by Jack Lynch
Sleep
by Jack Lynch
I could hear the clouds spit their glass knives, spit them right down the into evening’s throat…at least it felt evening…it smelt like evening.
My eyes began to unfasten as I felt a sting lick its prickly, wet tongue right across my chest…left to right…left to right. There was something else as well…a pain, an ache in the back of my left shoulder. It wasn’t long before the two balls that set nestled in the centre of my skull began to adjust to the low light.
It was the evening, I knew I could taste it but there was no road…no road and with each breathe, each painful breathe of the icy ambience; I could feel a family of razors scrape their way down through the inside of my throat. My senses were clearly beginning to slither their way back to a body that lay against some kind of wood, eyes now, prematurely, shooting themselves around a room, one that I’d never seen before. All I could think about was the smooth, rough blackness of the steering wheel, the car that had just been swallowing line after line ahead of it…but there was no road, no car.
The ache in my shoulder continued, stubborn in its attempt to stay noticed, as I began to loosen my neck. It didn’t take long before I noticed a sensation of fur across the outside of my mouth, the side of my face; all I could do was watch as a hand, one that surely belonged to me, dragged its way up to the sensation in question. As it brushed its way across the irritation it became quickly apparent that what was covering the bottom, the sides of my face was unmistakably a beard, one that I’d never grown. I could feel the questions, their teeth, their sharp teeth, doing everything they could to bite their way through to the inside of my skull. There were a thousand little details, a thousand little hungry centipedes, some of taste, some of smell, feel all attempting to scatter their way in into my nose, my eyes, my hands, my body; their hair-like feet let me know that I was finally beginning to become conscious.
How the hell did I end up here? Where was the car? The road? Emma? Amy? Jessica? Without hesitation, my head threw itself around, body attempting to follow as I scanned the room, the ugly, decaying wooden room. As I surveyed my surroundings I soon noticed my eyes had fixed themselves into a single position, it wasn’t long before I realised I was looking at someone, a body lying on the floor, a body dressed in what appeared to be makeshift clothing. I could feel my stomach twisting itself into a puzzle, a hundred little knots, all of them sliding over each other as painfully and as slowly as possible. There was no car, no road, no Emma, no Amy, no Jessica, no one…just me, a man I didn’t recognise and a body. My eyes cautiously, gently, raised themselves back up to the far wall as they began to look for some kind of clue as to wherever the hell I was. The room was small and wooden, empty of much except for a few metallic scraps I couldn’t make out, what appeared to be some water and…a gun. There was an anxiety sitting, kneeling above my chest, one that was beginning to win its battle as I felt my ribs beginning to collapse under its weight.
Move.
With my chest crushing lower as each second passed, I decided to send every fibre I could find down to the muscles in my legs; desperately, pathetically searching for something, some kind of movement. I had to know I could move. Letting the instructions trickle their way into my legs, I moved my eyes down, down to see a filthy white shirt sitting inside a black jacket, above what appeared to be a pair of black jeans…these weren’t my clothes.
Move.
Why was I dressed in someone else’s clothes? How the hell was there fur covering the bottom of my face? As the struggle continued, muscles doing everything they could to begin a semblance of movement, I dropped my hands to the hard, cold floor in attempt to give them every ounce of assistance I could. My legs hurt and my body knew it, but it was trying to tell me something else, I could hear it whispering to me but it was too quiet, too faint for me to understand…had the car crashed? Right now it didn’t matter, with the strength in my arms evident by the result, my body began to raise itself slightly as I began to feel movement returning to my legs; it took around a minute until the wall allowed me to stand with its assistance. Slugging my weight against it, hands pressed, wrists collapsing into the apathetic wood, I tried to do everything I could to keep my focus on the task at hand.
Stand.
Taking the deepest breath I could muster, I pushed myself away from the wall as my legs attempted to stop themselves from buckling. It took several seconds, several long, pathetic seconds until I realised I still had the ability to stand…and as painful as it may have been, I at least knew I could walk, I could leave this horrific tomb.
