by Wilson, Jay
One of them, I think it was David from Elementary Algebra, banged his head against the window until the glass shattered. He fell to the ground and began to crawl as the things that were no longer human began to file through the opening. Before I knew it, and before I could grow the courage to stop them, they disappeared from the cafeteria and spread throughout the campus.
I backed away from the door, and when I hit the wall on the other side of the corridor I said, “I never meant for this to happen.”
“What?” Chad said, and he came to me. As I slid down the wall, he knelt next to me. “What are you saying?”
I said in an almost inaudible whisper, “I did this.”
“Babe, I can’t here you.” He said, and when he put his hand on my shoulder, I flinched.
“I did this.” I said, but louder this time.
"What do you mean?”
“Last night I… treated the pool water. When… the acidity in the water was gone, I put that—that bacteria in there.” I said and buried my face in my hands. “Oh, God… I killed them all.”
Chad took his hand off my shoulder, and he moved away.
He said, “What bacteria? I don’t understand. What the hell did you do?”
“God, don’t you see, Chad? That stupid bacterium we grew in the lab, the one that we mutated. I just…” I said, and my words caught in my throat with a sour stall. “I didn’t know it would do this. I didn’t think it would spread without water…”
“Why would you do that?”
I cried, and the tears spilled between my trembling fingers. “They always treated us like crap. We were always that gay couple that everyone treated differently. Especially them, that fucking swim team.”
“I can’t believe this…” He said as he fell against the adjacent wall.
“I killed everyone.” I said.
For a while, we were silent. It was obvious Chad was still trying to figure out how I could have done the things that I did, but his emotional suffering didn’t last long, not as long as mine, anyway. He turned into one of those monsters a few minutes later, and I ran, never to see his face, hear his comforting voice, or feel his soft touch ever again.
He wasn’t the only person I loved that suffered from my hatred. My mother, father, and little sister all fell ill. Because the bacteria had mutated to be effective in freshwater of any temperature, it found its way into the water supply and spread everywhere. Within a few weeks, most of the world was gone.
With just a few of us survivors remaining, we found refuge in the mountains; a place far enough from the mindless wanders where we could be safe. Food became scarce, but water was abundant, though it required a cleaning process that took a lot of time.
I recounted the moments leading up to the end of the world for only one reason. Please know that I don’t seek understanding from my actions. I will never pretend that you should feel empathy or any sort of sympathy or pity for me. What I did was inexcusable, and something I expect nothing but contempt from anyone I meet. Hell, the reason I hadn’t killed myself was that I needed to make things right—needed to help people survive.
Anyway, I detailed the story merely to warn people of how easily the actions of a few can change the world forever. It is to teach future generations as the world rebuilds that we must all work to respect and love those around us so another like me is never again born from humanity's malevolence. I hope that I can make this right and help find a way to combat this biological killer. If I cannot, please know that I am so very sorry.
Drinking a Soul
I open my eyes for the first time to a world of giants. These fascinating creatures walk around the room as zombies with hollow eyes and cold, pasty skin. They seem to have no drive, but they go about some kind of business that was yet unknown to me.
One in particular with short golden hair, pleasant soft features, and piercing blue eyes sits down in front of me. She rubs her lids and sighs as the cool blue glow from the computer casts wraiths of shadows upon her face.
Although I perceive the world, I don’t understand it or know how I came to be. I know I can think, and therefore I must exist, but I don’t know what created me. Maybe I just came from nothingness, an inexplicable rise in consciousness from a change in the world’s balance. I can’t be sure of what causes the hot black blood to course through my veins, and it seems no matter how long I deliberate over existentialism, I will likely find no answer.
The giant sitting in front of me yawns. Her mouth stretches wide and she breathes deep the thick warm air that ends with a soft sticky smacking of her voluptuous lips. She looks at me with those sultry eyes as she reaches for me, and it is a vision that, although I’ve just seen for the first time, is ecstasy.
She clasps her hands around my waist and brings me closer to her face. Those soft, supple lips come closer and closer and as they reach me, they pucker together. When she lays those delicate cushions upon me, exhilaration tingles through my body. Her tongue caressed my exterior, and then—
No, what is she doing? That feeling, I can’t—is she? She began to suck the life out of me. Each gulp pulls more from my body—
—no, stop—
—please!
Can anyone stop her?
Don’t do this!
I can’t—
I—
A Suicide Story
I approached my friend who stood at the tip of the exterior trim of a very tall building. I saw his toes peeking over the edge, testing the water before their grand escape into the deepest of oceans. When he looked back, his tortured faced burned with sadness, but he looked oddly relieved to see me.
“You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Yes I do.”
“No you don’t. I’m alone all the time. There’s no one to talk to, no one to turn to, it’s all just so… distant.”
“But you’re talking to me right now. That’s gotta be something.”
The wind pushed him against the wall and then pulled him toward death as if it was eager to end the whole thing. I took a step forward, worried he might fall, but he steadied himself and clung tighter to the wall behind him.
“Sure, but what then? There’s nothing left.”
