Donna, don't be such a Bitch!

"Wait!" Donna screams, but I don't turn back.  I continue straight ahead, ignoring the searing cramps in my legs as I bolt across the soft terrain of forest floor.

 

I take caution to swerve and avoid a fallen tree ahead of me, but a brief moment later I hear a squeal behind me.

 

Donna has stumbled and fallen.

 

I stop, hesitate for a quick second, then turn around to help Donna up.

 

"Mother fucker!" she hisses at me as I look to see that her left leg is badly injured.  It's hard to tell the extent of damage.  The black soil mixes with the blood, and so to me it looks like a muddy mess. I know the wound is large because the mess is oozing, and so I tear a strip from my shirt and wrap it around her leg to help stop the flow of blood.  

 

We both forget what is going on around us as I grab the other edge of my shirt to try and sop up the mess.

 

"You had to fucking go back!" she screams at me.

 

I start to cry.  I haven't slept, my nerves are completely shot and now I'm torn between abandoning Jim and abandoning Donna.  I choose for the moment to stay with Donna because it's my fault she is injured.

 

"I'm sorry," I tell her and then look up through the canopy of leaves above us to see the sun.  It has no message for me -- or if it does, it is muffled.   It simply blinks through the leaves as the cool forest air erases its heat before the light reaches our skin.

 

We sit for a moment as Donna applies pressure to her wound.

 

"What are we running from?" I finally ask when it seems like we might be ok to take a breather here for a minute or two.

 

"Mutations," she tells me.  It's cryptic.

 

"Like Zombies?" I ask. 

 

"No, mutations.  I think they want our camp." She tells me as she finishes wrapping a fresh strip of cloth she's torn from her shirt around her leg.

 

I decide that it's probably better to have fewer details for now.  But mutations is a good sign, right?  They're mortal.  Not superhuman in strength. 

 

We have a fighting chance.

 

I help Donna to her feet and we stand there looking at each other.  I still want to go back for Jim, but now that Donna is injured -- I'm not so sure.

 

"Let's go," she tells me as she hobbles ahead towards the direction of the brook.  I trail behind her trying my best not to let the guilt seep in.  The sun hangs high above us, but the shade from the forest offers us comfort -- like a cold compress on a sore muscle; or something like that.

 

As we near the edge of the brook I can hear a humming.  

 

I'm not afraid.

 

I know that humming.  That heart.  That voice.

 

And as we make our way to towards the boulder, we both see him at the same time.

 

Jim - standing there; humming away.  

 

Three dead bodies lay around him; headless.  Their necks each stream fresh blood that rushes obediently towards the water who, like a good servant, quickly carries all our terror and fear away.

 

"Jim!" I squeal as I splash my way through the bloody water towards him.  When I reach him I give him the biggest hug ever.  Donna waits on the other side of the water taking in the situation.

 

"Why'd you cut their heads off?" Donna asks as one of the heads catches on a bed of rocks near to where she is standing.  She quickly bats it along down stream with the toe of her good foot.

 

"That's what you're suppose to do to Zombies, right?" Jim says half joking, but somewhere behind the twinkling in his eyes, I know he believes what he is saying.

 

"Dunno," says Donna who continues to stay on the other side of the water.

 

I look down at the torsos, then arms of each of the bodies that lay in front of me.  They're male -- I think.  Skin is melted, but solid.  They're very Freddy Krueger-like in appearance; except their skin is more burnt red than white.

 

"I wanted to make sure they were gone for good," Jim says quietly so only I hear him. 

I pat him on the shoulder, letting him know that I'm not judging him in any way.  The pat turns into a hug, and I stand there for a moment as Jim pours out all his frustration through a rush of tears, then sobs, then heaves.  After a few moments of this Donna cackles from the other side of the brook, "Hello?"

 

I look Jim in the eye to let him know that everything is going to be fine, before turning to Donna who stands there impatiently.

