My Walkabout

4:47 a.m.

6 degrees Fahrenheit.

January the first, two thousand and sixteen.

No food, no water. The faintest of orange starts to glow on the horizon. He straps on the mask and walks out into the salt flats.

“Kiss my fat ass 2015”.

The last week of 2015 was just as horrible the rest of the year. Detained and questioned like a criminal at the border, his meager possessions stripped from him.

His last resolve was to seek refuge in this country, and that hope was torn to shreds by the sins of his past.

He is banished to walk into the New Year alone, cold and hungry. As the sun rises, he see a mirage.

A Tree of Life.

Climbing into one of the broken ovum’s, he slowly emerges after a spell. A butterfly with new purpose for wings. He won’t let the fuckery of the past diminish the future before him.