Friday, August 5, 2011

More Real than Reality

**Here is a story I wrote for my creative writing class in 2008. It will be told in 6 posts since it is around 5000 words long. Enjoy!**

September 19th (The Journal of Darius Shackles)
The rot surrounds me, groans and screams breeding a chorus of death. Four walls are the only thing that separates my life, from the death all around. I am a small pocket of life that is slowly withering away into nothingness. I am starving and my end draws near. I realize that all men must have a desire to write about their lives when this time comes. Five days ago is when my life became complicated.
I woke up with her looking into my eyes it was morning, a dawn like any other. Her golden locks were spread across the pillow and they tickled my nose. Those locks carried her scent to me a mix of berries and honey. Her smile reminded me of home when my mother would give me a birthday present or when she would tell me she loved me. It was familiar I liked it for that reason. I knew I didn't love her, but it was easier to be with her than not to.
“I love you Darius. Did you sleep well?” Her voice was sweet and childlike. I found it comforting, but not attractive.
“I love you, too. I slept well, how about you?” I faked a smile and left her name out. For some reason that made it feel like less of a lie.
“I slept well, and it became even better when I saw you this morning.” She was cute admittedly it wasn't bad to be treated that way by her. To be the center of her world, but it didn't make me happy. Nothing really made me happy. I was in a rut life was mundane and she was mundane.
Getting dressed for our shopping trip, my attention was caught when an ambulance sped by the house. I could hear screaming down the street, the news said that some sort of virus was spreading. Other than being highly contagious there was little reliable information. Even blogs and other on-line sources were vague at best. I knew that this disease was limited to third world countries, which left nothing for American suburbia to worry about. Thus, rationality disregarded any fear I had had.
We went to the mall shopping for her mother's birthday present. We did this every year, but unlike every year the smell of death filled the mall. The scent, peaked my attention. While, I was looking for the source of the putrid smell my eyes where led to something stumbling across the lobby with this trail of blood that was both attached to it and following it like a parade of death. The eyes were white and empty, the teeth blood stained, and flesh that was green and wrinkled reminding one of a crunched piece of leather. The creature stumbled towards me. I knew what it was I'd seen the movies and the only way to kill it was to bash its head in. I got on top of what had once been an old hag and prepared to crush her skull; she groaned and snapped at me. Before I could finish my downward swing I was surrounded by them, they were clawing at me and they started to carry me away. I couldn't understand why they weren't devouring me. My head was pounding and it caused me to black out, for how long I don't know. I awoke and found myself in this refuge, my self inflicted prison. Somehow I must have gotten away and then locked myself inside this place for shelter and protection. It like what was happening didn't make any sense; but there seems to be no other way that I would come to find myself inside this place alive. I couldn’t get out I was trapped.
Five days have passed and still I am inside this place unable to get out and certain that death in here is better than out there. A sharp scream pierces the groan filled air. One by one death is coming to our holes and is digging us out like the frightened vermin we are. The groaning hasn't stopped for the entire time; I've been hidden in this place. It’s a gurgling moan that fills the air from every direction; it follows the screams, it haunts me in my dreams. Though the groaning is a constant my mind is unable to block it out. In consciousness there is no reprieve from the mournful cries. Just like the dead have no reprieve from their hunger.
I found that I am able to dream a few times a day. Like clockwork I dream of them surrounding me and trying to devour me. I recoil and scream for mercy from God for I know there is no mercy from them. I open my eyes and instead of the dead I am surrounded by doctors. In this dream trance they tell me I'm insane and that they are trying to make me better. It’s funny that of all the things to dream about I'd dream that everyone, but me was alright. I suppose it must be a part of a subconscious guilt for leaving my girlfriend in the mall, for allowing her to be eaten by them.
Yesterday, I had decided to take control of this dream and take advantage of the respite that it gives my mind. It was probably around mid-day and the brutes broke into my cell groaning and snapping at me like always. Then a needle was slid into my skin and the next thing I know I'm eating and there are a normal man and woman in the cell.
The woman was a petite little tart with this perfume that smelled like berries and honey. There was nothing overly special about her. She was average height, little to no curvature; thanks to her petite figure. She reminded me of normality; a novel idea that I thought no longer existed. That thought made me want her more than breath.
“Do we look like monsters to you Mr. Shackles?” She said in this annoying childlike voice. She must think me an invalid. I didn't know my subconscious was so overly critical.
“No, you don't. I think I want to fuck you. Does that sound like something you'd like?” I looked for a reaction on her face. She seemed surprised, but not entirely against my decision. This reassured me of my dream state.
“Mr. Shackles that was inappropriate. We can't help you if you aren't willing to cooperate with us,” was the shocked reply of the beady eyed man who was with the woman. He, I did not concern myself with.
“You didn't answer my question. I'm going to have to take that as a yes.” I said attempting suave confidence, which seemed successful in getting women naked, at least according to television. I suppose it wasn’t that convincing though, since she wasn't all over me as expected.
I decided to take initiative and grabbed her waist. With all my strength I pulled her in and started forcing kisses onto her neck. She tasted familiar I wanted her even more. But she was resisting, though it seemed more like a not now fight than a no stop. To reassure myself I kept saying, “Stop resisting this is only a dream,” in attempt to get my subconscious to stop her resisting, but she resisted all the more. They inserted another needle into me.
I awake to find it the morning of my fifth day in this cell, and since I've had food. I'm hoping that the government will show up and fix everything. Like my body, hope has grown weak over these long excruciating days. I fear that I will not make it to the end of this disaster. I hope to have strength to write more tomorrow. The hunger has me so weak that if this is my last entry I can only hope that it is because I was rescued.

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