1.2 Monster

There was ringing, low and hollow behind my ears. Was I inside of a bell or something? I had heard of bells big enough to swallow kids up whole. People would hang them way up high in churches. Or so I heard. I never saw one myself, a bell or the inside of a church. I had heard them before though. Every day the sound would smash through the town every hour on the hour. That reverberating crash was kind of like the sound thrumming through my head right now. I made a mental note to find out where whoever it was in charge of these bells lived and pay them a visit.

Slowly I cracked my eyes open. My brows creased with the effort to leave them pried wide rather than slammed shut. Black dots were dancing around the edges of my vision, and I could barely see beyond the dancing squiggles that made my already near sighted eyes just that much worse.

Everything felt so fuzzy.

Ugh. I dragged my hand up against the ground for leverage to prop myself up. I realized my error half way through the motion. The fuzziness in my head rose to the enraged buzzing of a hoard of bees angrily stabbing at the base of my skull. Waves of nausea burst up the back of my throat, and just as soon as I got myself up from supine, my muscles spasmed. I doubled over to one side and began hack and cough sick all over the graveled dirt. Finally, my limbs lost the strength to support me, buckling over to leave me collapsed, cheeks pressed harshly into the dirt. Every labored inhale dragged in a puff of dust which was then choked out with a struggling breath.

Things went dark again after that.

I couldn't say how much time had passed, but somehow I woke up again. That was a surprise. Though my brains were rattled, my memory was terribly intact. I had been sure back then during the fall that this would be the end. Perhaps the ledge was not as high as I though because, though my condition was rather terrible now, I lived through the impact.

As I slowly drifted back to consciousness, my body began to tremble. It hurt. I was still alive.

I had long ago made a point of learning some scraps of first-aid. I knew a well-placed glob of glue could seal up a cut, the exact shade of blue I didn't want my toes to turn in the winter, how to tell a deep bruise from a fracture, and what exactly a concussion felt like. With as buzzy and far away as everything felt, it was nearly impossible for my heart to still be beating after falling asleep with a head injury this bad. So why I was still alive?

I certainly hadn't been afraid of dying. I had come close enough in the past to be sure of that by now. In the snow every winter I would hide behind buildings, ducking into sleazy alleyways to escape the wind. I begged for help, food, shelter, but nobody ever offered. I stopped asking and did everything myself.

Maybe, I used to think, I should just crawl onto their doorsteps and die right there. Then, in the morning, when they rushed out to grab their papers or start their cars, they'd trip over my corpse and bash their brains against the pavement. The fantasy kept me warm through the ice and rain, and I had survived then through pure will power.

I could feel it. I didn't have that will just now, but I managed to pull through again. I was still alive. Before, I had always slapped myself back to reality, away from giving in. I could never just lay down and fade away because there would be no satisfaction in that. I would be a bit too dead to see my pay back. They deserved to hurt like did. That is why I had stayed alive this long, not because I wanted to live, but because I refused to dissolve into nothing.

But in that instant, when I fell, I just didn't care. I was still alive. Why? Why was I still alive? The thought kept looping through my head as if on repeat. The idea of a broken record fit me well. Slightly shattered, but still moving, rewinding, replaying over and over without going anywhere.

Despite all that I had done, I was still so easily cast off, forgotten. When I had hung there just out of sight under that ledge, I heard them whisper.

"What do we do! Oh my god, what are we gonna—" Panicked footsteps approaching.

"Nothing! Nothing happened!" The dry rub of yanked fabric.

"What the hell do you mean noth—" A shuffle of feet.

"Just as I said. We go back, pretend we never caught up to the kid, and we say nothing! No one will remember, or even notice more than a passing curiosity. Most people didn't see the kid around town, or just moved on if they had. They'll forget. We'll forget. Nothing happened!"

"Well, I don't know, but…"

Then I heard their footsteps trailing away, and I let got. And I was still alive.

