Costa Rica August 1815
Three days into the trek, I was losing heart. I was drenched in sweat and covered in bites. My guide seemed unperturbed, a smile permanently etched on his face. We communicated with gestures, his language consisting of a series of clicks.
This expedition was my final chance. The consumption running through my body was killing me. A year earlier my doctor had pronounced his diagnosis. Death within six months..
I learnt of the cure in a bar in San Jose, The potion came from magical fungus that grew in this forbidden forest.
We pitched camp beside a pond fed by waters falling from hundreds of feet above. My curiosity was aroused by strange lights, emanating from mushrooms growing around the camp. On tasting one,I was transported to a strange world. I met a wise man who granted me one wish. I asked for the cure.
“You are cured. The mushroom that you tasted has cured you of all disease and much more,” said the man. “Go from this place. Your fate is determined.”
I awoke back in the village where my expedition had started. The witch doctors wise old face smiled down at me. For the first time, in a long time I felt alive, I felt refreshed. I was re-born.
Such a long time ago, many lifetimes have passed since my cure. My wives, my children and their children’s children are all dead. I live in the shadows of existence. Moving from one life to the next, before friends or neighbors notice that I do not age. I exist alone. I am cursed with immortality.