Cheating is the gift man gave himself

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I stare listlessly across the old dusty path, out into the forest. Only one thought on my mind.

I need out.

A proverbial iteration pounding itself into my head. It wasn't always like this, it started with a casual thought of seeing what was over the hill just outside town, innocent. But just mulling over the thought was akin to scratching the bite of a bloodsucker from the creek—it brought it to the front of my mind and knocked aside everything else.

A prickling sensation runs down my neck and I seem to of taken a step onto the path that I’ve never crossed before. The thought of seeing something new makes me catch my breath, and a shiver runs down my back.

The shiver turns into a shudder. Reality rears it’s head and I’m hit with indecision, literally torn between paths. I try to reason on what I’m doing here and what I want. Why shouldn’t I just walk across?

Strangely, it’s stories I've heard as a child that held me back. The dreaded monsters, bandits, and cults that seemed to plague every inch that wasn’t sanctioned by the gods. Somehow those ridiculous stories made me pause. There’s no way that they’re all true. The stories are just too ridiculous to believe.

But what if they were?

The unknown was dangled in front of me, and I was worried about the hook. Desire may be a great driving force for change, but I wouldn’t be blinded by it. I knew what my sentence was. I had been told by Old Nan too many times.

I sigh and turn back around, facing the town, and my decision. It’s been like this for some time now. Almost a year. I’ve been getting restless with the coming ceremony. Everything feels stale and wrong. Leaving seems to be the only way to feel something else. I know something is different about me. It brings the same set of emotions and reactions each time I think about it. The knowledge that I don't belong leads me to this trail more and more often.

If anything, I'm worried nothing would change once I leave. That I will always remain an enigma, a freak, a problem. Feeling stares on my back, hearing shushed whispers, and the feeling of wrong. It's the idea that I could get away from my problems that drove me here.

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It's not easy to muse on the unknown, to put yourself in a position you aren't used to. What would I feel like if I were the normal one. What would it be like to have long luscious hair. I absently raised my hand and rubbed my head, eyebrows, and arms. My fingers running along the smooth texture. I let out a sigh and imagined myself with the hair of the heroes of old. Only monks are known for being bald.

My thoughts were thrown off as I hear something scurry nearby. The roads back to town are safe, patrolled regularly by the town militia, but it's not unheard of for the lesser creatures to slip by unnoticed—or just be seen as not worth the time. Let the idiot walking alone in the woods without weapons face his fate.

I pick up the pace towards the town. Though spending time in the village made me uncomfortable, it's been something I've grown used too. Something that I know is safe. Even if the only reason people tolerate me is fear of retaliation, there are still ones who don’t care about what the gods think and are friendly with me.

Those particular idiots don’t last long.

And they say I am the walking disaster. It’s been made clear that the gods hold interest in me and that any unapproved interaction wouldn’t be tolerated. Sure, there are special cases, but for the most part people keep their distance. I hold disdain for those who can’t see how the world works. Using pity and mercy for attention is an easy way to spite those watching and gain a god’s ire. They brought it on themselves acting carelessly or on a whim.

Vines seem to grow spontaneously from the underbrush, aiming to trip and ensnare, to hinder. I casually take a short hop over them, the situation of me wandering out was too good a chance to pass up it seems. Too often I am put to the test, to see if I would curse the gods for their actions, to see what I would do, to see what I am. I turn around and grin knowingly, seeing the vines become covered in insects and quickly devoured.

In this game I am not alone.

It’s strange seeing interaction between god's manifest in everyday life. When you think gods, you think grand and spectacular. Not a small clash in some secluded forest. Especially not bugs feeding on a vine. That level of magic is something you would expect spirits or followers to participate in.

It’s only until you realize the scope that it’s most likely not just in that forest. But potentially all of the forest that the insignificance sets in. To only see a portion of the power that a god can wield. It makes you realize that we are truly tiny compared to them. They are gods after all.

I eventually stumble onto the main path, elation tugging at my heart, but I stamped it down, keeping my face neutral. Best not to show anything. Always best to show them nothing. The need to visit that spot was foolish, but something I craved and desperately needed. The monotony of everyday life has been taking its toll on me and numbing my mind. There is little I can do in the small village I call home.

Markeath, a place no one would want to house their grave. It was too boring and uninteresting. There were hundreds of villages with the same layout across the country. Simple farmers and ranchers make up the population that hounds me. Even with my situation, I was still a boy and wanted the grandeurs of  adventure and travel, who didn’t? Markeath was nowhere near any of it.

Markeath was growing nearer as I made my way back.