Bit by bit, motor control returned to my fingers and toes, creeping up to return the rest of my limbs to me. Maybe I could will it away, the sensations. If I refused, then I could just—

The corners of my lips turned down, and I remembered what I had thought about the bleeding girl bemoaning a simple bloody nose! How disgusting, how weak and pathetic. I was stronger than that, than their apathy and spite. My jaw clenched grinding together chips of molars as I forced my eyes back open. Now squinted into a glare at the darkness, my eyes flicked around, and I twisted myself onto my stomach before pushing up to a crawl.

I thrust one leg forward, then the other.

I wavered slightly, pitching to one side then the other, but by the end I stood on my own two feet.

Dizziness threatened to topple my efforts. I staggered to one side, nearly tripping over a long, thing object on the ground. Regaining my equilibrium I cautiously lowered myself to examine it.

My hand rubbed against a thick branch somewhat slimmer than my wrist and slightly taller than my hip. I braced myself for the weight of picking it up, but the wood was startlingly light. The texture was rough and unforgiving against my raw hands, but I needed it. It was a testament to my current condition that something so easily moved nearly had me collapsed back in the dirt, but at least this way I had some support as I began to explore where exactly I had landed.

Neither the black spots nor the ringing had abated, but pain was what really mattered. It hurt, and the jagged stabbing kept me tethered to my senses for every step I made forward. As long as it hurt, I would not let go of myself.

I staggered, reaching blindly for a wall to support myself. It was too dark for easy visibility, but rough outcroppings of rock dotted the ground, I could spot a rough outline of the jagged upward sloping walls. They were a terrifying mass that filled every corner of my vision. Taller than I could comprehend and pocked with dark holes and shadow, they would make the perfect home for ill-tempered snakes and multi-legged insects with fangs and stingers poised to strike.

Though blind, bruised, crippled by my ankle—which with a badly thought out roll, I decided was not quite broken—and dizzy from impact, I pushed myself a couple more steps. My breathing became labored under the exertion of moving around. Finally I felt the cool texture of stone against my outstretched hand. I heaved a sigh of relief and sagged against the wall, ignoring the sharp bits poking into my shoulder. I couldn't afford to sit down, but the unburdening of my legs was heavenly.

Again I squinted around to study my surroundings. The ground was littered with rubble and sporadic soft patches of grass around the circular cavern. As I had noticed before, the walls loomed steeply upward, imposing but possibly climbable? Plenty of hand holds and ledges ran back and forth reaching higher and higher until—there! A lighter shade than the deep black of cave walls was visible right at the brink of a particularly wide ledge. It must have been there I had fallen from. It was high up, terrifyingly so, but no one was coming to help me. If I wanted to get out, scrambling my way up the wall was my only option.

I grit my teeth and began to straighten myself up, pushing away from the wall once again. Clammy sweat dewed on my palms, which I hurriedly wiped away on my shorts. I could not afford to have slippery hands if I was to scale out of here.

Searching for the easiest hold to begin from, my eyes landed on a deep ridge carved just off to the left of my current place. It was deep enough to wedge a toe, perhaps even the ball of a foot if squeezed. From there, the wall bulged out with convenient bumps of stone every so often, with some close enough together to create a trail, or at least resting holds. I followed one particularly reachable path that squiggled inanely back and forth along the wall before it ended a few feet away from a ridge at least a foot deep. That was to be my goal. The ridge led directly under the hole. If I could make it there, all I would need to do was sidestep oven then pull myself out in a single lurch.

Decision made, I carefully set down the stick that had faithfully supporting me so far, giving it a little pat of gratitude, and wedged my foot into that little crack. The climb was even more difficult than I had suspected. Sweat poured from my brow and drenched the stripes of my shirt with discolored stains. Every heave tore at my muscles and sent some undoubtedly bruised bones screeching in agony.

I bit my lip, nearly hard enough to draw blood, as I held back a moan of pain and over extended to grab the next hold just out of my reach. It felt as though my arms tore themselves out of their socket with pure desperation. I had to make it. The world prickled and spun around me. My fingers twitched scrambling for a barely there purchase, but I got it. I trudged on.

The left index finger nail had cracked and chipped half off by this point, leaving trails of blood and sweat to slicken my grip, but I remained firm. The next bulge was close. It was an easy step, and I eagerly leaned my weight onto it when I felt it creak and crack beneath me. For an instant I felt the vertigo of the fall, remembered the instant of losing myself to gravity and awaiting blackness to rush over me, the pain, the impact, the numbing rush—I heard a sharp thud.