 

"Donna, don't be such a bitch." I say as I cross the stream back towards her.  She can't cross on her own which is why she is pissed. 

 

"Don't YOU be such a bitch," she snarls back at me as I help her across the brook.  We walk upstream away from Jim's small victory towards fresh water.  I help her sit comfortably and use my hands as ladles to wash the black and hardened soil away from her wound.

 

With every application of fresh water, more pink flesh is revealed, and I see for the first time, just how serious and potentially threatening her injury really is.

 

 



You can run but you can not hide

I breathe shallowly through my nostrils -- eyes focused straight ahead on the bend around the boulder.  The sun has begun to peek above the horizon and so shadows from the trees now scatter along the edge of the brook.  The lapping has stopped.

 

Whatever is on the other side of the boulder has yet to cross.  The rising sun favours their direction.  Their shadows -- should they approach, would fall behind them.  Ours, should we stand, would fall towards them.

 

My right leg begins to cramp from the strain of my crouch, but I dare not adjust it.  I wait.  In silence.  Seconds melt into larger chunks of time, and for a brief moment, I forget that Jim is behind me.

 

When the sun crowns the tops of the trees, Jim touches my shoulder but I dare not turn.  The slightest sound from the shuffling pebbles underneath my feet could seal my fate.

 

I strain to hear any indication that the people or things on the other side of the boulder are our own -- but the air is silent.

 

And then -- a blood curdling scream -- like the one we heard earlier.  Only this time, coming from just mere feet away.

 

A moment later a scurry of feet quickly gives way to some from our camp -- including Donna who immediately grabs my hand and runs as fast as she can, with the others, in the opposite direction.

 

"Wait!" I yell, and look to see if Jim is behind me.  But he's not.  He's still at the boulder.

 

"Jim!" I scream, as I struggle with Donna to free my arm from her.

 

"There's no time!" she tells me as she tightens her grip and yanks me deeper into the woods.

 

"Jim," I whisper.  My voice is now gone.

 

With each step I am pulled further and further away.  Away from the boulder, the scream, the brook, and Jim.  Deeper, further into the woods -- towards the unknown.

 

"Jim," I cry.  I can no longer hear the bubbling of the water. 

 

I use all my will to muster up enough strength to yank my arm away from Donna.  And as the others run ahead of us; I turn back -- towards Jim.  Back through the forest and towards the sound of the brook. 

 

I will not leave my friend -- not this time.  No matter what the consequences.

 

 

 

 



Water can scream

It's hard to tell when dawn will break as there are no birds to warn us.  For a split second I indulge in missing the early morning calls of birds; but then Jim points to a rock just ahead of us.  Part of it is lighter, indicating shadows and the shifting of the night sky. 

 

The birds are quickly forgotten.

 

I point in the direction of the cave, hoping that is also what Jim has in mind.  We have the advantage of the current being busier, so our footsteps will be muffled.  I start to slowly do squats to waken my legs which are fast asleep.  It takes a few moments for the blood to surge back into them and I use all my will not to writhe in agony as my knees, then ankles, then toes slowly wake.

 

We only have the darkness to cover us for a little while longer.  We must move now.  I take the first step as I am in front and wait to see if any of the leaves that surround us rustle.  They don't.  I take another step and another as my feet fidget and slip on the unstable rocks in this particular part of the brook.

 

I'm grateful that the rubber on the soles of my shoes offers some traction.  I'm not sure if Jim's work boots offer the same stability.  I allow him to balance himself by putting one hand on my shoulder as we slink every so stealthily along the edge of the brook making sure to edge our steps away from the lighter side of the rock.

 

When we reach the other side, I take a second to collect my bearings and try my best to pin point exactly where the cave is.  It's difficult from this direction as I was on the other side of the brook before meeting up with Jim, but I believe that it should be just on the other side of a giant boulder that lays just ahead of us.

 

As we walk, I begin to wonder if the water has masked our scent, but before I have a chance to reach a conclusion I notice an overflow on the edge of the river -- as if something of significant weight has dispersed it.

