It’s gone too far now. Screeching animalistic growls pierce the air. A mosquito buzzes by my ears. I hate mosquitoes. The damp wet earth presses firmly to the left side of my body. Chartreuse leafy trees tower above me. I am meager compared to them and the stories they hold. I wonder how tragic my story is compared to the other meager beings’ stories. I don’t feel my right great toe, maybe because of the rain. Or, maybe because it was torn away. Everything feels the same.
A beetle scuttles across my forehead; I don’t swipe it away, fearful of even the possibility of pain. I finally recognize my breathing. In and out. In, hold, and out. It takes all of my strength to make my brain send a signal to my lungs to circulate the air keeping me in this plane.
A deep groan hits my senses. It’s so loud so I know the source is close. There are ten others. I assume all have perished. I hope all of them have transitioned to another plane. For me, this one is no longer my home, and I wish for freedom. It’s why I was with the others to make my escape.
A watery trail streaks my frigid cheek. I am scolded so often to be more emotional, let my vulnerability show. This lack of emotion aids in squandering friendships, business partnerships, and now my one true romantic relationship. But, I couldn’t blame my unemotionality for all my shortcomings. The biggest transgression is my constant lust for more. I want to be more than content, exploding at the seams with the very best of everything. I should never have dared to greedily hoard joy. Now, my life will be deservingly unrecognizable.
I now stand at the precipice of vulnerability without a soul to witness my effort. Connective tissue in my spine contort and contract, creating a firework display of pain. If I indulge this pain, I may never survive it; so, I withdraw further into my mind. I pile onto the expansive depth of every type of pain I refuse to toil through.
The groan has morphed into gasps now. Is death near for this stranger? And if so, by what means? Rain-laden elephant ear leaves extend high above me, dropping their wet gifts to the soaked ground below. The stupid mosquitoes, moist soil, and tall canopy of green tells me this is a forest of some kind, which can be home to dangerous predators. To avoid being some creature’s lunch, I am spurred into action.
Since my lower limbs appear oblivious to life, I attempt to push myself into a seated position. I need to be able to see what remains. The Herculean strength I muster should be studied, as I am able to sit up, firework show in my spine and all. A trail of blood mimics the tears that continue to fall.
The wreckage goes beyond my field of view. I spy only four others, showing no signs of life except the gasps nearest me. Metal and plastic lay planted next to the arbor giants. The studded toy the little girl in row five held is tattered and soiled, most notably missing its owner. I pray the child isn’t suffering. Clothes and luggage are tossed haphazardly amongst the debris. I search frantically for my only reason for being on this disaster flight. Otherwise, I cost these people their lives for nothing.
Leaves rustle to my left, and I painstakingly turn my head to meet friend or foe. I can hear my heart pounding like a drum; it threatens to burst forth, just as the emotion has. The rustling grows closer. I close my eyes to brace for my fate. The gasps have stopped. She breaches the heavy tree line, holding the one and only thing I want now. The luggage containing my bargaining chip for a new life.
Her smirk triggers a View Master slideshow of our entire relationship. She addresses me then.
“Why am I not surprised? Cockroaches always survive. It took a life-ending and harrowing event to get three tears from you. That’s it. Just selfish and pathetic. That little girl died because of you. You don’t deserve what’s in this bag.” I drop my head, visibly sobbing now. She chuckles before setting fire to my only hope of redemption.
Luci Strong is a budding writer, hailing from Mississippi. Her Southern experiences and upbringing shape her writing. She loves to read romances, thrillers, and fantasy novels. When she is not reading, writing, or working in healthcare, she enjoys baking, hanging out with family and friends, and binging various TV shows (current binge: Real Housewives of Atlanta).
Featured image by Yoal Desurmont on Unsplash.
