I lie awake, knowingly alone, uncomfortable in this bed, restless.

I switch off the light.

My senses download a memory past three in the morning.

It’s a wound, that of an animal. I can smell it, so close to me that I can see the sheen of the fur upclose, the different length in hair follicles, the dirt and grass of the ground, its home. The wound is warm and infected.

This animal has never had a roof over its head, has never been indoors. He is in the wild, doesn’t understand foreigners.

For the first time in its life he is experiencing being caught, held against his will. The wound is burning and causing his temperature to rise, he is not fighting, he keeps still and silent.

Dark brown fur, forest creature, very elusive.

This animal has known miracles, it has been led to rivers in times of unimaginable thirst, it’s been subject to foreign kindness and the word chance. Little does he know nor understands, but he intuits. As a creature of its body and senses, it has felt relief and something akin to gratefulness upon chance and miracles.

The lonely animal suffers not but is in pain. Fear overtakes him right before his eyes close. Upon waking he is greeted by a moist fresh wind blowing strongly in his direction, rain is coming soon.

It is nighttime and the stars above appear to observe him, he starts moving his paws. Pain is but a faint sensation now, he feels light and well awake. But now he is hungry… he smells food nearby but where is it?

Tucked away, covered in dirt and small rocks, a rodent. Car tire tracks next to it speak of casualty or chance.

As I type, I feel a sadness, but why? What do we see in the story that generates this void within? Is this the human condition?

it all started with a projected image.