I walked

I walked until I fell down and then I got up again. A crowd began to form, and some of them hung bunting. There was a real carnival atmosphere after a while, as they watched me stagger. Round and round the village square I went, feet bloodied and battered in my tattered old shoes. An old woman had baked cakes, and everyone seemed to have one. I tried to grab one as I stumbled past but the cobbles seemed to fall away and my grasping hand met only air.

I began to despise them after a while. Nobody gathers to shout encouragement to the joggers in the local park, and I wished for no encouragement myself. It was already clear that I would walk until I could go no further. It was an itch I needed to scratch, and I didn’t feel the need to share that with the world. I could do little to get rid of them, however; already too exhausted to shout, I waved my arm slightly but they just laughed and kept bellowing choice words. A boy threw a stick and it clattered from my shin.

After that it turned quite nasty, the child’s futile attack seemingly inspiring the previously-positive villagers into a newfound state of ignorant rage. The butcher’s wife started chasing me around, though with little effect as she struggled with the poorly-paved streets that I had already adapted to. The other children found new things to throw, jagged things, stinking things, their own excrement.

I began to smile, and adjusted my pace accordingly. It was going to be a long night.