Every inch of my body shocked into action, I began to make my way over to what I presumed was a man, at least the body of a man as my attention turned itself back to my thoughts. My head still hurt, hurt will all the questions, the hundreds of questions throwing themselves around, I could feel their crushing palms against the inside of my skull. But that wasn’t all, there was a fear, a fear beginning to scratch its long, rusty claws against the back of my spine…I’d have to ignore it. Though anxious that I wouldn’t be able to pick myself back up if I were to kneel, I knew I’d have to take the risk, I knew I couldn’t reach the man from the safety of an upright posture. As the muscles in my leg began to wince, no doubt unable to understand why the hell I was forcing them to take me back down, I allowed myself a minute, a brief minute to slow my breathing.
His chest seemed fixed to the floor, his back facing towards me. The smell was worse over here, much worse than the smell that seemed to emanate from the clothes coiling around my skin. The back of his shirt was torn, miserable creases ran their way along the outside of it; it didn’t look the same as mine, I was right, it looked homemade, his pants as well. What felt like several minutes past, several long, paralysing minutes of processing the situation before I began to notice the static lake of vicious red staring back at me, the blood stapled to the floorboards to his left. I could feel my weak chest trying to contain the thrashing inside its cage, head beginning to run itself into a circle as I attempted to pick myself back up…I needed to see his face. As the muscles, the sad muscles in my leg begun to adjust to instruction, my body rose higher and higher until I was once again standing over the man…the pain, the one in my shoulder still refused to leave me the hell alone. Without hesitation my eyes suddenly began to scan the body standing beneath them, my body, as they looked for a sign, any sign of visible injuries but there was nothing, nothing but the same ugly, white shirt staring right back at them. It still had a vacant, empty expression on its filthy face; at least there was no blood. Attempting to prepare for whatever revelation the man’s identity may throw, I felt my feet cautiously carry me round the ball of his head as I begun to get a view of the front. My investigation began with his stomach, his lifeless, plastic-looking hand clutching a black circular shape, one that seemed to be embedded into his skin…it was a hole, a large wound. My eyes shot their way back to the gun lying several feet away, I could feel something being forcing its way down the back of my throat; I had no choice but to swallow…swallow the foul taste. As my feet continued to move, the clear truth that he’d been shot becoming apparent, I began to get a glimpse of what was in front of the short, grey hair. My lungs had no choice but to take another drag of the cold air as I found myself looking into a face, a face I didn’t recognise, one that appeared middle aged, a rough, uneven grey beard masking, crawling its way across the bottom and the sides. As more questions attempted to climb their way inside, into a space already occupied with plenty of their own kind, I knew I had to accept the situation…the man was dead. I could still feel the claws ripping into my back, eager to get at the nerves but I couldn’t focus on
them, not right now.
I could hear imaginary whispers of my wife, my girls, struggling to snap my focus into surviving, escaping this coffin. I had to get out, I had to find out what the hell had happened to me; how the hell I found my way there, how much time had passed. But it wasn’t just the whispers, I could hear, I could feel the floorboards creak, groan with every desperate, miserable step as my head turned towards what appeared to be the only door in the room. Maybe my vehicle was outside. I could feel my anxiety beginning to change its shape, change into something, something that resembled anger; I didn’t care about the pain in my shoulder, the man, the gun lying a few feet away, I had nothing to do with any of this. I must have crashed, been kidnapped…Emma was definitely looking for me, she had to know her husband was still alive. As the floorboards continued to groan, my feet reaching within a foot of the door, I fastened my hand to the handle, pulling it down harder than I’d ever remember pulling anything in my entire life. It took a few seconds, with the door refusing to move, before I instead attempted a push; an action that almost threw me off balance as the door flew itself open.
