As I continued to try to catch up to Caitlin, I worked my ankle into a fit but I was eager to take some photographs so I raised the pace, entering a strange jog-skip kind of run. The terrain was bad enough without my awkward stagger. I saw Caitlin down by the water and turned the other way to face the fateful hill that contained horrors, inconceivable. The torturous vision that would scar that mountain in only a few moments was not yet in mind, instead the hill was bare. The sky a crystal-gray, the grass a deathy brown and the sounds of a strong wind... distance some how. As though the fence was a portal to a realm of it's own, the clouds appeared to circle my very position as filthy water trickled into my sock through a hole in the sole of my shoe. I placed my left hand into my jacket pocket, expecting to find something out of place... driven by a motivation I can only describe as dream-like. I found nothing. Lint gripped my fingernails as I tilted my head back in confusion, I soon realised I had no reason to expect anything to be found. The pointless thought, random search, passed - the hill stood hyperbolically dormant, begging to be filled with the unseen beast which I am sure must have been watching me at that very moment in time. I'm sure I looked statuesque, as I didn't move for what seemed like a good few minutes. I limped down towards the cold shore, stopping on a log and watching Caitlin swimming about in the long grass telling me tales and anecdotes and laughing. I took this photo;
I took many others which I won't bore you with. Ribbons, trees... anyway. We headed back towards the track and I must have either looked very pained or complained a little too loud because Caitlin showed a lot of sympathy and offered me a piggy-back. I declined. He soon reached the track, which was only discernible from the rest of the rugged patches of soil and jagged rocks by its lack of grass... like a dead river in a dead field of a dead country surrounded by a dry sea and flocks of crazed gulls pick the land clean until furtility is a stained old dream shared amoung ghosts and old freighter-men, long out of work. The track was inspiring, to say the least. We stood together for a moment, looking at each other and the air was cold and my feet were wet and my ankle ached still, although I'm sure you remember. It was then that it appeared, when I stared hell in its glassy eye. A shamble came staggering down the hill, mocking me perhaps, making noises of a goat but with the demeanour of a starving hound. Never in full sight, what I thought was a jet-black was later described by Caitlin as a "Brown/gray" colour. Now, sounding like a goat in an area allegedly containing goats in a world were goats are common would seem like evidence enough that this beat was, infact, a goat... BUT, no. Maybe it was a dog but that doesn't explain... well, just bare with me. I haven't come all this way to say "it was probably a dog". For I, Ryan J. Hodgkinson, am bigger than that. Bigger than common place. I dwell in obsurdity and obscurity. This thing was probably - a Minotaur. Heres a sketch of the beast from my memory;
At this stage, you surely don't belive me. What I saw didn't have a hammer or a WWE World Heavy-Weight Championship Belt, I just added them to empahsise how masculine it was. It sounded just like a goat and was only visable for, at best, 3 seconds and it may or may not have stood on hind legs and there is a possibility it lacked hands, human facial features and... well, yeah. You make up your mind. It was either a dog, goat or a Minotaur. If anyone is willing, I plan to go back and battle the beast some time soon. I need friends and soldiers and some sandwichs would be appreciated, Mum.
That... was the Tale of the Minotaur.