When we’re travelling through the darkness, we’re supposed to look to the light at the end of the tunnel. That’s how the cliché goes. Keep going forward, you’ll get there in the end, and you’ll be better for the journey.
What if you aren’t facing the direction of travel? What if you’re looking back, to where you came from? You can see light but it’s dwindling, shrinking to a spot, way back in the past. It’s not always there either. It keeps getting obscured: you’re being followed.
This isn’t some horror story though, those people are your friends, your loved ones, your family. They’re with you, here to support you, but they’re just out of reach. You can’t bear to turn around though, what if one of them were to stumble, trip, fall? Who would help them? What if they got hurt or in trouble because of you?
One of them does tumble. You stop to help. Give her a hand up, wipe off the mud, tell her it’s OK. On we go. Best keep an eye on her though, it’s dark in here.
She probably could have got up on her own. She wasn’t hurt. It would have been OK. Best to offer though, take that responsibility, just in case.
It’s tiring walking backwards.
It’s tiring keeping watch.
It’s getting smaller that light.
I thought we were going somewhere.
I thought we were getting out.
You keep tripping. That’s the problem with walking backwards. It takes so long to get there…