The hole is probably deep enough. He doesn’t think anyone will stumble across it, but he’ll make sure to cover it with leaves and brush just in case.
The body is where he left it, eyes still open. He’s unnerved by the sight of it, knowing it looks like him, that it could have easily been him. He should have expected this, should have seen this coming, but he didn’t plan it this way. He didn’t want this to be the end result. Because this person, this man, was a part of him, even if they were nothing alike.
“What do you know about schizophrenia?” he asks the sightless man.
He gets no response, of course.
He puts his hands under the man’s arms and begins to drag him into the trees.
It’s only then that he notices they’re dressed the same. White shirt. Jeans. Gray Chucks.
He laughs. It comes out broken.
He knows that at funerals, one is supposed to say something nice about the dead.
He says, “I’m sorry it had to be this way. I wish we could have… this is my life. This is my life. You… you weren’t real.”
The sightless man says nothing.
He thinks he should close his eyes, but he can’t stand the thought of touching him again. Especially since he can see the vivid bruises in the shape of his fingers around the dead man’s neck.
Instead, he begins to fill the hole with handfuls of dirt.
It takes a while.
When he’s almost done, when all that’s visible is the tip of a nose, the tips of shoes, he thinks, I would do this again if I had to.
He doesn’t know what that makes him.
HE CLEANS himself as best he can. There’s a little brook running along the road. He washes the dirt and grime from his hands. Splashes his face. Wets his hair. It feels good. It feels real.
He doesn’t look at his reflection in the water. He’s not ready for that. Not yet.
T
he horse is still standing off to the side of the road. It watches him as he approaches. It doesn’t try to flee from him, even though it just witnessed him murdering a part of himself.
He thinks he’ll hesitate. That he won’t be able to do it.
He doesn’t.
Sometimes, he can still surprise himself.
He touches the horse and it’s—
LATER, WHEN he comes across the sign, his breath hitches in his chest and his eyes start to burn. He lets himself cry, just for a moment, before he pushes on.
? Welcome To Amorea ?
Happiness Lives Here!
THE LITTLE road changes. There’s a hill ahead. It’s not steep, but it’s big enough that he can’t quite see over it, can’t see what’s on the other side. But he knows.
He knows.
He begins to run.
HE TAKES the final steps to the top of the hill.