This is an excerpt from one of my larger writing projects.
|Chapter Excerpt: The Night Sky
By: Christopher Schmidt (cdschmidt)
The air hung thick with the smell of dirt and manure a few hundred yards from where the creek met a large pasture and Mathew's body lay, hardening an imprint in the tall grass. The smells were completely distinguishable to him, and rather life affirming, just as it had been every night he spent in the very same spot. He had been thinking for several hours, unable to draw sleep from his terrible haunts. He stared intently at the setting stars, as the earth began to take faster breaths from the night’s slumber.
Far off in the distance, a boisterous owl broke the night’s peaceful orchestrations, as if to warn the nocturnal creatures of the approaching dawn. But Mathew continued to stare into the disappearing night sky, his eyes unmoving and overcome by something terrible; the type of eyes that were void of emotion. He was a prolific writer, and journalist, and known quite well in his part of the hemisphere. 'I have reasoned that the noises of life root our feet to the many soils of the earth,' he thinks. 'How else do we affirm a forward and purposeful existence? What would become of our souls without the ground beneath us?' He immediately knew that if he did not get back to the house and write this down it would be forgotten forever, or just never come out the same way, losing its meaning and prose.
A bug struggled for escape beneath his body, wiggling slowly but surely towards freedom with optimism to live, breed, and eventually die another day. “All of our days are numbered my dear friend,” Mathew says aloud. These were first words spoken from his drying mouth since his existential silence began. Regardless of both their fates, Mathew arose from the ground, grabbed what appeared to be a common ground beetle, and tossed it into the field.
Now sitting up, Mathew stared once again at the approaching dawn, struggling to decide whether to lie back down, or walk back to the house to his bed, a bed without ground beetles, and one with a typewriter. Maybe he would find some peace of mind in an unencumbered sleep. He quickly rose from the ground, stared once more at the sky, and began his walk back to the house.