Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise. Bullshit, absolute bullshit, I think to myself. I’ve been living a long time, rich and poor. Lemme tell ya, health, wealth, all that jazz, it just comes down to luck. Luck is all it is and all it ever will be don’t let anyone else fool you. True, I am not a man and can’t speak much on the wise bit, but the message holds the same.

Maybe if I was a bit more wise I wouldn’t be in this mess, not that I think my sleeping patterns have anything to do with it. I am currently what you would call “without a home.” That does not mean homeless, mind you. Homeless sounds so final, like a limb that is chopped off your body. Mine is a temporary situation, one that will be fixed as soon as possible.

A situation caused my idiot child. Who, who tell me, throws their dear mother out onto the street? Absolute madness, that one. Always thinking of nothing but herself. Her whole “your critics aren’t good for my mental health.” Such a weak generation that I’ve raised, that’s the real fault that lies with me. If she would put a comb through that hair and clean up once in a while maybe I wouldn’t feel the need to comment. After all, I’m just looking out for her. But no, Gods forbid I say anything. Had me out on the street, did she. Said I had to go somewhere else. Only gave me a year to do it! In this economy!

Anyway, what’s done is done and I’m stuck without a home for a moment. Not that I mind all too much. It’s summer and warm enough. Managed some camping gear and the works. Besides, I know these backwoods so well it feels more like home than any four walls could provide.

I get started on dinner. Same food every day, in and out. Not the best for this aging body, but you have to do what you have to do. Right before I dig in, I dump a bit into the fire. Some old thing my mom used to do back in the day, that she passed on to me. Clearly, she was a better parent than I turned out to be, so I still do it when I remember. I think it’s for the Gods, but honestly is just a waste of food. I throw some in and start to chow down.

“You know, I would prefer my food unburnt-“ I deep voice says from behind me. I turn around as fast as I can, assuming I’d finally gone off the hinges. It’s not like the door was ever bolted that tight anyway. Standing there is a man about my age, wearing black jeans and a hoodie. In my younger years I would have gone screaming for the hills… but somehow I know this isn’t just some man, the black hair giving it away.

My mother use to tell me stories of Gods that watched over us, keeping us safe. She would do it when we were in these backwoods, I assumed to keep me from complaining too much. She said that when it was time, a man with jet-black hair would take us where we need to go. Until that time comes, we would have nothing to fear. With him standing here though, I know she’s slightly off. When he’s come, there is nothing to fear.

“So, it must be my time,” I say, my voice quivering a little. Even knowing there’s nothing to be afraid of, the body is a machine, and a machine does not want to be stopped. He nods. “Well, you’re right. I can fix you a better plate than that. Come in and eat first.” He does, surprisingly. We sit down in these woods one last time, then he takes me where I’m meant to go.