Villain in the Canvas

Chapter 2

The pigments fly past me from every direction, a grand cascade of hues that mesmerize me into accepting whatever fate awaited on the other end of this kaleidoscope. The chiming of bells rings around me and I was relaxed, why not be?

What was the point of battling it now? My body didn't feel like it was falling, more like flying, the exhilaration surpassing fear as I got shot across a cosmos of stars. It didn't last long as the sensation of a warm belt wraps my middle and slows me just enough to avoid any whiplash as I stop, how gracious of the universe.

The streaks of color slow and merge to the silhouette of fully fleshed out branches hanging high above, my back once again supported by the ground.

A moment of panic strikes as I recall I had just started to accept the idea of existing within a peaceful void to just return to the place of certain torment. Any moment now the face of my enemy will appear above me, gleam me some shit-eating grin before thrusting a rusty knife into my eye cavity while boasting, "Surprise Motherfucker!"

But it never came, he was nowhere to be found, no more a threat than the penetrating cold of that dreadful place.

Warmth saturated my skin as the forest profile disclosed dense towering foliage, crisp bright greens illuminating me on all sides. My hand feels about but there is no longer a gaping wound. No dried blood for that matter, no sign of the trauma at all.

The soft moss covering the soil beneath me bestowed a radiant warmth that penetrated my back, eradicating the throbbing pain that was so fresh moments ago, like nothing had happened. Had it happened? I knew it had not simply been a dream or hallucination. How could the mind imitate the encounter of death with that attention to every excruciating detail?

When I was young and my yearning for psychedelics were in full force, I deemed my wildest trips to be 'realistic' at that moment but details unraveled, the images faded within seconds of waking up. Why had this vision remained so vivid, so painstakingly real?

A crackle snaps in the distance, the fragrance of fiery wood cinches my nose, a trail of smoke rises into the fresh sky. As a wave of memory strikes me a sigh of relief departs, I may not know where I am, but I know who would.

The muscles in my body have eased up as I stand up to look around and notice the enclosing lush vegetation had more in common with a jungle than the common mid-American woodland in terms of both scale and variation.

Giant palm leaves sprouted between hanging kudzu, vines, and moss-covered boulders that cut the steep hills surrounding this valley. The blanket of green was vibrant and nearly neon.

A slight vaporous fog covered the area that left no dampness, just crisp energy that you could feel with each breath. In the distance the fog thickens, forming webbed clouds along the robust green hills.

Moving towards the origin of smoke I see exactly who I expected, the smirking face of Ronald Stone, my father, peering at me in the distance. Motioning me over I think how familiar this scenario feels and start to consider the possible expert for creating such strong hallucinations.

I think of the first time my father took me camping and start to wonder if this was just an evolution of that night, just upping of his game perhaps? Ever since my first encounter with Ron's trials, I realized they would only ripen into more challenging and intense situations, but this was different.

I notice his glance towards me as if actively reading my thoughts, the smile on his face radiating even wider like he was holding back the urge to laugh. What was he so damn amused about? My father was at times an agreeable man, sure, but this was another level, there was no clue of his usual looks expressing judgment and complete disappointment.