Everything Tastes of Porridge

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stranger.” – The Joker
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The silent lake, flanked by the brown mountains, was picture perfect.

Dazzling blue water mirrored the empty dome above. He crouched on the bare, rounded stones, pulled his sleeves up. After a pause, he sucked in his breath, plunged his arms up to his elbows in the cold liquid and washed them unhurriedly. The water swished and splashed.

Ajay looked up and had the feeling that the dome was placed there – just so – as an inverted noodle bowl on top of the plains and valleys, the mountains and caves - to trap him and keep him here: no escape. For a moment he shuddered even though he was alone in this vast land now. The sound and the cold was perhaps too much after what had happened. But the silence, so overpoweringly negative, so cold affirmed the sheer warmth of his pulsing wrists, his beating heart.

And the mountains, bare of any vegetation, were unadulterated giants rising up from the bosom of this austere, barren earth to greet him, to watch over him, to peer at him, to hold him off from others-

to question him, to crowd over him, to push down on him, to oppress him, to reign over him.

He shook his head, closing his eyes. He was imagining things.

When his fingertips began to feel numb, he pulled his hands out and slid them, dripping, over his hair. He drubbed the loose black strands in place, plastering them to his slightly oily scalp.

He stood up. The stones crunched under his dirty boots. His jeans felt like it was made of wood. His head was pounding with clamped down excitement of moments before. He took a deep breath, thrilled by the sensation of the icy current slicing into his soft warm flesh inside.

A gentle breeze arose. His scalp began to feel exposed and stony, his gut filled with foreboding.

Walking over to his camping gear, he packed everything in, arranging the stuff he did not need, pulling out the stuff he did. The utensils jangled with his metal clasps and ropes. The knives clanked: sounds that echoed from one end of the valley to the other. He began to shiver. Once done, he let the silence overtake him, pulling a jacket over himself. He did not prepare for setting up a fire.

The sky was beginning to darken; blotting into a darker shade of blue. He came to the lake for a last look at himself before the darkness took over. He saw his reflection smile at him though it was pale and steely.

“You’re the man”, it said to him.

“You’re the man. Don’t forget that.” It said again, staring at him severely now, eyes like two abysses.
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“Madness is like gravity, all it takes is a little push.” – The Joker