Glimmering below

Machete in hand I hack away at the never-ending onslaught of prickly vines and leaves. The steaming jungle buzzes with life. Although I can’t see any animals I know they’re out there. I catch movement. Dark figures dart and bound about in the shadowy canopy above. The shrill call of hundreds of birds and giant cicada’s drown out my thoughts. Perspiration bleeds down my face into my eyes blurring my vision. My feet sting with an unholy pain. Dirty water, sweat, and a ponderous army of flesh eating bacteria slowly march into my raw exposed blisters that have turned into cuts that have turned into lacerations. Soldiers call this “jungle rot.” I shudder to think how my feet will look when I remove my boots. I quickly force these thoughts into the back of my mind as I numbly tread on.

The hours endlessly drag. I stop to rest mindful not to drink the microbe-infested water. My shirt is soaked through with stench and grime. I remove it and toss it into the river. I watch it drift away caught up in the current. I can’t help but wonder if gigantic crocodiles resting far below in the river’s murky depths silently watch me with their cold, un-gazing, reptilian eyes. I splash cool water onto my face and onto my chest and shoulders. I subconsciously welcome one of these prehistoric killers to suddenly jump out of the water with a loud splash, snatch me up in it’s gaping, powerful jaws, pull me under, and death roll me. My wish is never granted. Under my breath I curse God as I continue onward.

I arrive into a clearing. Scattered about I see crumbling statues. Below my feet is the ancient foundation of a once glorious temple erected by a once glorious civilization. I inspect the sculptures around me. I can vaguely discern ornate patterns and tales of love and hero’s and loss long ago chiseled into the stone faces. I see your eyes, or rather a fading memory in the nondescript, weather worn rock . Decrepit monuments that once represented your beauty, now corroded to dust and tangled up in spider webs, moss, bird droppings, and animal piss. Another structure, an old pillar, represents your heart. Another sculpture, of a woman, represents your dreams. Another, of a shield, represents our solidarity. I pause and look up into the sky. Heavy, dark clouds begin to gather. I hear the muffled boom of thunder break somewhere far, far away. I turn around and the statues have vanished. I see only jungle. I wonder if you even existed.

I wonder if I even care anymore.

I gather my breath, blankly shrug, and limp away. The bowels of the jungle enfold me. The ganglions, nerve-clusters, and gray matter envelop me and deeper into the darkness of my mind I wander.