(Page 1 of 5) Stubborn by Rob GarbinSUMMARY: I came up with this idea from one of my blog posts.The sun beat down mercilessly on the barren rocky landscape where plants existed only as withered husks of the former life that had once blessed the deepest nooks of the mountain range. Through the shimmering heat haze a lone figure shambled. The man's age was hard to determine since his skin was browned and wrinkled like a hide that had been exposed to the elements for years. He took each step doggedly even when it was clear they were torturous to him.
A cloud of dust, stirred up by his gnarled, wasted feet, marked his passage. On several occasions the force of his erratic locomotion would dislodge sections of rock that fell upon others kicking up clouds of dust and debris. The man would lean desperately against the mountainside clutching the tattered remains of his dusty cloak and try to cover his ears because the falling rocks would call out to him with cries of abandonment. The moans ripped at his soul since they were from the mouths of all the ideas he had left unfinished in his life.
The bereft man would quiver as his mind raced from one idea to another until his thoughts were as clouded as the air around him. Sucking in ragged breaths, he waited until the wails died down to mummers then shakily picked himself up and stumbled on. Hours passed in the blazing heat without change in the landscape. As he continued on, the man's mind would drift to thoughts of blame. He would curse vainly at the shadows of people he felt were the cause of his plight, but he could not remember their names. Night came slowly. He took shelter between two boulders wrapping his rags tightly around himself. Late into the night he sat huddled about his suffering until exhaustion finally brought blessed oblivion.
The shivers of his cold body woke him long before sleep could give any healing. Minutes passed in confusion until the memory of his plight latched viciously upon his mind and shook the chafe of madness away. Wearily the wretch climbed to his feet and started walking. He no longer knew where he was going or why. The only thing left that he knew was that he refused to quit. It was the core of his being.
Toward midday, a misstep caused him to tumble headlong down the mountain slope kicking up dust and rock, screams and wails. He curled his battered body into a ball and cried wretchedly. A dust of forgotten ideas clamored unceasing as he hit bottom and was buried under cascading waves of gravel. After what seemed like centuries, the gravel, rock, and dust settled. Their mumbling was slowly swept away by the slight breeze that came and toyed with the sad figure of a man buried to his chest in the debris of his past. Shaking from more than just the fall, he stared around trying to grasp the tatters of his thoughts and wrap them around like the shabby remains of his cloak. With a shock the man realized that a sparse drizzle of rain had begun to fall on him.
At first the rain did not make any sound but the shaking figure could feel a tension building inside his body as each drop penetrated his parched skin.
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