By Jared Probert
I see him walking twisted trails, always looking for a new path, a new way to get to the next place, drifting farther away. I’ve tried to follow him, find his hiding places, know him in the way that fathers and sons do, but I always drag a little farther behind, becoming a little more lost.
Now I know these trails. I follow them not in searching but in escaping, haunted by my father’s echo. I walk the same trails he did, and I am terrified.