“That’s a question I don’t have the answer to, but if we’re talking now, what’s stopping us from hanging out later?”
“Everything. My world is so dark and cold, and I know I said this, but I’m so damn lonely. I just can’t deal with it.”
“Isn’t there someone else there? Family? Friends?”
“No… there’s no one. All I want to do is fall asleep and wake up in a new wonderful place, but I can’t. There’s no end… no end…”
“That’s sounds hard.”
“It really is.”
“What about before… were you happy before?”
“I was, by comparison. Now it’s like I got this rain following me around. You know, like in the cartoons? Except there’s no happy ending. All I see is darkness.”
“Damn, I had no idea.”
“No one does. They all think they know, but they don’t. They can’t understand what I’m going through. They won’t until they step into my shoes and experience all this for themselves.”
“What can I do?”
“For me, there’s nothing anyone can do.” I said, and nodded. “You can get off that ledge, though.”
“Okay.” My friend said, and then cautiously stepped through the window. “Russell? Where’d you go?”
He looked around the room, but I wasn’t there anymore. Well, I didn’t actually go anywhere because I stood right in front of him, but he couldn’t see me anymore. I was only visible to do one thing, to stop him from making the same mistake I did. A moment later, I returned to that cold lonely darkness from which I constantly emerge to help those unable to help themselves.
Three Minutes
The moment I unzip my luggage and throw it open, I realize two things. First, I grabbed the wrong bag at the train station. Second, I on
ly have three minutes to live.
3:00
I eject from my seat, and the chair shoots back. The legs scream as they slide along the wood floor, and it clatters to a stop against my dark oak dresser. The woman downstairs pokes the ceiling—probably with her witch’s broom—and she squawks unintelligibly at me. I don’t give a good God damn what she’s yelling about this time because sitting on my kitchen table is a bomb that’s slowly ticking to an inevitable and explosive end.
I run through my apartment, push through my front door, and spill into the hallway. The sweet scent of fresh tamales fills the corridor, and two children chase a rogue ball toward the stairs leading out of the building.
I stare for a moment at the steps because I want to leave. I can feel every bit of my body urging me to escape the fate of this building. However, the soft laughter of the children makes something inside me snap. I can’t hold my own life to be more important than that of any one else’s in the Sunnyvale Gardens apartment building. I need to do something, even if it means risking my life to do it.
Quickly, I spy the fire lever on the wall and pull it. A spray of black ink dyes my skin, and sirens suddenly sing songs of danger to the mostly quiet neighborhood. As everyone probably attempts to file out into the street for safety, I run back into my apartment and sit down at the table. Time is running out.
1:45
Back in that hallway, it seemed like I could be brave enough to take this terrible situation on with all the fervor of a hero, but in reality I feel like a chicken. Anxiety pulls and urges me to leave, and I feel like nothing more than a marionette to that selfish puppeteer of preservation.
I wipe the sweat from my face and look down at the small bomb. The blue LED clock ticks down soundlessly, but somehow it manages to do so in step with my heart. Each tick is a heartbeat, and it crashes hard in my ears seemingly louder than the blare from the fire alarm.
The only experience I have with bombs is what I’ve seen on television. There is always a red wire to cut, but this one has at least a dozen wires that are all the same pale cream color. The wires lead to four small metal canisters and a small black box in the upper right corner of the container.
Daringly—perhaps even a bit rash—I wiggle the wires. I try to pull them out, but the asshole who created the bomb secured them well. I let out a soft whimper of near defeat.
1:15
The feeling of fear and the intense desire to save myself increases, but I’m no longer in a position to get out. Thirty seconds ago, I may have made it out alive. Now, a small clock measures the length of my life in mere seconds.
I wiggle a few more wires, and an arc of electricity reaches from the base of one of the wires to the right most metal canister. At that moment, I think for sure I might see a flash of light and feel the burn of death, but nothing happens. A heavy sigh of feigned relief escapes my lips.
I think to myself, the little box!
I grab a pen from the table and start to pry at the cover. Something important has to be in there. Why would they secure it so well if it’s meaningless?
:45
The plastic cover pops off, and under its protection is a circuit board.
“What the hell do I do with that?” I ask myself while my cat sits delicately at the edge of the table watching me.
Time is running thin. So, I start prying and poking everything I can see. From this to that. Wires, diodes, and a little black thingy.
“Wait a minute! There’s got to be a battery!” I scream, and somehow managed a soft insane chuckle at the irony of not having a minute to wait.
:30
I look everywhere, but I can’t find a battery. After prying at the circuit board a bit, I give up because it’s too secure. I pick a random resistor and manage to break it off. It flies through the air, and my cat attacks it. Time still ticks.
:10
I wiggle this and wiggle that. I pick it up and drop it. Nothing happens.
:05
I run to the window and stare down at my neighbors that congregated outside the building. It looks like all of them but I can’t be certain. The cat affectionately rubs against my leg, and I take a deep breath.
:00
Sheldon’s Shack
That mother fucker, I thought as I sat on my front patio.