 

Both Jim and I freeze -- mere meters from where I believe the cave is.  The horizon has begun to have a hint of indigo; and my visibility has increased.  I stand there naked and vulnerable waiting to see what is now crossing the river.

 

Jim motions for us to try and crouch in the deeper shadows near the base of the boulder, and so I quietly kneel -- trying desperately to survey the bank where I fear our visitor may exit.  As we crouch there, the water begins to lap.  Once.  Then twice.

 

My heart sinks. 

 

I can't breathe. 

 

My eyes widen with fear as the laps crescendo, indicating the crossing of more than one being.  The edge of the brook rises and falls with each entrant; and so I brace myself for an encounter that is certain to end in mutilation and death -- for one or both of us.

 

And as the laps indicate the presence of a small gang, I reach out my hand to Jim who is trying his best to stay brave.  This is the only source of comfort I can offer, as the water levels rise and fall with great agitation; screaming to both of us that our time has come.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Damp + Dreary = Niente

I sit silently at a table in the corner waiting for my coffee to cool down so I can gulp away.  The cafe is eerily silent save the sound of rain pounding against the front window.  Consuela hums melodically while she wipes away bits of lettuce and chopped tomatoes from the counter before turning to fill up the different bins with cooked beef and chicken.

 

Jim mops quietly in the corner, sweeping the water from one side of the room to the other.  The strong stench of pine seamlessly erases the muddy footprints of a hungry customer who was just here.

 

I watch the steam rise from my coffee cup and am interrupted by Consuela plunking herself down across from me.  "Mia, why iz yers so quiets?" she asks and puts her plump little hand on my own to offer some comfort.  I notice she's wearing a silver Tiffany bracelet and realize that I also have one exactly like it.

 

"Where'd you get the bracelet?" I ask her suspiciously as I take my first sip of coffee.  My first reaction is that she swiped it from my dresser -- but I could be wrong.  I instill three seconds of grace before I jump to any conclusions.

 

"I iz buys dis last weeks!" she squeals and dangles it in front of me to show it off.  "I iz buys it cuz yers has da same one!" she tells me with a big smile, and so I let the accusation evaporate as I concentrate on more pressing matters.

 

"Cool," I tell her as I readjust in my chair and sip away. 

 

"Mia, yers iz looking so tireds!" she tells me before playfully slapping my cheek.  The door chime rings and a woman in a trench coat enters and shakes  herself like a wet dog before heading to the counter.  Consuela greets her and tells her to try the fish tacos as they come with fries and a drink.  The woman agrees.

 

I gaze haphazardly through the rain streaked front window into the street.  I sit like a hungry crocodile next to a river, waiting for my prey to present itself.

 

But there's nothing.  Not an interesting character walks by and so, for the moment I am forced to drink my coffee and ransack my brain for possible next steps.  I watch the woman in the wet trench coat collect her food and pay Consuela.  I watch for any node of inspiration that could allow me to continue where I've left off.

 

But today there is nothing.  Nada.  Niente. 

 

Just a blah boring day set against the grey backdrop of a damp and dreary city. A  city normally flush with inspiration, rescinds today -- leaving me to the quiet whispers of my mind.  Whispers that offer nary a passage to the answer that might rescue me from my momentary lapse.

 

And just when I think that nothing will transpire -- Jim offers me much needed salvation.

 

"Achoo!" he says as he inadvertently knocks over the bucket with dirty water.  I watch as the water slinks and slithers ominously along the floor towards my feet.

 

"Gesundheit!" I say with excitement.  I get up and carefully step over the water to reach for the good paper towels.  As I do so, the whispers return -- breathing purpose and inspiration back into the folds of my mind, and igniting currents of possibilities for what is to happen next.

