By Junior Levi Kassinove
Weekly, I assign the Blog Staff a Creative Writing Prompt–separate from their weekly posting prompt. The prompt is intended to be fun–sometimes the results are publishable, sometimes . . . not. Two weeks ago, I asked the staff to write about “darkness.” Levi went . . . dark . . . and to a completely unexpected place. We blame his new alpaca hoodie. Still, if you’re a fan of the workings of Levi’s mind, you may enjoy the following fiction . . . into the dark.
Blog Advisor Zachik
Day 1:
I’m currently hiking in the Andes Mountains. There is a clear sky and a bright sun. I can see a rainbow over the distant mountains. 45 minutes ago, I was separated from my group of friends that I met last night during a shamanic ritual. I am currently following a herd of alpacas. I think that they can at least guide me somewhere safe.
Update 1:
The alpacas led me to a hermit who seemed to be taking care of them. He lived near the entrance of a cave that stretched deep into the mountain. Upon my arrival, the hermit sheared some of the alpacas and gave the fur to his wife, who then proceeded to start weaving the fur into a sweater, presumably as a welcome gift for me. The hermit led me into his minimalistic wooden shed, which had an air of detachment and mystery that made me uneasy. He offered me dinner, which consisted of sautéed, unfamiliar-looking mushrooms and a glass of…some sort of liquor. It tastes pretty good, actually.
Update 2:
I woke up in a cave, presumably the same one that the hermit was near. There is nobody around, and I have an alpaca fur sweater on. I do not remember the weaver finishing the sweater I’m wearing, nor do I remember her giving it to me. The cave is dark, cold, and scary. Right now, I don’t know what to do, and the walls are moving. Though I can’t see the movement, I can feel it.
Day 2:
Nobody has come to save me. I have been eating whatever I could find in the crevices of this cave. All I have is the warmth and comfort of my alpaca sweater. I can only hope that soon someone will save me. Who was that hermit? Why did the alpacas follow him?
Day 35:
I have been using a rock to etch lines into the cave walls to denote the passing days. I am beginning to feel my mind slip, in the sense that I cannot trust my humanity, but I am resisting the slipping. My sweater has, remarkably, remained dry and cozy. I also didn’t know that grass grows in caves. Here there is grass. Why did I even decide to follow the alpacas? What was I thinking?
Day 203:
I found the hermit’s corpse last week. He had chunks bitten out of him, as if he was eaten by a pack of hyenas. But I have an eerie suspicion that it was the alpacas. I wonder if I’m their next target. I should have never followed them to the hermit’s cave. They are a murderous bunch. A gang of land dolphins. I wonder if no…that can’t be right. They must’ve tricked me…somehow…into following them to the hermit so that they could murder both of us and dispose of the evidence. Yes, I am beginning to piece it together now.
Day 116:
They were always out to get me. Alpacas are sentient beings. I don’t even think that they are from earth. That innocent hermit…he was just happy to be in the presence of nature. He treated the alpacas well. Those animals are a bunch of psychopaths. I don’t know why I am still wearing this sweater. I don’t want to wear the fur of murderers. It’s just…so…warm. I wonder what happened to the weaver. She must be worried sick.
Day that I will escape:
Last night, sure enough, I found the weaver’s corpse. I am definitely next. This is all just a sick game to the alpacas. Torturing me just for entertainment. Is it because I took their fur? Is it because I’m human? A contributor to the demise of the planet? Whatever it is, I am going to escape. I just need to figure out how. How am I going to escape when the walls are constantly moving?!!!
Day ___:
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It was all a red herring.
The hermit. The weaver. The cave. The alpacas. They are just animals. Just grazing…they happened to bump into the hermit and the weaver.
I’ve just got it…I’ve repressed the idea for so long. The sweater proves it all. I couldn’t take it off no matter how much I wanted to. Nature is me, and I am nature. We were always one. This is the end of my journal. I can’t bear to write anymore, and there’s some hay over there that looks pretty good. My hands…have they always looked like . . . hooves??
