The Dart
…the poison from the dart which grazed my left flank is starting to take hold. My mind is fading in and out as I paddle feverishly with the current. I must not sleep I keep telling myself. I must not sleep! The constellations are so beautiful. From the bottom of the canoe I hear the rippling current of fresh water as it begins to meet the sea. I hear waves breaking far ahead in the distance. I gaze one last time into the eyes of the stars. I hear Connor Oberst singing “Milk Thistle” somewhere in the night as my silent canoe now spins slowly in small circles. I can’t feel my arms. I must not sleep I keep telling myself. I must….
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