Her half of the full circle

She was running. Her feet flying. She didn’t know where. It was an empty path. The dusty road endlessly jumping ahead of every milestone she passed. On each milestone sat a figure cross legged with flowing hair. Rigid as stone. Each flying past. The faster she ran the faster they became the past. Some had open eyes. Like poached eggs. The disintegrating yolk hardened in gooey yellow streams. On their stony cheeks. The trees on either side reaching their leafy hands across the road forming a tunnel through which she ran. Even as she ran she held her mirror to her face. Jumping up and down as she pounded on and on. And even as she ran, and the tunnel grew deeper and darker, she heard the pounding steps of someone else running towards her. And her heart pounded. She wondered who it was. Another life? She wanted to meet another life. Another heart that pounded like hers. Another pair of feet that bounded like hers. And who were these cross legged, lifeless stony figures that watched her with their poached egg eyes. She could see them as she left them behind reflected in the mirror she held up to her face. On and on they jumped endlessly behind her even as they sat in their rigid poses. On the empty dusty road. Sometimes it felt as if she was running on the same spot. Caught in this endless tunnel without a beginning without an end. And yet, there were the footsteps she distinctly heard. Coming towards her. Louder and louder they grew the faster and faster she ran. On her spot. But no, the road was moving under her feet. The dust swirling every time her foot punched against its skin. So she must be moving ahead. Getting somewhere. Where was she running? Whom was she going to meet? There was not a glimmer of sky in the jumping images in her eyes in her mirror. Where was the sky? Would the tunnel ever end? Who was it coming towards her? Could they hear her pounding feet? And her pounding heartbeat? The tunnel had many bends in her half of a full circle, and suddenly when her footsteps turned around the blind bend, the tunnel disappeared. An evening sky spread above her head. The horizon bleeding with the sun setting across a wide river with turbulent waters where her feet came at last to a halt. And across the river, in the dim light, she saw another dark forest with a dark tunnel disappearing into its heart. And at the clearing on the bank on the other side of the stream, sat a cross legged figure, ancient and rigid. Its poached egg eyes watching her. Who are you, she called, her heart pounding across the churning waters of the stream. Even though in her heart she knew. It is you. Nobody else but you. Don’t you recognize yourself? A voice like the turbulent waters of the river answered. She flung her mirror into the moving waters. She no longer had need for mirrors. As it struck the surface it broke into infinite multitudes of tiny pieces. Each a tiny reflection of her face, ancient and rigid, with eyes like poached eggs, the disintegrated yolk hardened into gooey yellow streams imprinted on its shiny face, before disappearing forever into the churning river.

-by Rita Putatunda