 

 

 

 

 

 



Tortured Psyches and Perishable Blankets

The silence is deafening save the bubbling of the brook that I'm standing in.  I pay little attention to the cold water that squishes between my feet and the soles of my shoes.  My eyes have now adjusted to the dark and I can make out partial traces of pathways and trees in the distance.  I scan slowly from left to right with only my eyes to see if I can see Donna.  But then, I hear a crack.

 

Without hesitating, I kneel where I'm standing. I step into the bubbling current to help mask the sound of my footsteps as I move backwards downstream towards deeper shadows and a better vantage point.

 

I take great caution to breathe ever so shallowly as the cool night air might show my breath.

 

Another crack.

 

I wait silently in the dark shadows, praying that the cracking sound is simply Donna returning.  I take slight comfort in the fact that I did not hear Donna scream -- and so I allow faith and hope to seep back into my heart as I wait to see who or what will appear from the shadows.

 

A moment later, I breath a sigh of relief.

 

It's Jim.

 

He does not make a sound, which lets me know that the danger is still very real -- but seeing Jim has given my tortured psyche new strength.  I wait a moment or two to see which direction he is headed before quietly making my way towards him.

 

I wait to reveal myself in the moonlight so as not to frighten him.  He immediately signals for me to be silent; and so I point the way back to the cave across the brook. He nods.  Visibility is still rather dim, but I notice that Jim has a torn sleeve and either blood or mud splashed on his face.  We strut forward one silent footstep at a time; painstakingly making sure that no twig cracks beneath our feet.  When we reach the brook I motion for him to cross using the area where I was moments earlier.  He nods, but then immediately stops me from stepping forward.

 

He's heard something.

 

I stand there in silence, allowing only the sound of my rampant heart to dissipate into the cool dark night.  We stand for what feels like almost an hour.  Neither of us moving.  My left leg begins to cramp but I try my best to distract myself with other more pressing thoughts -- like how long before the sun awakes.

 

For a moment, I allow my weary mind to drift towards anger and frustration at Donna.  I'm hoping that when it is safe to speak, Jim will have some answers.  For now, we remain statue-like in the cool dark night, with minimal protection, awaiting salvation or certain destruction -- whichever comes first.   Any moment now, the sun's rays are due to peek over the horizon; innevitably melting away our blanket of darkness -- and exposing us to the grim reality that every fearful shallow breath could be our last.

 



 

 

 

The Deep Dark Woods

"Run!" Says the man closest to the road where the scream came from.  The herd of stomping feet are still a mystery but none of us are going to wait and see what they are.

 

A moment later I find myself out of breath well past the hospital and into a stretch of woods that I've never been before.  Donna stands there, white as a ghost.  In the moonlight in the distance she can see what is going on.  The screams continue and I notice that my knees are trembling as I try my best to stay silent.

 

Donna motions for me to quietly move deeper into the woods -- which I do.  There is minimal visibility and I find myself using my hands stealthily to make my way.  My heart and mind are both racing in competition with each other.  One wants to focus on what is happening, while the other has no choice but to process the adrenaline in reaction to it.

 

I hear more screams and what sounds like the cracking of bones and so we continue to march forward into the night with no way of knowing if the path we are taking will lead us to safety. 

 

Eventually we make our way to what seems like a cave on the other side of a brook and Donna motions for me to go into it.  I try my best not to slip on the rocks as I balance myself across the water and then turn around to offer Donna my hand so that she can have an easier time of it.

 

But Donna is no longer standing right behind me.

 

And so, in that moment, I freeze.

 

 



"Ahhhhh,"

"Stick out your tongue and say --"

 

"Ahhhhh," I say before Donna has a chance to finish.  

 

I wait as Donna scribbles something on a file that she's created for me, before telling me that I'm good to hop down.

 

"So?" I ask a moment later as I check out my reflection in the mirror.  My hair has almost grown back save one spot just behind my left ear that is still fairly sparse.

 

"Well," Donna says and turns to me after she's closed her folder.  "The sores in your throat are completely gone, but I am a bit concerned about the elasticity of your skin."

