u/BlindConvicti0n

I’m one of the few who remained to witness the last breath of a giant.

No one talks about the calm in the last few hours, far from the panic as rumors began all that time ago when talks first began that we might be in trouble. Back then we had a chance to make it; people still believed that we would. We were too big to just shut down.

Then people started leaving—going to other companies, taking leave, or just disappearing without a word. Management began telling us to explore other opportunities and thanking us. That’s what makes it so quiet. The ones who had given all to make it work—the overtime, stress, and sleepless nights—now all seemed pointless.

Most of us had given most of our career to making it happen, just for it to no longer matter. What will people remember? I fear just failure, not the years of success.

We stood as the clock struck 1:06 AM. I felt so empty as the giant let out its last breath. All I got after was a teary handshake and "good luck" as I try to rebuild the last 34 years of dedication.

The thing about growing up in the South, we always thought the city was worse than being out in the woods. Rural Georgia is beautiful, especially in the fall. The leaves have this way of mimicking a beautiful sunset. Like most of us, it was this time I decided to go for a camping trip every year, and every year my best friend came with me. It was our way of getting away from daily life, and going to relax off the grid. I guess it seems alien to some—being somewhere where only God can reach you. To us, it was home; the only recharge we got before resuming the cycle that is our daily lives.

This year however, a few weeks out, my best friend sadly passed away in a freak accident. One in a million, they said. He blew a tire on Highway 278 and, being scared, he pulled off a long way off the shoulder. That's when a driver asleep at the wheel veered off the road and hit him. Crazy, I know, but it was his time, as untimely as it was. So this year, I went camping alone in memory of him, ya know.

The trip started out like any other, driving on Hwy 76 up to North Georgia, getting lost without service somewhere in the Chattahoochee-Oconee National Forest until I found a good spot to pull over and go into the woods. I hiked maybe 10 miles, taking in the sights, air, smell, and sounds. Even though I was alone, it didn't feel like it. Like my friend was there cracking his usual jokes and the sound of our laughter scared off any animal near us. I found a beautiful spot to set up camp. Tired from the hike, I hurriedly set up my hammock and got a fire going. It took me longer than I expected, not being used to doing it all myself.

The woods began to feel lonely as the sun set, the last bit of light casting through the leaves, reminding me why I was here to continue our little tradition. My first mistake however was going alone; the mind has a way of playing tricks on you when you're alone in the woods. The later it got, the presence I felt shifted from warmth to something colder. The quiet stood out the most; as the sun fell, the sounds died with it. I've done this long enough to know what sounds belong in these forests, even the bad ones. My first time hearing a fox screaming in the middle of a dark forest sent me packing, but the thing is, I can't recall ever hearing silence in the woods like this. It was quiet enough to hear my heartbeat. No animals, bugs, anything. I decided it was nothing—a dead spot in the forest. One in a million, right?

So I put out the fire and laid in the hammock. Going over things in my head—usually I talk to God during these trips, but I feel as if I can't hear Him here. Humans developed a way to sense being watched; whether through evolution or God-given is irrelevant, we all have felt it. The way it crawls up your back, the little tingle in your ears, the sudden urge to turn and find the eyes accosting you. I've felt it many times, but here there's no light to see what it is, or worse this deep in the woods, who it is.

I grab my flashlight and stare at the small beam projecting into the darkness around me, looking for the glint of eyes. It took some looking, but after a bit, a small pair shone back at me. Curious, I get out and try to get a better sense of what it is. I thought it could try and steal my food, so it had to be scared away. As I close in, I notice the sound of my footsteps is almost deafening, like it was the only noise in the forest. The small creature runs into the darkness not making a sound, so I assume it's over.

I turn around to walk back to my hammock where I see eight more eyes staring at me. Not the same—much bigger, closer together, like they belong to one animal. Each of them pierced through me, as if looking at my very soul. The light from my flashlight finds no purchase on it, like it absorbs the light. I look as the light seems to bend around it, distorting into a shape that defies all anatomy. I search my brain for any logical explanation. Despite everything, I try to scream to scare it away but the sound dies in my throat; a voice—his voice—was telling me not to disturb the silence.

So I stood paralyzed in fear, unable to do anything but stare back at the black void that was this being, praying it was as afraid of me as I was of it. It doesn't move, so I do the next best thing. I turned and ran in the direction I came in. As the first leaf crunched under my foot, a million voices broke out screaming at once, and sound came rushing in as I ran further, hearing the crunching of fresh-fallen autumn leaves. Branches and thorns whipped across me as I ran with reckless abandon.

