Miraculous X

The twigs cracked and snapped as Mark stumbled his way through the brush. He dared not to look back, in fear of what he might see. That thing had been chasing him for days, and it showed no signs of letting up. Thus, he continued, with his breath condensing and vanishing before him, and sweat stains beneath his arms. He had to keep on going. He couldn’t give in.

An idiot. He was an idiot. She meant everything to him, and he took her for granted. So what did she do? She packed her bags and left, without another word. Figures. Something so predictable, so inevitable, and he still couldn’t see it coming. It was just like him to fuck it up. Oh, the things he would do to reconcile with his lost love, but wherever he went it followed. A disgusting, putrid beast comprised of everything that he hated about himself, shackling him to his past without enabling him to move forward. These thoughts coursed through his head as he struggled and pushed his way through the winding forest.

He had reached his limit. He had to stop. Pulling himself behind a tree, he stood still as the autumn air itself, not making a single movement. Behind him, the gentle scratching of talons upon the ground continued, the faint dragging of leaves and pebbles beneath mighty claws penetrating the silence of a woods holding its breath. These subtle intonations tugged at Mark’s mind, urging him to do… something. He couldn’t bear it any longer. Mustering all of his will, he peeked around the trunk, and a set of beady eyes devoid of any emotion met his own. Overcome with an immediate sense of grief, he bounded back from the scornful trunk of the tree, and began to run anew.

He showed no signs of stopping even as thorns and spines tore at his skin, and the insects bit him with seemingly malevolent intent. He twisted and danced around the scenery in a display of stunted choreography. It was not long before his foot snagged on some cunning root, causing him to plummet face-first into the cold, unfeeling soil. Blood gushed from a gash beneath his eye, his trembling body riddled with scrapes. Nevertheless, he looked up, and at his fingertips he saw it: a feather, faintly gleaming in the dim light of the forest. No less, it was the feather of a peacock. It was almost as omnipresent as the bird itself, and wherever it seemed to appear, the bird wasn’t far away. This was inconsequential to Mark, however, and as he lifted himself, he left the feather behind just as he had done numerous times before. Surely still, the bird followed.

Hours passed. It was getting late, with the sun disappointedly ducking its face beyond the mesh of branches and leaves. After days of running on end, he was finally nearing his ultimate capacity. No longer could he persist, fatigue ripping his muscles apart and blood spilling from his self. He arrived at a drop-off. Before him was a seemingly bottomless landing, obscured by the many species plants and trees around him. He stared, defeated. He almost didn’t notice the bird creeping up behind him, before coming to a stop. There it was, no more than a few centimeters behind him, and with no other options left, he faced it. It was terrible. Its dry skin sagged from its bones, with ghastly feathers showing no color, as those of a peacock should. Its neck had a downward concave curvature as if under some tremendous burden, and its form seem deprived of life altogether. It lifted its face to meet his. Its empty eyes stared into his soul, oddly aware of his feelings, but spiteful all the same. The bird took another step forward, knocking Mark off his balance and tumbling into the ravine. Then, darkness.

When he came to, he was alone. A black expanse stretched out before him in every direction, a void of absolute solitude. Was he dead? He thought not. Was he alive? He wasn’t sure. No, this must have been a dream.

Of course, the bird soon reappeared in his line of sight. Surely, not even in his dreams he would be safe from his past. Mark thought to begin the chase once again. But he didn’t. There was nowhere left to run, and nowhere left to hide. He just stood still, and waited for it to come to him. Soon it towered over him, looking down upon him expectantly. He waited for it to strike him down with one conclusive blow. But it didn’t. They had reached a stalemate.

His hands felt around him, and found something soft. He grabbed it, and brought it up to where he could see it. A feather. No less, it was the feather of a peacock. He glanced up at the beast, then back down at the feather, and finally he conceded. He let it go. It was his fault that Samantha left him. If he ever got the chance, he decided would treat her better, and be more perceptive to her needs and his shortcomings. He wouldn’t waste the second opportunity as he had his first. He would give her all he had to offer.

The bird accepted Mark’s offer. From his hands, it took the feather, and it rejoiced at being reunited with the missing part of him. It cooed happily, playfully prancing around with the feather in a state of ecstasy. Suddenly, Mark didn’t feel the impending sense of torment that he had in the days prior. He felt relieved, and above all, he felt complete. The bird began to trail away, leaving Mark to himself.

The next thing he knew he was in a hospital. The doctors informed him that they had brought him in after hikers reported an attempted suicide. That was a week ago. After the doctors had left, he noticed a bouquet of flowers on a stand next to his bed, and beside them was a letter. He opened it and read it to himself.

“Mark, I heard about what happened, I can’t believe that you would go and do something so rash. This didn’t need to happen. I think we seriously need to talk some things over, and come to an understanding. This doesn’t change anything, it’s just… I hope you get better, and I hope this finds you well. Call me when you get the chance, I need to know if you’re ok. Sincerely,

Samantha”

This didn’t mean anything would come of it, but he might have had a chance, and if that chance presented itself to him, Mark promised himself he wouldn’t screw it up. He guided his hands to the bouquet, and picked up the arrangement for examination. They were pretty, and seemed expensive. He became perplexed, however, as he noticed something peculiar. Mixed in among the bunch, there was a feather. No less, it was the feather of a peacock. But this one belonged to him.