Post by Flak on Aug 8, 2008 14:37:24 GMT -5
I know, I'm borrowing a title from one of my most favorite Angel episodes. I wrote this for my creative writing class. We were supposed to have something for critique and I waited until the day before to write this. I remember just sitting with a friend in the dining hall and suddenly an idea popped into my head. I dashed upstairs to my dorm and out came this. I like to think I did a pretty good job, there were few criticisms (mostly from people who didn't like my pacing) so I edited a few words here and there. Everyone was really curious about my sub-plots. Just like I told them, you guys won't be finding out what they are. It's the tip of the iceberg theory. The author will always know more than the reader.
Ground rushed up to greet me. A darkness. I don’t know where I was in that inky swirl, but at least it wasn’t here. Only my shadow for a companion. Funny thing about companions, they tend to haunt you. I almost prefer the mosquitoes, even the occasional wild cat. They have a purifying quality, drawing my attention like a priest. A priest drawing a malevolent spirit from a human being. An exorcism on four legs with wings.
My last cigarette is nestled in my pocket in a cocoon of cellophane and card stock. Lord knows I’m writhing to smoke it. I can feel it in every breath, my throat rasping for it, wanting to bask in its warmth. They used to mark the passage of time, one cigarette every five days. I had two packs after the crash, mine survived as well as the co-pilot’s. Too bad he didn’t. The cigarettes used to mark time, but this last one is gonna mark my way out of here. I’m losing days, losing her. But the days don’t matter.
Hunger claws its way out of me, guiding every muscle in my body. Every move is calculated inside some far away chamber in my mind. Adrenaline floods my system, a needle in my heart. I’m not dead? I choke down breaths, struggling to find my way into the world of the living. Something beeps, a steady stream. It follows the roar of the heart in my throat. I tear it from my wrist and look around. It’s gone. I navigate around branches to where I last saw it. The blood trails to the right, and a shadow lunges from the left. A hot snarl bearing down on me reminds me I didn’t black out. His yellow eyes boar down into me, almost hypnotic. I drop my press on his throat long enough to bring up my machete. He rolls over just as tooth meets skin. Shakes set in when the adrenaline abandons me.
The days bleed together like one big fever dream. My rucksack is always changing sizes on me. The patches can’t make up their minds about where they go. My boots cycle through water logged, dry, and cracked on a whim. The little vampire bugs are drinking me dry. I wash myself in the moon but I feel no connection. Only to leeches. The team appears and disappears in the trees, up in the canopy, down in the trunks. I never meant to. Survival. You’ll understand, won’t you? But no one is there. The cats did howl, but I don’t speak their language.
I can feel her watching over me. Shimmering, I can almost feel her again when I touch the moon. I just feel the water running through her hair. That’s enough for me. If I believed in higher powers, she’d be my link. Religion was always her thing. Not mine, I’d say. But out here, I see things. I see people, I shouldn’t be seeing people. They shout as if so far away, but I see them. Their arms outstretched, I wonder if they’re death. Who said death had to be just one figure? I don’t care. I’m finally out of there.
In and out of doors, it’s good to be on dry land again. A fog has settled in, but I know I’m in a safe place now. No more hunting, no more counting my cigarettes. The boys can’t find me out here. Not here. But she can. And she did. Mercy, so that’s what she is. I wouldn’t have guessed. But why appear now? Why not when I needed it? She closes my eyes and I feel the world rush out from underneath me.
Fuel and fried electronics sting my nose. It can’t be. Blood everywhere, a sinking feeling takes hold. I know this place. I know that man. I know his pack of cigarettes. It can’t be, but it is. The bastards dropped me back in.
Ground rushed up to greet me. A darkness. I don’t know where I was in that inky swirl, but at least it wasn’t here. Only my shadow for a companion. Funny thing about companions, they tend to haunt you. I almost prefer the mosquitoes, even the occasional wild cat. They have a purifying quality, drawing my attention like a priest. A priest drawing a malevolent spirit from a human being. An exorcism on four legs with wings.
My last cigarette is nestled in my pocket in a cocoon of cellophane and card stock. Lord knows I’m writhing to smoke it. I can feel it in every breath, my throat rasping for it, wanting to bask in its warmth. They used to mark the passage of time, one cigarette every five days. I had two packs after the crash, mine survived as well as the co-pilot’s. Too bad he didn’t. The cigarettes used to mark time, but this last one is gonna mark my way out of here. I’m losing days, losing her. But the days don’t matter.
Hunger claws its way out of me, guiding every muscle in my body. Every move is calculated inside some far away chamber in my mind. Adrenaline floods my system, a needle in my heart. I’m not dead? I choke down breaths, struggling to find my way into the world of the living. Something beeps, a steady stream. It follows the roar of the heart in my throat. I tear it from my wrist and look around. It’s gone. I navigate around branches to where I last saw it. The blood trails to the right, and a shadow lunges from the left. A hot snarl bearing down on me reminds me I didn’t black out. His yellow eyes boar down into me, almost hypnotic. I drop my press on his throat long enough to bring up my machete. He rolls over just as tooth meets skin. Shakes set in when the adrenaline abandons me.
The days bleed together like one big fever dream. My rucksack is always changing sizes on me. The patches can’t make up their minds about where they go. My boots cycle through water logged, dry, and cracked on a whim. The little vampire bugs are drinking me dry. I wash myself in the moon but I feel no connection. Only to leeches. The team appears and disappears in the trees, up in the canopy, down in the trunks. I never meant to. Survival. You’ll understand, won’t you? But no one is there. The cats did howl, but I don’t speak their language.
I can feel her watching over me. Shimmering, I can almost feel her again when I touch the moon. I just feel the water running through her hair. That’s enough for me. If I believed in higher powers, she’d be my link. Religion was always her thing. Not mine, I’d say. But out here, I see things. I see people, I shouldn’t be seeing people. They shout as if so far away, but I see them. Their arms outstretched, I wonder if they’re death. Who said death had to be just one figure? I don’t care. I’m finally out of there.
In and out of doors, it’s good to be on dry land again. A fog has settled in, but I know I’m in a safe place now. No more hunting, no more counting my cigarettes. The boys can’t find me out here. Not here. But she can. And she did. Mercy, so that’s what she is. I wouldn’t have guessed. But why appear now? Why not when I needed it? She closes my eyes and I feel the world rush out from underneath me.
Fuel and fried electronics sting my nose. It can’t be. Blood everywhere, a sinking feeling takes hold. I know this place. I know that man. I know his pack of cigarettes. It can’t be, but it is. The bastards dropped me back in.