Creative Writing Piece

I drag my feet slowly through the dirt again. And again. And again. I don’t know how long it’s been since I started my journey through the dark forest. The aching in my legs tells me it’s been months; the rising and setting of the sun in the distance reminds me how slowly time is really moving. I keep walking. The moon is out and the trees don’t utter a word. The only noise I hear is the soft sound of my own footsteps. The never-ending forest is full of large, dark trees that reach all the way up into the sky. I can see almost nothing but brittle, warm-toned leaves hanging off branches and covering the ground around me. I notice a fallen oak covered in orange leaves from a nearby tree and I pause. It looks familiar. Have I been here before? Walking in circles? If so… for how long? I don’t have time to stop. I keep walking. A huge gust of frigid air rushes toward me. I shiver. My back is sore under the weight of all my belongings, like a twig just about to snap. I keep walking. When I finally start to see the slow rise of the blazing sun above the trees, I yawn. I haven’t slept in over a day, so I let myself collapse on the ground. I know that when I wake up, I’ll have to walk much faster to beat the approaching winter cold, before everything around me is so heavily buried under snow that I have no way of knowing which way I’m going, or if I’ve arrived. I don’t ponder this for too long before drifting off into a deep sleep.