I could feel the cold begin to swallow me as my gaze dived across the open surroundings…the grass…the trees, there were no cars, no streets, nothing human, nothing that I recognised. I knew that sound had been unmistakable as I attempted to adjust my eyes to the stinging blackness, the vicious rain dived into the ground, attempting to pummel it into submission. I wasn’t’ wet…I was sheltered, sheltered by something; as I turned my attention to whatever was above me I quickly noticed an arch, an entranceway above the door. My feet began to carry my body down what appeared, what felt to be some wooden steps in front as I kept my focus on the outside of the structure. It didn’t take long before I found myself looking at a small, decaying shack as some grass brushed itself against my ankles. As if beginning to feel an illumination in the inside of skull, I could feel some logic, rationalisation begin to return to me. There was little chance the body had shot itself; if it intended to kill itself why would it have chosen what undoubtedly would’ve been a painful way to die? Whoever it was that had shot the man was probably close, but why hadn’t it killed me? Why hadn’t the shot woken me? Maybe I’d been dumped after the incident, maybe they’d be coming back for me? But why had the gun been left? The door left open? Attempting the regretful task of answering the relentless, stubborn assault of questions, I found myself being carried further away by my feet, I knew I should go back, back to get the weapon, but I couldn’t even bring myself to imagine to re-entering those wooden jaws. As I slowly turned my body, my head, round to face the night in front of them, I began an attempt to hurry their adjustment to the low light, hurry their adjustment to the generic greenery. Like with the body, it must have taken several seconds of finding my eyes fixed in the same position before I begun to process what I was seeing. As my feet continued to carry me away from the shack towards the evening, I found myself focused on a shape; one fixed in the scenery nearby, it was static, unmoving. Whatever had been clawing at my back was now placing its teeth around my already weakened chest; a set of sharp teeth beginning to chew, chew me down to the bone. As I continued to stare however, against all reason, I found myself still being carried towards it, walking towards whatever it was, a sense of familiarity beginning to mitigate the dread, an unexplainable comfort in its familiar angles. With each few steps, perhaps the third and fourth, I noticed it becoming clearer and clearer as my brain racked its memory as to where the familiarity was coming from. I began to make out some sort of material as it became clear, a portion of the shape was an obstruction of the trees in front of it, it was some kind of metal but too small to be a car. It was then, as if washed over by wave of relief, I noticed the road, a small road that appeared to trail off into a nearby forest’s mouth; my attention turned back to the shape, the object, as its appearance began to become much more apparent.
A motorcycle.
I found myself standing no more than a few feet away from a motorcycle, one resting next to the tree in front of me. I had an obligation to get home; I had a right to take it even if it belonged to someone else, someone else nearby. Feeling the anger cog its way back throughout my body, I stormed my way over to the vehicle, attempting to scan the surrounding area, attempting to keep my vision at the same pace as my feet. It wasn’t long before my eyes came to the same conclusion that my ears had been done so a little earlier – I was alone, abandoned.
What must have been two to three minutes passed, I don’t remember how or when I sat myself of the motorcycle, all I knew was that I was sitting on something that could take me away from this horrific prison of flora and wood. It’d been several years since I’d sat on the back of anything similar but nonetheless I knew somewhere back in the mind, especially given the circumstances, given the stress, that everything would come back to me…it had to. I felt my hands rub themselves together, trying to give myself some warmth, some respite from the weather; maybe it didn’t matter, maybe I’d be home shortly, a home away from the cold. Unable to consider the possibility that the vehicle would fail to start up, I turned my attention to the dials, the ugly keychain hanging itself down the side, the rubbery handles sitting themselves over the metallic antlers. My hands continued to rub themselves, mouth now blowing in attempt to assist as I allowed myself to take a few moments to slow my breathing, my heart. Despite being caught a few times by the cold air, I could feel some semblance of normality, of calm beginning to brush its warm feathers against me – I was okay…I’d be fine. If I was meant to die, meant to die in the tomb behind me, I wouldn’t be here; I wouldn’t be sitting where I was. I was alive, and that must have been for a reason, I must have been left alive for a reason…to get back, to get home. Feeling my hands gently crawl their way up the keychain, I instructed them to grab, to grip the key as hard as they could, to grip the key and refuse to let go until the engine had started. It was a few seconds before I felt them follow through, I could feel the weak plastic touch my skin, my hands gripping, shaking in desperation as they began to twist. My eyes closed themselves quickly but gently as I began a struggle to throw out any anticipation of a dead engine, of an interaction with whoever owned the vehicle.
