The Stiffened Path

When he climbed up out of the mud, there was no expression on his face.

He couldn’t remember who he was. He remembered only one number: seventy-three.

First, the faces of his adoptive parents disappeared. His companions left one by one, their features fading from his memory until nothing remained.

In the end, even “pain” became a blur.

A knife pierced the back of his hand, and blood flowed. He looked down. The “ah” caught in his throat and wouldn’t come out.

He kept walking. Not because he wanted to get anywhere.

He counted to seventy-three. When he stopped, he counted to seventy-four.