Despite the clawing intrusion of the past, my hands had somehow remained fisted onto holds in the wall, supporting the displaced weight from the loss of balance. Only after relaxing my lids back open did I realized that my eyes had reflexively clenched shut in fear. After a minute of labored breath my heart rate slowed, and I, regathering my courage, looked down.

The loosened perch had tumbled to the ground and scattered into small chunks of dirt and rubble. That could have be me, broken and scattered across the dirt. Twice over, I had escaped that fate. I loosed a choking sob of relief. It bubbled out from my throat in strange hybrids of gasping and laughter. I must have had the luck of the devil because I had once again flipped death the bird, and I was getting out of here.

I could see my progress to the hole from my height above the ground. In defiance of the pain and weakness in my limbs, I had managed to drag myself so far up that the ridge was just above and off to the side. As soon as I got there, all I'd need to do was step carefully along the narrow path to the outside. My muscles tensed in anticipation and renewed vigor.

With a victorious grin lighting my face, I scrambled onto the firm ridge of the cave wall. For the first time since—I actually had no idea how long I had been climbing, I let the over stressed muscles in my arms rest. That would show those who doubted me, everyone who thought of me as weak or pitiful, everyone who never cared. I was climbing my way out of hell, and I wouldn't be thrown away that easily.

In my excitement I never noticed the ledge crumbling around the edges. I did not feel the loosening of gravel from embedded stone. I did not hear the grinding of rock slowly being plied away from rock. Because none of this had registered in my mind, I had no warning before I, for the second time that day, felt myself go entirely weightless. For a moment, everything held still. Then I saw the hole, my entrance and my exit, slipping farther and farther away.

I howled in fury, just managing to claw an arm upward to snag something, anything when I impacted below. Again.

This time was much gentler than the last. Instead of dropping onto bare earth, a small bed of grass ringing a patch of flowers cushioned me with a jarring, though not fatal, plop.

They were disgustingly cheerful in the face of my failure. They smiled at me in garish shades of sunshine, warm and glowing against the dark of this hole.

Splayed once again on my back, I swiped furiously at the nearest buds, unintentionally flinging drips of blood over the bunch. Bright red speckled laughing yellow in a mockery of innocence. I couldn't help but giggle. Then laugh. Then burst out in uncontrollable, heaving gasps of mirth.

Lying there amid dirt and petals, covered in a whole lot of substances I'd rather not think about, laughing and sobbing in the dirt, I mused over whether I should even bother to get up. I had been in this position so many times today—or maybe tonight?—that the idea of standing up, walking around without pain, of actually getting out was nearly inconceivable.

I rubbed vigorously at the tears with one forearm, likely smearing the grime further. It was pathetic. I was pathetic. I couldn't even climb out of some dumb hole. The tears didn't stop. It hurt, everything hurt so much. I wished it would all just—snap!

What was that? My head whipped to the side, eyes widened in fear. Who's there? The beat of heavy plods came out of the shadows not far behind me. From my positon, sprawled awkwardly over the ground, I had to twist my neck uncomfortably around to crane my head in that direction. I probably looked like an owl, staring wide eyed backward and frozen in the moment.

Plop-plop, plop-plop the sound ricocheted off the walls, multiplying from every direction. Every landing thumped louder in their unseen approach. The minute vibrations in the earth barely shook some tiny pebbles, but I could feel it under the sensitive pads of my fingers clawed into the dirt.

I did not know why or how, but I had to get to my feet. Though weakness and wavering vision, I stood once again up and pivoted far too quickly in order to face whatever it was in the darkness with me. I crouched as low as my broken body would let me, both for balance and preparation. My eyes strained to catch sight of the source of the noise.

It was likely big, heavier than me but not impossibly large by the sound of its movement. I stood in front of the little nook with the flowers, the wall a little ways behind my back. The full stretch of the cavern-like room stretched ahead of me, largely unexplored after my obviously too short examinations. Dark holes, previously assumed to be shadows, melted from the dense walls of rock. I began to shiver.