Twist.
Refusing to accept that I’d discovered the vehicle for nothing, I sat and waited, waited for that familiar hum, that familiar vibration beneath me. It took three stubborn attempts before I began to feel the vibration ringing through me, reverberating throughout my legs, my stomach, my arms. The sound, the smell was beginning to thunder its way into me….that was moment I knew I was right, I knew I was meant to be alive.
It only took a few minutes before I found myself setting off onto the road, motorcycle swallowing the faint lines underneath it. There’d been no sound, no one, no attempt to stop me leaving, all I needed now was a plan, an idea as to where I was going. Not allowing the trees a chance to stretch their legs, I watched as they ran past me, the wind crashing itself into my face. My body still hurt, my shoulder still ached as I turned my attention to the glow below me. The large meter met with a smile, I had almost a full tank, hopefully plenty of fuel to last me what could be a lengthy journey; but I needed my own, I needed water. I needed something to quench the sensation was beginning to form in the back of my throat.
It must have been several minutes before I began to make something out, I could feel the confidence lining my body as result, there appeared to a be a highway, a sign nestled near a tree just before it. Deciding to slow myself to a crawl, I diverted my gaze to the approaching piece of metal, the faint writing inked on its face. I could feel the vehicle slowing, slowing to halt as my eyes began to read me the text plastered on its reflective surface…’Plainview – 35km’.
Home.
I’m not sure what hit first, the suffocating sense of relief or the gust of cold air slicing my throat as it marathoned by but at least I knew I hadn’t been take far after all…I was close to home. The creases in the lower half of my face let me kn
ow that a smile had found its way onto it as I once again rubbed my both of my hands together, two tired hands, in attempt to fight off the evening. None it mattered though, I had a target, I had a highway ahead of me, with my eyes fixed, I gripped the accelerator and began to propel myself into a reasonable speed.
I had no idea how long it took me to get onto the highway, nor if my speed was adequate enough but, again it didn’t matter, the motorcycle, I, roared my way past the last of the terrible trees, down a highway I knew I recognised. There was nothing, the roads silent, empty, politely sitting, allowing me access back to safety. As I continued to blister down the tarmac my focus momentarily turned to the lack of watch on my left wrist, something I’d failed to even process earlier…there was no indication of time on the bike either, just the cold blackness surrounding me. It had to be the early hours of the morning; I never remembered the highway being so vacant, so lifeless, but again, it didn’t matter, now wasn’t the time for considerations. Everything felt familiar, the large house on the hill, the small shelter that could be seen approaching on the right, although there no lights on either.
It must have been somewhere close to fifteen minutes, maybe twenty before I found myself taking the same left into the community, a warm swelling beginning to form somewhere in my chest. I could feel my heart punching its way into my ribs, the thought of seeing Emma, Amy, Jessica, all of them, finding out what the hell had happened. I’d soon find out how the hell I ended up in another man’s clothes, that shack, how the hell I ended up lying next to a body I didn’t even recognise.
I didn’t shoot him.
The rain continued its violent assault on the tarmac as I kept to the restrictive speed limit, if only to allow myself to feel a greater sense of normality. I could see the supermarket begin to approach my left side, however unlike the prior instances where it’d taken me several seconds to recognise something was different, I began to process the images I was being fed immediately. The sad, lonely structure stood, what windows weren’t shattered appeared to have been boarded by some kind of wood, some reasonably thick kind of wood.
