Bitter Journey Home

Chewing garlic in the evening helps a sore throat. Garlic will not kill a rat. The sun kills, shining against the eye; it is both enemy and friend. There is enmity between the sun and man. Beams dance by the window sill and sparkle like rain against old wood. The old man leaves the house to visit the grave of his late wife. His grizzled hair and foul breath blows like a trumpet. He prays to the sun god, but receives no answer, only a bitter taste of resignation. A rat crosses his path like some demon. He throws a front kick, then totters, tripping on a vine as he moves along. The vine is a snake of green and brown, twisted, gnarled like a calloused palm. Soon he must head home. It is evening and the day is dimming like a short wick. The old man is dim of mind and feeble. His limbs carry many wounds like thorns. Surely sleep will restore his memory. Surely he will find his way home.