking to me but I can’t quite make out the words. I turn and stumble towards it, hitting my head against its solid form and throwing my hands around its body. It is warm, soft, solid, and smells like sweat. It’s hands hesitantly hold me. It’s comforting. Why do I need to be comforted?

I’m forgetting something. Something important, but I don’t know what it is.

    I stand on the brink of insanity. A  cliff...a tremulous drop into unknown depths. Here I teeter. One foot suspended in air, the other firmly balancing on hard ground. I can feel the loose rock breaking away under foot. It means to sway my balance and force me towards the black unforgiving sea below. For a moment my confidence wanes and i feel for the briefest of moments, the comfort in leaping towards unfathomable depths. The icy sea clutching urgently against my body, the current pulling me down further, until  at last I find peace. A  peace so unfounded...and yet, I still stand poised firmly in place; balanced cautiously on the boundaries of life and death.
    I can taste the salt from the sea, it robs me of my last remaining hope. My mouth is dry...so very dry. I cannot scream my pain, let alone speak. I feel as if it would be better to drown that pain and seek silence in my chaotic mind. Silence. Indeed, I would feel and think nothing. For nothing awaits my demise. No heaven nor hell nor beautiful afterlife. I am but a shadow in an infinite universe. It has no meaning and yet a meaning so confounded it robs me of my silence, it keeps me teetering.
    A thought lingers...be still these raging thoughts, lest they be seen. It gnaws at the furthest depths of my mind until it formulates, corrupting this balancing act.  At first it stuns, and then an insistent wailing sound. A wailing of the most deepest of sorrows. I screamed at the wind, at this unforgiving tedious life. I ball my hands into fists and thrust them towards the sky. It doesn't seem to cease, the sad lament goes on; incoherent and yet all who hear it know its sorrow. My leg buckles and I nearly fall. Shakily I place the suspended foot back onto solid ground and fall to my knees.
    I scream, "Nothing! Nothing I say! What comfort lies in nothingness?" My mind that torments me is my only companion. I would rather live a hundred lives without meaning, without solution then have nothing. Indeed falling into the wide expanse of water would for a moment reprieve me from this life. Silence my mind, but it would also extinguish my existence. Is it worth a brief reprieve from pain? It would be easy, giving in. I look over the cliff. The water crashes with on told force against solid grey rock.  Now there are hands. They reach upwards. They motion silently, beckoning me to join them, their bony pale hands reach just a bit higher. I close my eyes, willing those sick hands to disappear. The laughter starts. A shrill sort of laughter that crawls up your spine and lingers at the base of your neck.
    I almost want to slip off the cliff but no, giving in is accepting the inevitable nothingness below. I stand. My knees buckle and I fight to regain balance. I force my legs to obey. I turn slowly, facing the forest behind me. I take an unsteady step forward. A new sense of purpose guides me, step by careful step. I sense the presence of others. Their faces concealed in shadow but their eyes glow bright. They watch me until I can distinguish a face. So strange were they, part creature part man, part foliage part delusion. Their eerie gaze follows my slow progress in the forest. My purpose becomes evident. Ahead of me a mission, behind my inevitable demise. One day I will step off the cliff but for now I will live.