The tracks, smooth and seamless, echoed the monotony of the walk. They were like the silence, no beginning and end in sight, just the smooth absence of sound. It irked him, he was unused to the quiet, unused to the monotony. It was too….everyday. So pedestrian and nondescript, that it didn’t seem real. Maybe it wasn’t. Walking quickly on the tracks was difficult, because the beams that ran parallel to the tracks were segregated by shallow pits. Sometimes, when filled with sticks and leaves, they looked like mouths, waiting to devour someone clumsy oaf’s foot. He had to concentrate hard to not slip on the wood slick with rainwater, one fall and the mouths would leave no trace of him. He was nervous as hell. He began counting the beams in a hope to distance himself from his thoughts. The rhythmic counting filled his head, and soon all he could hear was silent chanting of numbers. Abruptly, he slipped and fell, colliding with the ground, and smashing the back of his head. Feeling dizzy, he stood up slowly, almost falling down by a sudden spasm of pain in his head. The he looked down and saw his feet in the mouth, its sharp jaws ready to feed on his flesh. He screamed and tried to pull away, but glass teeth held him firmly in place. He fell again, and this time he heard a sharp crack when his head meet the rail. Writhing in fear and pain, his body began to shut down, first his sight left him; leaving a blackness that fanned his fear to a blazing inferno. Last was his hearing, slowly drowning him in a silence so complete, he ceased to hear his own thoughts. Then slowly, like drifting into a deep sleep, his consciousness drifted away. His mind was pulled apart, and then snapped back into reality. Without thinking, he quickly clasped his trapped leg, groaning when it sent sharp signals of pain back. His terror generally subsided; he examined his leg more closely. His ankle was broken, and shards from some drunkards vodka bottle dug painfully into the tender flesh. The mouth had attempted to digest his foot, and by some miracle, been scared away, leaving its teeth behind in its hurry. Realizing it could still be close by; he scanned the empty sands surrounding the tracks. No beast. Carefully removing his foot from its prison, he stood up and clasped a walking stick that was close by. Using it as a crutch, he began again down the tracks. This time there was no silence, sounds hounded him, and his thoughts were constantly interrupted by the gasps and groans that wheedled their way out of his mouth. He went slowly, very slowly, always on the lookout for danger. Things could get him, devour him, and leave no trace. No one would remember he had existed. The thought made him stumble, and his mind raced. He couldn’t disappear, he had to make it there.