::: CHAPTER FOUR :::
The sun was not alone. It had two companions to keep it content. When one descended, the other rose. And so the cycle had continued for twenty-two years. Either by chance or design I, along with the others, crashed during a very unacceptable time -- a time when shadows could not be seen because all there existed was darkness and dusk. Lore about vampires and evil elves that banished light generated a glow inside me -- a useless aurora, that would not or could not permeate through my skin to infuse hope in others. My veins weaved together while my muscles knotted over each other. My body was outfitting itself for probable extinction. My mind, however, told it not to worry for the Grim Reaper would once again recognize the worthlessness my death brings.
I ran. It was false security. The creatures could have swooped in from almost anywhere and snuffed me out. The damn critters flew. With the flitting rays of the blocked sun, I saw them. Their blackness and sharp movements. They were hunters, and as soon as I realized that, I knew I was prey. Can't have one without the other. I thanked Shazza and Riddick for indirectly keeping them off my scent. I had screamed at Shazza to stay down, knowing she wouldn't. She was stupid to think of herself as invulnerable. The night flyers chewed her body in half and the look on her face was absurd. Her mind just hadn't caught up to the fact that her body was wasted.
Riddick was untroubled -- he got right up, and it reminded me of a zombie awaking from a lengthy slumber. He brushed the dirt from his hands and his outlined body walked to envisioned safety, while his spirit remained soaring with the creatures, learning their habits, and exploiting their weaknesses.
The cargo hold was not protection. It was as simple as that. More like a maze used for rats in an experiment. The creatures would appear, and we would cut ourselves another escape outlet using the blowtorch, which just created another hole for the creatures to get through. It was better than being outside though.
When I heard Fry's idea, I wanted to laugh. She thinks we can just waltz through their territory and make it out alive? The woman was demented. I wasn't scared, but I wasn't brave either. Her plan just didn't make sense. We could either hide or battle. And Fry believed we should do neither and just "wing" it. I desperately hoped for Riddick to not-so-gently tell her how much her plan sucked, but he didn't -- must have thought that we would all die and then he could just simply fly off the planet. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
"You mean . . . tonight? With all those things still out there?"
I grasped my knees and hoped that I looked pitiful enough. It was painstaking having all of them stare at me. Their wide, bug eyes and their tight lips reminded me of something I had read about the Salem Witch Trails on old Earth. Any moment, they would condemn me to a blazing death and use the need for light as an excuse. Johns sealed the deal.
"Look, we gotta think about everyone now -- the kid especially. How scared is he gonna be out there?"
My mind clapped. Yes, the "kid" wants some damn protection. Fry's response displeased me. She was goading Johns to act like a man and since he was such a fucking man, he almost got his balls cut off by Riddick. Riddick's quiet alliance with the pilot was suspicious and left me feeling raw . . . unprotected like ice from rain.
If Riddick was in, then there was no use in arguing; we were to abandon the rational and depend on the one thing that everyone only pretends to understand -- faith.
***************
It was getting worse and worse. Riddick being the ever wiser revealed to everyone my status as girl. No, it was even worse. Bleeding girl. I couldn't believe I had just been downgraded to "girl that attracts monsters in the dark." He was basically saying: Here, you want someone to blame -- blame her. It was complete audacity, and I couldn't pinpoint its relevance when we were all ready a fucking mile from the cargo hold. It was insignificant information. I guess it was kismet though -- me always being the one with the handicap . . . me always surviving the tragedies. We kept going.
"Don't you cry for Johns. Don't you dare."
Was he fucking kidding me? I wasn't going to bawl like a baby because some guy I never knew died. I was just staring at the horizon -- trying to figure out how we even made it this far. It was ludicrous.
************
Everyone was running. I was jogging. My lungs felt as hard as stone. Two useless lumps of stone weighing me down and making my breath come haltingly. The blue blood streaking down my arms and bald head was comforting and cool. It contrasted nicely to the arid desert we were in. Bone-dry oxygen combined with nippy drops of inner fluid made for a heady atmosphere. The only illumination that I could concentrate on was the one inside my eyes. It was so dark that I felt that the reflecting bleakness was just the inside of my mind.