 

Being the only one in town to come as far south as I have means that unlike the rest who are healthy and bouncing along, I have a bit more healing to do. 

 

Donna shows me how long it takes for my skin to return to its smooth shape after she pinches it; a clear sign of dehydration -- but not from lack of water.  Dehydration on a cellular level from the radiation.

 

She prescribes some more pills and suggests that I claim a vacant house just down the road, but I refuse.  There is something too permanent about being in a house when I don't really want to stay here any longer than absolutely necessary.  Besides, I'm comfortable temporarily crashing in the hospital with Donna.  It's good company, and seems to be off limits for Belinda and her crones.

 

"How much longer until I'm completely healthy?" I ask Donna as we walk outside towards tonight's campfire.  In the distance a few people have begun to gather, but more will come once the sky is dark with night.

 

"It's hard to say -- there could be permanent damage.  The body has it's own agenda.  All I can do is monitor it."  She tells me before taking a seat on a nearby log.

 

I like how matter-of-fact Donna is with me.  No fakey fakey "everything's going to be fine" when it's not.  I wish everyone would talk that way.  Maybe I could bring that up in our next town meeting?

 

I try to file that thought in the folds of my mind, but it's been harder lately to keep hold of things that have no immediate relevance. 

 

And just as the the last of the day's light slips behind the horizon and gives way to the first of the evening stars, so too disappears my thought.  To be quickly replaced by a more pressing concern -- one that has caught everyone's attention and sends a chill through the core of my being.

 

A scream -- in the distance.  By a women.  Quickly muffled.  Followed by an angry heard of footsteps.  Pounding the ground into submission as they trample near. 

 

 

 

Town Meeting

"Settle down, everyone!" Donna yells over the hustle and bustle of people taking their seats. 

 

I sit quietly in the front row and try my best not to attract any extra attention to myself.  Out of the corner of my right eye I can feel the stare of Belinda the bully glaring at me.  Her nose wasn't broken after all, but her eyes are pretty bruised from the impact of the log. 

 

I spoke with Consuela briefly after it happened.  My hope was to calm her down, but she just shrugged her shoulders and shuffled off.  In her mind, the bully deserved the whack.  In my mind, I think we'd do better if we all just got along.

 

The crowd begins to quiet and Donna takes that as her cue to start speaking.

 

"So, I guess most of you know what happened the other day -- and my hope is to have this meeting to address the issue with everyone's input, and also to lay some ground rules for the people who are invited to live here."

 

There's a few nods, but most eyes are intently watching Donna and waiting to see what she'll say next.  "So, I think we can all agree that we don't want to live in a place where there is violence or aggression -- especially after what we've all been through."

 

I readjust in my seat as Donna speaks briefly about the incident between Belinda and myself.  She gets feedback from the group who are fairly unanimous about the importance of working together; without any strife.

 

"Belinda," Donna says and focuses her attention on the rabid beast from god-knows-where, "how's your nose?"

 

Belinda shrugs her shoulders and gives a slight nod as if to say 'better'.

 

"Well, I am sorry that it escalated to that point -- but I think it should serve as a reminder that you can not bully anyone around."

 

"Violence," Donna continues and looks at me for a brief moment before panning her attention across the rest of the room, "will be completely untolerated.  Any issues should be resolved with consideration and common courtesy.  That means talk it out.  We have no room for savage behaviour here -- and if you continue to prove to be disruptive to the town you will be asked to leave.  We're going to create a town council with annual elections.  This town council will be responsible for overseeing the governing of our day to day workings, and in extreme situations, be responsible for mediating conflict resolution."

 

"There's pencils and papers on the table to the side, and Jim is standing beside a ballot box.  I want each of you to write the name of one person you would like to see on the council and the top twelve people with the most ballots will be our new council.  Any questions?"

 

No one raises their hand.  It's fairly obvious that we need some sort of structure if we're going to continue forward.

