By @occurrence1312
Previous: "Dream Horse"
On a red and yellow walk I met an unmoored scarecrow, doubled over, its expression pained, left hand propped against an oak, right hand clutching its abdomen. It asked for water, and I unscrewed the lid of my bottle.
Upright now, it took a moderate gulp and handed the bottle back to me, looking no less haggard while standing straight. I said, "You seem to be struggling. Do you think you should rest?"
It replied, "No. You don't understand what you see. Already, you seem to know what I am and where I should be, and already you've tasted a fine contradiction. Carry that a bit further. I have to see this through. I have to finish it, and if this moldy hay and these dry rotted tomato stakes don't get me there, then it's over, but this is not that time. Thanks for the sip."
I screwed the lid back on my bottle, and watched a ragged silhouette blink in and out as it cut a cross-section through the ridges and drainages.
Next: "Sirens"