  I can tell that I've walked for awhile because my feet feel bruised,  like when I try to walk up a river and the rocks become unfriendly. nbsp;  My skin is cold feeling,  and the tshirt and jeans I have on are stained. nbsp;
 I feel slightly embarrassed about it,  though I cant recall where the stains come from,  or when the last person to see them way,  or when someone might. nbsp;  The wild grass has frost on it.
nbsp;  My toes are peeking from under the cuff of my jeans. nbsp;  Barefoot,  and its so cold. nbsp;
 My hair is down and frozen. nbsp;  There is something in my back pocket pushing heavy against my lower back,  feeling colder then the rest of me. nbsp;  I'm about to investigate it when I get the powerful urge to look,
 to see. nbsp;  It overwhelms me. nbsp;  How could I forget the danger? nbsp;
 Even for a second? nbsp;  My eyes whip around me taking in the broken stone and the pre dawn haze that hides something unnamed. nbsp;  I try to crouch down,  but am sharply stopped by an icy shock under my shirt,
 where the skin was almost warm but has been set to numbness by that thing in the pocket. nbsp;  I freeze in the half animal stance,  hoping that its not too late. nbsp;  There is a road to the right,
 but that must be avoided. nbsp;  They come out after dark,  but they can sometimes use the roads in others,  during the day. nbsp;
 There are the remains of a fire. nbsp;  Was it mine? nbsp;  I some how doubt it,  but there is a crust of stale bread by the pit,
 and I inch towards it and then lunge,  as if it could escape. nbsp;  My breathing is ragged again. nbsp;  Easy to hear.
nbsp;  Leaving a steam path. nbsp;  I try to calm it,  breath through my nose. nbsp;
 It feels like my nose is running,  and I reach to wipe it. nbsp;  Blood smears my fingers instead of snot. nbsp;  Now is not the time to linger.
nbsp;  My feet are being cut by the iced grass,  and my stomach is saying that I haven't eaten during the journey here,  or for sometime before. nbsp;  This place is not for waiting in though.
nbsp;  This is the gateway,  and those are always bad. nbsp;  Wind has been lashing me for hours,  but the feeble sun of this place at least cleaned the hoarfrost from the ground.
nbsp;  The thing in my pocket is rubbing my back raw,  but now I am afraid to touch it. nbsp;  I still haven't looked,  or felt.
nbsp;  Curiosity in this wheel kills,  faster then anything that will come at you. nbsp;  Its another cold place. nbsp;
 I'm not used to them yet. nbsp;  At one point,  when I notice the blisters that are forming on the top of my feet from some cutting hooked burs that are forced on the path again and again,  I almost stop to weave some shoes. nbsp;
 No. nbsp;  Bad plan. nbsp;  Foolish even. nbsp;
 Not here. nbsp;  Not yet. nbsp;  I headed east. nbsp;
 Was that wrong? nbsp;  Has it ever mattered. nbsp;  The time before this it was north,  and the time before that west.
nbsp;  South is always wrong,  which likely makes it the correct choice this time. nbsp;  Damn it. nbsp;
 I feel another sharp pain in my nose,  realize that I breathed in heavy,  was sobbing,  am crying. nbsp;  Now the bleeding is there again,
 and my shirt gains easily seen specks of faded red and salt crystals.  I start running at sunset,  madly scratching through the thicket that binds me. nbsp;  Or am I choosing to be bound in? nbsp;
 Hard to say. nbsp;  Part of my mind is far away,  and is watching as I scrape more skin from my palms,  observing that I will leave an easy to follow trail now. nbsp;
 My mind cocks its head in the direction of my picking up a rock and frantically trying to cut my way out. nbsp; nbsp;  The mind is a bird now,  just pecking away at the little sanity I've held to this point.  I've tried to change the pattern.
nbsp;  Everything else has changed,  why cant I change the pattern. nbsp;  For the first twenty or thirty times I ran until there was no where else to go and felt my flesh rip off my back never seeing what was destroying me. nbsp;
 Then,  recently I tried turning. nbsp;  " Face your fears.  There was still the vague hope that this was a dream.
nbsp;  But I turn around,  and there is nothing there,  except something behind me. nbsp;  I thought that maybe reality disappeared when I wasn't looking,
 that nothingness is what was crouching there waiting to devour me. nbsp;  It might be. nbsp;  I cant turn fast enough to tell. nbsp;
 I get something each time. nbsp;  Some piece to the riddle there in the back. nbsp;  Lately,  I have liked the clues less and less.
nbsp;  They started out almost kindly,  and have becoming increasingly pushy. nbsp;  This time it is a gun,  with one bullet.
nbsp;  last time,  a razor,  next time,  maybe some pills. nbsp;
 Something I may take. nbsp;  Now though,  I am watching the last stages of this round. nbsp;  Until the last minute I am able to stay out of the whole thing.
nbsp;  Then,  it is burning,  and it eats away at my latest feeble attempt To come up with some plan. nbsp;  Then,
 its just that cool blue light,  and on to another place.
