Split

She walked into the park last night, air finally cold and sharp, intending to write and smoke and feel guilty.  The trees blocked out the streetlights and created a cavern of darkness; she was walking into nothingness.  She  thought she would just walk at first, allow her eyes to adjust but she went straight through, reaching both hands out blindly, helplessly, stumbling and making a racket.  She felt the trees and all their cold griminess and thought she was one of them, just more frail and wretched.  She sat at the base of one of the dark trunks and lit up the world with a dull red flicker.