Weird Thoughts

The Death Leaf

Had it been a bad idea to eat him?

At first, the thought made me smile. Let's eat the previous chief to gain his wisdom. I'd instated the custom into our tribe soon afterwards. My brothers and sisters' eyes land on me whenever misfortune strikes. But no matter how hard I try to guide, the haul of the hunt remains low. You fool. You unwisest of fools.

These recollections appeared while I awoke moments ago. My eyes won't open, blackness remains before me. Sweltering air swamps my rigid body. What's happening?

Calm down. Don't forget that trees sway when the wind wearies them. Around me leaves rustle, birds sing and insects buzz. Oh, praise the Gods. I'm in our home jungle. The air carries hints of charcoal. Charcoal from a cooking fire? A cooking fire, in turn, might mean I'm in our hut in the trees.

Wood carries me from below while birds sing from up high. Am I lying on a bench? Something shields me from the smoke, only my face being exposed. None of this makes sense.

"Hello?" I ask the blackness, "who goes there?"

There's the shuffle of footsteps and the sound of a breath.

"Could you honor my question? Please?" A chill spiders across my neck as I speak. "Hear my cry."

Nothing. My previous words must've only been thoughts. So, I'm on my back with something draped over me. How does...oh no. For the love of the Gods, please no! I'm under the ceremonial death leaf, used to cover those who've traveled down the long road.

Now I really regret we eat our dead.
My brothers and sisters will wrap me in large leaves and hot rocks and lay me onto the cooking fire. I need some way to show I'm not dead. Thumping spreads to my ears and throat. Somewhere in the hut a sigh emerges. Perhaps that's Amtai, my right-hand man. His silence speaks. I'd decided we need silence around our dead. A spirit sleeping is wisdom waiting. A spirit awoken is wisdom wasted.

This morning, I strolled through our beautiful jungle. I usually travel with my dear Amtai. However, when I discovered him in peaceful slumber at dawn, I went alone. I hadn't noticed the snake. Fool. That elongated death had been shrouded by shrubbery, black as smoke. Pain of its bite burned like flaming spears.

Most succumb to its venom within a hundred breaths. But there are whispers of the venom sometimes paralyzing its prey. I always thought those were old wives' tales. As far as my tribe's concerned, I might as well have been struck down by the Gods.

Four feet patter on the hut's floor. Amtai again? Perhaps. Moments later, there's breathing on my skin. A hand tugs on a lock of my hair. Then, it's released. Tug, release, repeat. Close to my head, scraping sounds emerge. Amtai cuts off my hair. The floor beside the bench must be getting covered with curls. New chills engulf my freshly bared skin.

I should have seen this coming. The smell of burning hair adds little to a person's appetite. My fists tighten every time he pulls on me. Then again, who cares for the comfort of a corpse? A warm jolt spreads through my mind. Cut a man and he'll bleed, cut a corpse and there won't be a single bead. If he breaks my skin, he'll realize I'm still breathing. Never before did I wish to be cut by a blade.