Tunnels were not good. Any manner of carnivorous animals lived in tunnel systems. My eyes picked up their scanning to a frantic speed. It was too dark. I just couldn't see.

There! There was the silhouette of some type I had never seen before jerking toward me in halting leaps. Its body was thick and heavy, though barely more than half my own height. Its skin—dark from either shadow or genuine deep color—rippled with every motion, tensing then launching the thing forward. It almost seemed like...a giant toad?

I knew the instant it spotted me. Its eyes, wide and slitted, zeroed in on me and in an instant began to glow a terrible, iridescent yellow. The glow lit up our little portion of the chamber, casting everything in that same shade. The mutant toad hopped toward me, giving off strange twittering warbles.

I stumbled back and shouted. Back off. It wasn't leaving. Get away! It came closure. The thing barely paused for a moment. It tilted its head slightly to one side then warble-croaked again continuing its approach, though slower than before. Still its yellow gaze fixed on me.

What should I do? What could I do? An idea struck. In a sudden flurry of movement, I dashed to one side as fast as I could. It had to be somewhere around here. Thanks to my mental mapping earlier, I knew I couldn't have fallen too far from where I began my climb. I found it! The sturdy branch that had helped me before.

I brandished it in the direction of the thing, waving it back and forth in front of me. The toad had closed the previous expanse between us and was now just a few feet away. I swung, narrowly missing its head. I just needed to scare if off, to make it leave me alone!

It dodged back, seemingly irritated. The yellow began to drain from its eyes, as it began quivering somewhat. It had to be trying to intimidate me. I roared again, making a fainting twitch forward. I would just have to be scarier than it was.

Out of nowhere, bright globs of white secreted from the thing's flesh to buzz around in the air everywhere. Slowly, then with increasing speed they circled around me. The ones that touched me—surprisingly few if any were coming directly after me—stung, raising blisters on my hands where I held the stick.

All of my injuries were compounding. My head ached and swam. My ankle throbbed furiously. Bruises from the fall joined with aches from the climb, and everything was just so tired.

I flailed madly, swatting the little lights and yelling at the toad. Go away! Go away! Just die already! With one full powered swing, I hit something firm and stiff with a dull twap! The force snapped the stick in half, while whatever I hit let out a painful shriek and tumbled away.

Everything fell silent. The lights disappeared. The toad was collapsed on the edge of the flower patch. It did not move. Neither did I. Numbly I dropped the broken half of the stick still in my hand and picked my way over to it.

It still had not moved. Hesitantly, after an indefinite time of blank staring, I bent down and poked it. No response. I hadn't meant to think that. It was a kneejerk response, an emotional thought, not my real intention. I couldn't have killed it. I couldn't have hit it that hard, not with my limited strength? I prodded a bit harder, feeling the startlingly smooth texture of its flesh and the squishiness of its muscle. Maybe it was just knocked out for a moment, in fact I really should not have been so close to it. It could wake up at any moment and attack again.

Then it began to crumble. First its legs, then the skin of its back and head where I had blankly continued my poking. Bit by but it dissolved before my eyes. It fell apart, reduced to powdered dust that covered my hands in grey. The last thing I saw before it disappeared completely was the smallest trace of yellow leave its dead eyes.

I couldn't move. I had killed it, dead. Something had died because of me. I had seen road kill littering the sides of streets, noticed the corpses small birds fallen from their nests in the spring time, even saw dead bodies of previously missing children on TV, but I had never been responsible for the deaths. I had never been the one to—crushed skulls, bone white ribs, flame charring a moth's wing. I'd seen kids my age, older and younger, 'playing' with small creatures like this before walking inside to rinse the remains from their hands with soap and tap water and joke together right after. I looked down at my own hands and wrenched to the side to throw up the bile lining my stomach. I was the same, though without a sink.

Dust covered my hands and shirt. I rushed to rub it out over the grass, but it stuck under my nails and in the threads of the fabric. I could smell it, dry and cold with none of the fertility of a rotting corpse.

It was all too much. Right then and there, over the laughing flowers sprinkled with blood, I passed out for the third and final time.