 

"Ok then, why don't we start with this side of the room and work our way across?" says Donna as the side that has Belinda gets up first to vote.  We make brief eye contact as her and her pack walk past me.  The tension between us is virulant.  I'm still having a hard time understanding why she has so many issues with me.

 

When it's my turn to get up and vote, I write the safest name I know for town council, Jim's, before folding my paper and placing it in the ballot box.

 

As I turn back to take my seat, Belinda and her gang have chosen to leave -- which is fine by me.  And as they begin to read out the names one by one and the chosen twelve are revealled -- my mind wanders to Belinda and her hatred, and my heart starts to fret.

 

People like Belinda have the ability to surrepticiously plant discord.  They prefer to destroy the garden because tending to it disagrees with their nature.

 

I hope I'm wrong and it's just my fear getting carried away; but somewhere deep inside of me -- in a place that is governed by the accuracy of a strong internal compass, I am convicted.  Dread taps away at the walls of my stomache, and I'm very concerned that despite the rules that the town has put in place to create peace -- Belinda will see to it to get her way.

 

 



Sister and Friend

There's something refreshingly melodic about the sweeping of a dirty floor.  Crumbs give way to fresh linoleum; and the light from moon's reflection on the floor surface tells me that I've done a good job. 

 

The last of the customers left just over an hour ago, and since Consuela is no where to be found, I am left cleaning up the store on my own.  I've given our apple-faced friend the day off and part of me begins to wonder if he will find his way back here ok...

 

Before the thought has left my mind, I hear a tapping on the glass and look to see a beaming smile nestled between the rosy apples of his well fed cheeks.  As I walk towards the door I notice that he has Donna standing with him.

 

"Hello!" I say surprised to see her.  A moment later concern washes over my face, to which Donna instantly shoos away with a flippant gesture.

 

"Nothing to worry about," she starts "he just wanted me to be here when he gave this to you." She tells me with a twinkle in her eye.

 

"Come in," I tell them and place the broom against the counter as I walk towards the fridge to offer both of them something cool to drink.  I give our Apple faced friend a Sprite, his favourite, and then motion to Donna who simply asks for a water.

 

"Jim came to see me today at the hospital," she starts as I take the lid off the bottle and hand it to her.  "He was very excited, and insisted I come with him."  She takes a gulp of water and motions for me to sit down, which I do.

 

"So anyhow, I did since it was a slow day -- and well, he wanted me to help him buy a present for you," she says almost squealing with delight.

 

My heart softens just a little at the thought of him going out and trying to buy me something.  I tell him thank you as he hands over a small gift still in its paper bag from the store. 

 

"I got him to remove the price," Donna says as she gets comfortable and waits for me to open it.  I take a second or two to make out the shape with my fingers before opening the bag and peeking in.

 

"It's beautiful," I exclaim and have Donna help me immediately put the necklace on.  It rests just above my collar bone, where I like it and I look in the mirror again before turning to the now blushing Jim to thank him once again.

 

"It's very beautiful," I say again and again so he understands that the gift is appreciated and well received.

 

"He had me help with the engraving," Donna prompts as I turn it over to read something written from his heart to mine:

 

Sister and Friend

 

"It's perfect," I tell him as I try to hold back an rogue tear.

 

With that Jim stands and heads upstairs to his room.  A moment later Donna stands and heads out the front door, and I take a moment to appreciate this small token from a man whom everyone had forgotten.

 

I take another moment to reflect on the reality of the world we live in -- one that values complacency over compassion.  A world that dismisses rather than embraces. 

 

And yes, while the teddy bear charm may not be of particular fashion or trend -- it has value and special meaning to Jim.  So, it now has value and special meaning to me.

 

I pick up my broom and sweep up the last of the crumbs before taking off my apron and turning off the lights.  Thoughts whirl past me -- some melancholic, some exhilarating. And I now know that if I can somehow channel the lessons I've learned from helping Jim into a story that I can be proud of, that perhaps complacency in the world will weaken; and compassion will have its day.