It all boils down to this moment, the one in front of which she stood and could not fathom what to make of. She was not trembling, neither did she feel drunk, but she did not know if her mind played tricks on her. Maybe it did, but how could she tell what was real from fiction? K stood in silence reading the book, always on the same page. Did he ever turn a page? Did the book ever change? Always the same book.

Always on the same page.

Never had she thought about this.

Had he ever read another book? Has she ever seen the cover?

She could not confront him on this matter in the middle of the woods. The consequences of her being alone in the woods with essentially a strange figure she knew nothing about flowed through her mind. The next morning, they will find her body, slashed into hundreds of pieces. Blood scattered like abstract paintings covers the forest floor. She will disappear and no one will look for her.

“What is real is only in the mind.”

The words seemed further away, mythical, again emanating from the very forest she was standing in. The figure did not look up. For a moment the figure itself became tangled and eaten by the ivy plants and dead leaves. A mossy figure. She closed her eyes and opened them, but K was gone. There was nothing, no mossy figure, no pious philosopher reading his book, not even indentations that might give the idea that K stood there.

Was this really how it will end? With her dying in the woods without family or friends, with her last thoughts being that of her sister who OD’d. A similar fate, but the causes and addictions totally different.

“The mind,” someone began talking behind her.

She quickly turned around, but nothing was there. Was it in her mind? She wondered when last she had something to drink, again she wondered how she ended up here. But nothing made sense and she could not see him any longer.

“This is not funny,” she managed to say.

But silence greeted her. She walked around the clearing where she thought K was standing. But there was nothing, except his book.

She picked up the thin booklet. Her heart began beating faster and faster. There was no cover. It was a notebook. She knew what she would find in it. She instinctively knew. Could she open it? Could she stand up to the fate she knew she had to live (and then die)?

She slowly opened the booklet. Various sketches of herself filled the pages. No text, merely her face, and her body, always without clothes. She immediately identified her own face, the likeness was uncanny and terrifying. Where did and when did he do it? And where was he? Did he really see her naked or was this all fictitious? She threw the notebook down and turned in circles to see if she could spot him. But nothing. There was not even a sound. Only her breathing and her heart beating outside of her body. She again turned around and picked up the book. She was taking it with her, to the police.

---

***

---

The woods were a menacing and frightening place. Her mind wandered more than her body. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth; how long has it been since she last had some water? Nothing familiar ever appeared. The pathways came and went. She did not know how she will escape. Escape from what though? She had the notebook filled with sketches of her, but she never saw K, or had she? She did not hear anything behind her, she did not hear anyone yell or call her. She was alone with the strange notebook in her possession.

She remained in a clearing and again looked at the notebook. She paged through the entire booklet. Every sketch was of her. She saw herself in every detail, every pencil mark on the page. Why did he do it? To what avail? Did he create all of the illustrious philosophical words to lure her into whatever this is? Where was he now? Was he some sort of murderer and she was merely one of the subjects being hunted? No, it could not be. It could not end like this. She put away the book into her pocket and began to walk again, searching for new clearings that might lead to a road.

But nothing appeared and the sun began setting. How was she ever going to escape the nightmare that was slowly unfolding with her as the main character? She sat down on a fallen tree’s branch. She breathed deeply and calmed her nerves a bit as if she was performing a dance in front of the school as all those years ago. Everything will be fine, and she will merely stand in front of the crowd, her mother and father, and sister in the front row. Everything will be fine, and she will dance like no one is looking, the music loud in her ears, and unbeknownst to her parents, already a bit drunk. She found vodka in her dad’s study and decided to drink some. It calmed her nerves. Now, she wishes she had the vodka in her pocket and not this notebook.

She closed her eyes, and for the first time, prayed to whoever was listening.

---

Postcriptum, a Twist at the End

A nice twist at the end, why not? The story is coming to an end, but how she will escape the woods without too many cliches is still something I need to figure out. But that is next time's trouble. For now, I like how the element of the notebook came to be. I did not think about it; as I wrote the idea just emerged from the paper (or word document). It seemed to work and I added it. It adds a nice element of surprise, maybe K is real, or maybe not? The reader can decide.

For now, please enjoy the reading, and stay safe!

All of the writings are my own. The photographs are also my own, taken with my Nikon D300.