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+---
+title: Bruges
+date: 2014-06-20
+body: |
+  Endless twisting roads.
+  I kept running, ever conscious of the footsteps behind me, its march keeping to the drumbeat of my heart.
+  I took a left, almost falling from skidding on the torrential downpour.
+  Tap.
+  Tap.
+  Tap.
+  
+  ---
+  
+  After my recent submission to a collection curated by messrs McIntosh and Bergen, I took my leave for Bruges.
+  I had heard much of the Belgian air's restorative effects, and I was tired from my studies, and so I found myself but 3 days ago leaving the comfortable bosom of London for the continent.
+  The journey was largely uneventful, although I found myself attempting to leave the train at Aalter, as if in a trance, unthinkingly taking my luggage and walking to the door.
+  I came to as I had nearly stepped out, and returned to my seat.
+  I now wish I had not, and allowed whatever providence to succeed in its attempt to save me.
+  
+  Upon reaching Bruges, I attempted to find my lodging, a small boarding house near one of the city gates.
+  I had procured a map while in London, but none of the streets seemed to quite match, and were named differently when they did.
+  I walked at least one circle of the maze, the trudging of my feet like a shambling chant, walking out some kind of prayer to be shown rest.
+  But as that thought crossed my mind, the architecture yielded, and it was before me, where surely it was not before.
+  
+  I checked into the hotel, and went for a simple dinner in the small square a short walk away.
+  The mussels were delicious, the escargot divine, the beer rich and dark.
+  The streets, previously desolate and foreboding, were now filled with all kinds of people, bustling and scurrying to avoid the rain, suddenly pouring from the sky as it was.
+  I idly watched them to and fro, before the sky darkened, the rain stopped, and they disappeared.
+  I paid and left, and found myself stood on a bridge looking out over one of the many canals, and shuddered.
+  The river, its black mass seething and writhing beneath, gurgling as if digesting its last victim, hungry.
+  Even though it has no eyes, I knew it watched me pass.
+  It watched, and I shuddered, with something even more primal than fear, something that left me transfixed, held as if by the hand of God Himself, if such a thing can even exist in the face of this... thing below.
+  By the time I returned to my body and came to my senses, the shadow in the water was gone.
+  I stumbled back to my lodgings, shaken.
+  
+  The day that followed was agreeable, visiting local collections and enjoying delicacies.
+  The rain left me soaked as I walked, and I often found myself at a loss attempting to comprehend the geometry of the place, but suddenly it was refreshing, almost comforting in a way I can't quite describe but felt so assuredly.
+  
+  There was one moment of unease, however.
+  Within a collection devoted to showcasing local produce, I came upon a scene of such macabre intentions I can barely comprehend.
+  A vision of a man consuming his own flesh, as if overcome by madness, not for want of food, but of such warped senses as to find it appetizing.
+  Next to them, a woman offered up her child, like a basket of delicious fruits, insane and twisted.
+  Confused and unsettled, I moved on into the safety of the rain.
+  
+  I woke the following morning, packed my things, said my goodbyes, and started toward the station.
+  I inevitably found myself lost, the maddening layout mocking me as I walked in circles again.
+  I could not even try to ask a local for guidance, as the streets were once more empty.
+  After an hour of this, the sun beating down on me, I tried to stop for a lunch, or perhaps one of the Trappist brews, but found no-where open.
+  A bell tolled in the near distance, hidden behind the walls of this maze, so close and yet obscured and concealed.
+  
+  I turned, looked at my map, turned again.
+  Everywhere, a winding road of esoteric yet uniform architecture, devoid of any kind of life.
+  "Gieterijstraat", "Witteleertouwesstraat", "Minderbroederstraat", the language as arcane as the streets themselves, seemingly assembled without form or reason.
+  It was at this point that I knew.
+  The city had caught me, and now it was simply playing.
+  
+  I walked and walked, growing tired and hungry.
+  I longed for the rain, to cool me in the sun and as reassurance that time was truly passing.
+  But with it came the footsteps.
+  When I first heard them, I felt joy, but it soon turned to terror as I saw what was making them, for I had seen it in the eyes of the man feasting on himself.
+  I turned and ran.
+  The footsteps followed, with a slow yet constant pacing, never matching my speed but always growing closer.
+  I ran and it followed, waiting for me to tire and fall.
+  
+  The rain lifted, and with it went the footsteps.
+  I was safe, of a kind, but just as trapped as before.
+  I rested for a few moments, before stumbling forward in hope of finding a gate before the rain returned, my body aching.
+  
+  But it rained again.
+  And again, and again, through day and night.
+  I do not know how many frozen cold wet nights I ran for.
+  It never quite reached me, but it was often close, its scent lingering, mixing with my own newfound smell of decay.
+  Even though I knew there was no exit from this foul place, I kept running, hope alone keeping me mobile.
+  
+  Days turned to weeks, and I collapsed, exhausted and starving, not even having the strength to fear anymore.
+  I willed it to catch me, to consume me through myself.
+  When the rain came that time, I did not hear the footsteps.
+  
+  I am told I spent only 3 days abroad, although they will admit I looked somehow aged.
+  I escaped with my life, but I am less sure of my soul, and know I have lost my mind.
+  My nurse chatters to herself as she tidies my bedsheets and nightstand.
+  I pick at my skin and start to salivate.
+notes: |
+  This was a summary of a [student union society](https://www.union.ic.ac.uk/rcc/meat/)
+  trip to Bruges for the student newspaper, [Felix](http://felixonline.co.uk).
+  At breakfast on the second day, a writeup for Felix came up, and as we were all
+  members of the [science fiction society](http://icsf.org.uk) we thought it would
+  be fun to do one each in different styles. Mine was, [again](../chesham), gothic horror.
+
+  It's largely factual if skewed; we did nearly get off at the wrong station, and
+  got lost a lot.  The pub is probably the one at the corner of Langestraat and
+  Molenmeers (it was 2014, I'm writing this in 2016, and it's not readily
+  searchable). The cannibals were from a statue in the [chocolate museum](http://www.choco-story.be/ENG).
+
+  It was published in [Issue 1581 of Felix](http://felixonline.co.uk/issuearchive/issue/1393/download/) (page 37).
+---
+{% extends 'templates/base.html' %}
+{% block body %}
+	<nav>
+		<a href='/writings'>&gt; writings</a>
+	</nav>
+	<header>
+		<h1>{{ title }}</h1>
+	</header>
+
+	<article>{{ body | markdown }}</article>
+	<hr />
+	<aside>{{ notes | markdown }}</aside> 
+{% endblock %}