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Here I am on the verge of death, at the feet of the giant Buddha.
I tossed it my last coin, out of faith not superstition, but I don’t see any clouds yet. In my whole entire life, never have I seen a sky so blue, a sun so bright. I think my eyes will pop out of their sockets from staring at it. I’m sloshed on too much sun, it makes sand taste like crab cakes.
I write this as my last offering to the Gods, to this universe. If it saves me, let it be a sign that art trumps science. Maybe.
Science has failed me you see. It sent me here on a fool’s errand, I wanted to catch that tiger, train it, make it my pet, then people would love me won’t they? But all I saw in the jungle were giant mosquitoes, the little vampires chased me out.
There, Buddha just winked at me.
Let this be my mantra, and yours stranger, and Buddha be my witness.
I will walk the path of giants, I will be my own God.
May the rain come and make me a new man.
Victor Hunt
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