Cold. No, it was colder. I looked up. Just as I did I heard booming, sardonic laughter coming from Riddick. The scent of the air was changing. My skin rose to meet the droplets, and I was momentarily stunned to see that they were clear. I dipped a finger and burst a liquid bubble forming on my arm. For a moment, I didn't understand. Then it hit me . . . my lungs filled with salt water, and I was choking. It was raining. The world around us became quiet. All that was heard was the globules of faith's enemy -- logic. Nature was winning. With each deafening splatter, we slipped further into oblivion.
The orifice was blocked. I searched Fry's and Imam's face, looking for printed words in their eyes. They knew Riddick left us there to die. I felt the perverse need to drill that idea into their heads.
"He's not coming back, is he?"
As soon as the words left my mouth, inexplicable dull light was noticed. I was right after all . . . . Things became worse for me and then like clock work unwounded to a bitter song, allowing me more dreadful life. And as always I didn't have to play the hero. Fry did.
She brought Riddick back to us, the hapless. His expression told me so much more than he would have liked. This had been the only good deed he had truly ever done. He closed the deal by pushing us all towards the skiff. I didn't appreciate all the yelling; I usually shy away from too much stimulation. But it was for everyone's benefit. Right? Riddick's first mistake was not leaving our asses on the hell planet and his second was getting separated. Fry in all her foolish holiness went back. I had expected to see both of them return or none of them. But only Riddick returned. He said she had gotten killed protecting him. That lie must have left a bitter taste in his mouth. He probably killed her, I thought. But I just shrugged it off -- there was no use for speculation.
Fry died a hero? Riddick achieved freedom? Imam found God all over again? I just wanted to slit my wrists.
The block on the sun was relinquishing its claim, and if we had just hid for a while longer, there would have been more bodies on the skiff to rejoice their self-achievements, real or imagined.
The sun was not alone. It had two companions to keep it content. When one descended, the other rose. And so the cycle had continued for twenty-two years. Either by chance or design I, along with the others, crashed during a very unacceptable time -- a time when shadows could not be seen because all there existed was darkness and dusk. Lore about vampires and evil elves that banished light generated a glow inside me -- a useless aurora, that would not or could not permeate through my skin to infuse hope in others. My veins weaved together while my muscles knotted over each other. My body was outfitting itself for probable extinction. My mind, however, told it not to worry for the Grim Reaper would once again recognize the worthlessness my death brings.
I ran. It was false security. The creatures could have swooped in from almost anywhere and snuffed me out. The damn critters flew. With the flitting rays of the blocked sun, I saw them. Their blackness and sharp movements. They were hunters, and as soon as I realized that, I knew I was prey. Can't have one without the other. I thanked Shazza and Riddick for indirectly keeping them off my scent. I had screamed at Shazza to stay down, knowing she wouldn't. She was stupid to think of herself as invulnerable. The night flyers chewed her body in half and the look on her face was absurd. Her mind just hadn't caught up to the fact that her body was wasted.
Riddick was untroubled -- he got right up, and it reminded me of a zombie awaking from a lengthy slumber. He brushed the dirt from his hands and his outlined body walked to envisioned safety, while his spirit remained soaring with the creatures, learning their habits, and exploiting their weaknesses.
The cargo hold was not protection. It was as simple as that. More like a maze used for rats in an experiment. The creatures would appear, and we would cut ourselves another escape outlet using the blowtorch, which just created another hole for the creatures to get through. It was better than being outside though.
When I heard Fry's idea, I wanted to laugh. She thinks we can just waltz through their territory and make it out alive? The woman was demented. I wasn't scared, but I wasn't brave either. Her plan just didn't make sense. We could either hide or battle. And Fry believed we should do neither and just "wing" it. I desperately hoped for Riddick to not-so-gently tell her how much her plan sucked, but he didn't -- must have thought that we would all die and then he could just simply fly off the planet. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
"You mean . . . tonight? With all those things still out there?"