At least until my foot became tangled in a brush and I fell hard. The wind was knocked out of me as I hit the ground. I expected death, but all I felt was relief as I heard the first bird of the morning begin to chirp; I’m reminded of the sound of creation and how lonely it feels without it. I got up and ran until I reached my truck, never looking behind me.

I never went back to those woods. It must have been some luck, getting out of there. Maybe it was just my mind playing tricks, but a part of me feels something lives in those woods, far from the sound of God.

The thing about growing up in the South, we always thought the city was worse than being out in the woods. Rural Georgia is beautiful, especially in the fall. The leaves have this way of mimicking a beautiful sunset. Like most of us, it was this time I decided to go for a camping trip every year, and every year my best friend came with me. It was our way of getting away from daily life, and going to relax off the grid. I guess it seems alien to some—being somewhere where only God can reach you. To us, it was home; the only recharge we got before resuming the cycle that is our daily lives.

This year however, a few weeks out, my best friend sadly passed away in a freak accident. One in a million, they said. He blew a tire on Highway 278 and, being scared, he pulled off a long way off the shoulder. That's when a driver asleep at the wheel veered off the road and hit him. Crazy, I know, but it was his time, as untimely as it was. So this year, I went camping alone in memory of him, ya know.

The trip started out like any other, driving on Hwy 76 up to North Georgia, getting lost without service somewhere in the Chattahoochee-Oconee National Forest until I found a good spot to pull over and go into the woods. I hiked maybe 10 miles, taking in the sights, air, smell, and sounds. Even though I was alone, it didn't feel like it. Like my friend was there cracking his usual jokes and the sound of our laughter scared off any animal near us. I found a beautiful spot to set up camp. Tired from the hike, I hurriedly set up my hammock and got a fire going. It took me longer than I expected, not being used to doing it all myself.

The woods began to feel lonely as the sun set, the last bit of light casting through the leaves, reminding me why I was here to continue our little tradition. My first mistake however was going alone; the mind has a way of playing tricks on you when you're alone in the woods. The later it got, the presence I felt shifted from warmth to something colder. The quiet stood out the most; as the sun fell, the sounds died with it. I've done this long enough to know what sounds belong in these forests, even the bad ones. My first time hearing a fox screaming in the middle of a dark forest sent me packing, but the thing is, I can't recall ever hearing silence in the woods like this. It was quiet enough to hear my heartbeat. No animals, bugs, anything. I decided it was nothing—a dead spot in the forest. One in a million, right?

So I put out the fire and laid in the hammock. Going over things in my head—usually I talk to God during these trips, but I feel as if I can't hear Him here. Humans developed a way to sense being watched; whether through evolution or God-given is irrelevant, we all have felt it. The way it crawls up your back, the little tingle in your ears, the sudden urge to turn and find the eyes accosting you. I've felt it many times, but here there's no light to see what it is, or worse this deep in the woods, who it is.

I grab my flashlight and stare at the small beam projecting into the darkness around me, looking for the glint of eyes. It took some looking, but after a bit, a small pair shone back at me. Curious, I get out and try to get a better sense of what it is. I thought it could try and steal my food, so it had to be scared away. As I close in, I notice the sound of my footsteps is almost deafening, like it was the only noise in the forest. The small creature runs into the darkness not making a sound, so I assume it's over.

I turn around to walk back to my hammock where I see eight more eyes staring at me. Not the same—much bigger, closer together, like they belong to one animal. Each of them pierced through me, as if looking at my very soul. The light from my flashlight finds no purchase on it, like it absorbs the light. I look as the light seems to bend around it, distorting into a shape that defies all anatomy. I search my brain for any logical explanation. Despite everything, I try to scream to scare it away but the sound dies in my throat; a voice—his voice—was telling me not to disturb the silence.

So I stood paralyzed in fear, unable to do anything but stare back at the black void that was this being, praying it was as afraid of me as I was of it. It doesn't move, so I do the next best thing. I turned and ran in the direction I came in. As the first leaf crunched under my foot, a million voices broke out screaming at once, and sound came rushing in as I ran further, hearing the crunching of fresh-fallen autumn leaves. Branches and thorns whipped across me as I ran with reckless abandon.

At least until my foot became tangled in a brush and I fell hard. The wind was knocked out of me as I hit the ground. I expected death, but all I felt was relief as I heard the first bird of the morning begin to chirp; I’m reminded of the sound of creation and how lonely it feels without it. I got up and ran until I reached my truck, never looking behind me.

I never went back to those woods. It must have been some luck, getting out of there. Maybe it was just my mind playing tricks, but a part of me feels something lives in those woods, far from the sound of God.