The Wanderer

He walked across the marshes, the sun laying barren and low in the horizon giving an unearthly feeling to land. Trudging slowly, he continued on, his endless walk continuing one staggered step at a time. His hair was long and wild and he had clearly been abroad for months. Clothes hung to his body seemingly willing to fall at any moment worn to but an inch of their once illustrious existence. Large cracks in large boots must have provided little or no protection for his feet, but he did not seem to care. The marsh was a vile place and stunk of rot and decay. Nothing appeared to live apart from the ugly vegetation, and even it seemed suffocated by the dread that could be felt all around. As he walked, something stirred, a creature broke through the surface of one of manly small streams that ran. It was a small, fish like thing, no bigger than a fist, and of little consequence to the man. He broke his stride momentarily to examine the thing in its struggle to survive with everyday life. Swimming, it ducked and dived through the marsh, and briefly it was gone. He thought of freedom, among other things, and held still in a moment of silence.

The man stood and composed himself, his eyes lost in contemplation. And with that he walked yet again across the marsh.