The rocks when he reached the rocks the birds were there. Just a little, a trickle of them. Squared away around the rocks. The surface of the rock hadn’t changed. He began to scramble over them. When he reached the first shelf there was a plank of white plastic balanced on a rock. He picked up the enlarged hammer and began to try lift off. 1, 2, 3 and then he felt it, like a huge burden was weighed on his back. Fell off the see-saw and sank into the earth, dirt ran against his face, he felt the first of several urges to breathe, and then the earth had has back, he was inside, somewhere down, and then blackness.
The earth was a long surface, the senses didn’t shut down, rather they were muted. The earth against his skin occasionally pulled, sometimes jostled him, a gradual flow of erosion weathered him down, he felt his skin give way then the cool burn of tendons, the explosion of organs. Somehow he felt like he was in the woods.
The birds were still playing in the trees. He reached for some bark and stuffed it in his face. Hunger slowly abated. He walked along the tree line until he saw a creek. He began to drink and then bathe, that’s when he saw himself, the eyes popped into the head like a cartoon. He vomited out breakfast.