That piece of shit mother fucker, I thought as I sipped the sweet lemon tea that dripped cold drops of sweat upon my leg.
A lot of people down in shit-hole mosquito-infested Mississippi would say that the overwhelmingly hot humidity can make someone crazy, but I wasn’t crazy. I knew exactly who my neighbor was, even as he smiled at me and lifted his own refreshing drink from his patio in a toasting gesture. I knew who he was, what he did, and I knew exactly what I was going to do to him.
"Neighbor!" I called out and jumped up from my black and blue foldable chair.
As I approached the two-foot-high yellow and green hedge separating our properties, he said in a thick southern accent, "Nice day, ain’t that right?"
I slapped my neck. The soft tickle was either my imagination or one of those pesky little bastards trying to suck me dry. I decorated my face with a fake smile and said, "Heaven's sauna."
He laughed, and all I wanted to do was break every one of his teeth. A well-placed fist delivered to that spewer of divisive words, to a mouth that went places it didn't belong.
He said, "I ain't seen your wife around. Where's she been?"
You mother fucker, I thought as I sipped the tea to wash down the acid building in the back of my throat, and then I smiled even bigger.
“She’s out doing God-knows-what. Prolly out buy’n up all she can get’r hands on down at the Sunday Swap.”
“I suppose yer prolly right.” He said, sipped his drink, and continued. “Give’r my best, will ya?”
I kept the contempt I had for the man close enough to my heart that I felt it beating as a second one in my chest. They drummed against each other in a battle more fierce than that of Menelaus and Paris.
“Sure will.” I said, "So, I heard you was a lawn mower aficionado of sorts?"
The man’s eyes seem to light up, but I wasn’t sure whether it was that I had taken interest in him or his stupid love for lawn mowers.
He said, "Yes, sir. I even enter in the annual Cutters Contest!"
"Well, I got me a little torch for that now." I lied.
"Is that right?"
"Yeah, and you'll be happier than a tornado in a trailer park when ya here what I got’ta show ya."
"What's that now?"
"Got me a Dover, fifty-seven horsepower, all-wheel-drive grass eater."
The man's mouth dropped. "Well, Ho-lee shit! You are a good ol' boy, ain't ya? I always thought you was a big city boy from Jackson, but it sounds like you got chops, son!"
“Born and raised in Alligator, Miss’ippi.” I lied again. “So, wanna see the Dover?”
"You bet yer ass!"
I swung my arm wide, and ushered him through a small opening in the bushes. When he finally squeezed between them, I led him to the back of the house by way of the side gate.
Near the back corner was a small shed that my father constructed nearly fifty years ago. He was just a boy back then, but when his family moved into this house, my father’s father made him build it. It was, of course, for the safety of the entire family and any of the curious kids in the neighborhood. Well, the ones still alive, that is.
"It's right back here." I said, reached to the shed, and opened the door. I gestured for Ross to go ahead, and as he walked in, I threw my tea and grabbed him from behind. I put my arm around his neck and tightened. He was a weak son-of-a-bitch, so he had no chance to escape.
He managed to choke out a few words as he tried to pry himself free of my arm, "What’re ya doin’?"
I used my foot to kick away the rug hiding a hole in floor. Inside that deep recess was a thick darkness, and even deeper still was an unsettling evil that lurked within that withered earth for probably centu
ries. I didn’t know much about it other than it had an insatiable hunger, one that I’d neglected to feed for decades until three days ago when my wife disappeared.
"You mother fucker," I screamed with so much anger that foamy spit textured the side of his face. "You never sleep with another man's wife. Never!"
A deep growl erupted from the tunnel before us, and he tried to plead but I squeezed his neck harder to cut him off.
“I can't never change the past," I said. "But I sure as shit can make myself feel better, good ol' boy."
With that, I pushed him in. As he fell, he managed to grab onto the ledge. I let out an angry growl, grabbed the shovel from the hanger on the wall, and stabbed his fingers. He cried out in pain, and let go. I heard his scream cut short when the sudden stop knocked the wind out of him.
I listened and waited. The hungry growls grew louder, and then Ross began to scream. At first, it sounded clear, but it eventually mottled with the thick wet sound of a blood-filled throat. Soon, the screaming ceased, and all that was left were the sounds of flesh ripping and jaws chewing.
After covering up the hole, I returned to the patio. I poured a fresh glass of iced lemon tea, and sat down. For the first time in weeks, I felt a genuine smile form upon my lips. Life was finally good.
The House of Sin
My wife shook her head, unable to speak. It probably had a lot to do with the fact that I gagged her, but I preferred to believe that she was just in complete awe of my clever ability to show her my world.
I obnoxiously cleared my throat, and said, "Dear Nancy—that’s you—and Salina, I know that I've been really busy lately and haven't been able to be the man, husband, and father that you both need me to be. However, there also has been a lack of understanding for my needs as an author. Therefore, here is a list of demands that will help to secure a reasonable position and also help bond our relationship as a family blah, blah, blah... look, lemme just get to the goddamn point."
