Past Writing: An Autumn Walk

Written November 2023

Once, during an autumn vacation, I traveled to a mountain village whose exact location eludes my memory. The trees and leaves made a golden palace, reflecting the sun’s ethereal rays. Halfway up the mountain, with a collection of wooden huts that were more yellow than brown, the village sat. The people spoke with a quiet, reserved politeness, and the small, dainty village, like the people, stood alone inside the palace, receiving few visitors. It seemed to be a small oasis of carefreeness and nature amidst the busy world. 

However, no matter how unclear the location, the events that night have etched themselves deep in my mind. With the sun fading down the horizon, I ambled with my flashlight casting a dim glow on the path ahead. The autumn leaves crunched under my feet, and crickets creaked a distant symphony. Usually, these walks were short, perhaps ten to fifteen minutes, but that night, immersed in my own thoughts, I traveled long through the hills. Somewhere along the path, a building that was more stacked logs than a house caught my attention. Curious, I peeked into the hut. Inside, a makeshift bed of cloth and leaves lay, though I could not fathom how someone could sleep in it. Before I could inspect further, movement behind jolted me from my thoughts. 

I turned to see a person about my height, with messy hair and tattered clothing. Panicked, I stepped back, putting myself in a defensive position, wary of him.

“Hey, man. Don’t be scared. I don’t bite,” He grinned. 

“O..K..?” We both stood there for an awkward moment, staring at each other through the soft glow of the flashlight. “Welcome to my humble abode!!” he exclaimed with an enthusiasm that took me off guard, “Come in! Rarely in these times do I receive visitors!” 

I nodded, still wary, and slowly moved in; he followed close behind. Once inside, I asked, “Why do you live here, isn’t there a village down the mountain?” 

“Because I’m an idiot!” He answered with a big smile on his face. 

“Wwwhat?” I paused, taken aback by this abrupt statement. 

“And not only me, the people in the village, and you!” 

“You’re mad.” 

“I’m not crazy, it's just what I know!” He declared, “The whole world is full of idiots, hah, they’re unwilling to admit it! All of them!” 

His laughter then danced through the trees, and still shaking with mirth, his eyes focused on me with an insane and deranged glint. 

I stayed silent, considering his erratic words. 

“What!? No comments?” He said as he kept his smile growing impossibly wider. 

I stayed silent. 

He laughed again, “You don’t get it, do you?” I nodded slightly.

“Of course,” he sighed, and at that moment, he changed. His eyes turned piercing cold, studying me as one would an artifact or object. The smile never left his face. 

“It's like when I look at the clowns around me, knowing they know nothing, and I know that I know nothing, but I still know they know even less! But they laugh at me, and I laugh back! Clueless idiots! And they do not understand me, nor any in this whole world!”

He said these last words with a ferocity that scared me. I backed away slowly toward the makeshift door. His gaze still intent on me, he continued his tantrum. 

“And not even you who spend your nights in this lonely mountain taking your vacation in this terrible mountain village will know! So who ever will?!” 

Close to the door, an overwhelming sense of danger came upon me, as if a deadly predator had locked its eyes on its prey. An ax appeared in his hands. 

“And who are you to judge me for who I am?”

An instant later, I bolted out the door and sprinted back down the hill. I heard his footsteps close behind, his laughter chilling the night. I ran and ran, faster and faster. 

“Stay with me! For long will I wait before another comes that is as close to me as you! Ha!”

I kept running, looking back to see him running barefoot close behind, blood slowly seeping through his ripped toes. His laughter pierced through the trees into my eyes. I sprinted through the trees, making my way down the mountain, him close behind. Again, I looked back, and his bloodied face and arms, matched with his ever-lasting smile, painted a haunting scene. 

At one point a thud sounded close behind me, followed by another laugh, but I kept running, not daring to look back, fearing what I would see behind. I let out a small breath when I heard his laugh and footsteps fading away. I kept running, and did not rest until I reached the safety of the village, heaving air in big gasps. 

The next day my inquiries on the man yielded but silence and pitiful looks. I left the next day, still haunted by the incident. 

Now, the man’s image and the village blur deep into my memories. Only the words the man spoke to me still resonate with me now. One day I look in a mirror, musing with a smile on my face. Perhaps he is not the only one misunderstood by the world. And I, of course.