I grasped my knees and hoped that I looked pitiful enough. It was painstaking having all of them stare at me. Their wide, bug eyes and their tight lips reminded me of something I had read about the Salem Witch Trails on old Earth. Any moment, they would condemn me to a blazing death and use the need for light as an excuse. Johns sealed the deal.
"Look, we gotta think about everyone now -- the kid especially. How scared is he gonna be out there?"
My mind clapped. Yes, the "kid" wants some damn protection. Fry's response displeased me. She was goading Johns to act like a man and since he was such a fucking man, he almost got his balls cut off by Riddick. Riddick's quiet alliance with the pilot was suspicious and left me feeling raw . . . unprotected like ice from rain.
If Riddick was in, then there was no use in arguing; we were to abandon the rational and depend on the one thing that everyone only pretends to understand -- faith.
***************
It was getting worse and worse. Riddick being the ever wiser revealed to everyone my status as girl. No, it was even worse. Bleeding girl. I couldn't believe I had just been downgraded to "girl that attracts monsters in the dark." He was basically saying: Here, you want someone to blame -- blame her. It was complete audacity, and I couldn't pinpoint its relevance when we were all ready a fucking mile from the cargo hold. It was insignificant information. I guess it was kismet though -- me always being the one with the handicap . . . me always surviving the tragedies. We kept going.
"Don't you cry for Johns. Don't you dare."
Was he fucking kidding me? I wasn't going to bawl like a baby because some guy I never knew died. I was just staring at the horizon -- trying to figure out how we even made it this far. It was ludicrous.
************
Everyone was running. I was jogging. My lungs felt as hard as stone. Two useless lumps of stone weighing me down and making my breath come haltingly. The blue blood streaking down my arms and bald head was comforting and cool. It contrasted nicely to the arid desert we were in. Bone-dry oxygen combined with nippy drops of inner fluid made for a heady atmosphere. The only illumination that I could concentrate on was the one inside my eyes. It was so dark that I felt that the reflecting bleakness was just the inside of my mind.
Cold. No, it was colder. I looked up. Just as I did I heard booming, sardonic laughter coming from Riddick. The scent of the air was changing. My skin rose to meet the droplets, and I was momentarily stunned to see that they were clear. I dipped a finger and burst a liquid bubble forming on my arm. For a moment, I didn't understand. Then it hit me . . . my lungs filled with salt water, and I was choking. It was raining. The world around us became quiet. All that was heard was the globules of faith's enemy -- logic. Nature was winning. With each deafening splatter, we slipped further into oblivion.
The orifice was blocked. I searched Fry's and Imam's face, looking for printed words in their eyes. They knew Riddick left us there to die. I felt the perverse need to drill that idea into their heads.
"He's not coming back, is he?"
As soon as the words left my mouth, inexplicable dull light was noticed. I was right after all . . . . Things became worse for me and then like clock work unwounded to a bitter song, allowing me more dreadful life. And as always I didn't have to play the hero. Fry did.
She brought Riddick back to us, the hapless. His expression told me so much more than he would have liked. This had been the only good deed he had truly ever done. He closed the deal by pushing us all towards the skiff. I didn't appreciate all the yelling; I usually shy away from too much stimulation. But it was for everyone's benefit. Right? Riddick's first mistake was not leaving our asses on the hell planet and his second was getting separated. Fry in all her foolish holiness went back. I had expected to see both of them return or none of them. But only Riddick returned. He said she had gotten killed protecting him. That lie must have left a bitter taste in his mouth. He probably killed her, I thought. But I just shrugged it off -- there was no use for speculation.
Fry died a hero? Riddick achieved freedom? Imam found God all over again? I just wanted to slit my wrists.
The block on the sun was relinquishing its claim, and if we had just hid for a while longer, there would have been more bodies on the skiff to rejoice their self-achievements, real or imagined.