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I’m not sure what’s worse. The freezing cold of the tundra or the constant state of paranoia. We are hunting a hunter, and the worst part is he knows. We are tracking a mercenary simply known as bullet-train. A big guy who’s known for his tendency not to speak, and killing people with his hands. He usually wears a large coat and a motorcycle helmet. Not much more is known except that he’s probably a bear in human clothing. He’s gotten on the wrong radar though and disappeared to Alaska. Fortunately, we are on his tail. Unfortunately, his trail is a large deer carcass that looks to be ripped open and eaten raw. “I should have brought bear traps,” I say to myself in a brief moment of hysteria and interest. I clutch my rifle closer as if it was a teddy bear in the arms of a child. I follow boot prints for a couple of miles only to find the same deer. Along with a second and third set of tracks, my own and his again. I frantically look around me closely examining every crevice this monster could be lurking in. I can’t tell if I’m shaking from the cold or the sheer idea of this guy.
I set up camp in a cave. I checked it wasn’t home of some animal and lined the entrance with a claymore. I lean on my pack holding my gun close for comfort in an attempt to become even the slightest bit comfortable. The next morning comes and I start by opening my military issued breakfast. I look out from the cave to find the claymore ripped apart. Disarmed and destroyed. I dive for my rifle, but I’m stopped by the cracking thump of a large boot breaking my arm. I look up to find my reflection in a motorcycle helmet and my body won’t even let me scream. He stares at me and picks up my rifle. He rips it in two like steel is only a five-letter word to him. He steps off my arm and picks me up. I’m helpless. Or at least that’s what he thinks. I pull my knife from my boot and stick in between his collar and helmet. Instead of a geyser of blood and a fall of a giant, I hear a groan and suddenly I’m thrown to the ground with the force of a truck. All I feel is the wet of blood-freezing instantly in contact with the snow. It all starts to fade when my own knife crashes into my chest. His fist doesn’t even fit inside the handle and he pushes it deeper cracking my ribs. All I tasted was blood but suddenly I’m drowning in it. My head fits perfectly in his hand like a golfball and he squeezes. “Let me die! Let me die!” I scream muffled by my own blood and his hand. My head collapses in on itself and all I feel is heat. A pain so deep my body cannot even register it. He leaves and I lay there, unable to move, my senses are fading one by one. The only one left is my sight. I can’t even process. I’m mindless. I’m still alive. I’m suffering.
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My eyes open, but something grabs me. “Stay,” It says. “You’re Safe here,” it continues. It’s warmth radiates and holds me close like a hug. Not the most comfortable hug, but the only one I have. It loves me, but I must go. “It’s fine if you don’t go. Nobody really cares whether you’re there or not.” It’s convincing, but I have things to do. “What’s the worst that will happen?” It asks. I sink deeper into its hold. It’s only a matter of time before It all passes. I want to hug it back. “Stay,” It whispers in my ear. My eyes grow heavier and my body’s strength fades. All that is left is my mind. Do I fight it and go, or do I let it win? The hug grows more comfortable. I reach for the clock to find its already too late. “You might as well stay now.” It says. I hold it close and it takes me.
I stare at the ring paralyzed. After what feels like an hour I look back up at her. Her face reeks of embarrassment as everyone stares. The Dead silence is broken by the life of a baby screaming about food or something. “Maybe a public setting wasn’t the best place for a proposal was it?” I chuckle nervously. “Listen, Julia…” She says grabbing my arm and pulling me up, “ You’re great, and I love you. What we have is amazing. Why get married.” My body shifts upward like a robot, “All of that was made sense until the last sentence.” She sighed and said, “I’m just gonna put this bluntly for you Marriage is a scam.” “A scam?!?” I have to stop myself from screaming. I collect myself and say, “Marriage is a beautiful ceremony that lets you brag about your love to your friends and family, and make them buy you expensive kitchen equipment.” She takes a sip of her water stares me down and says, “Marriage was designed to make big companies money. It’s not necessary in this world anymore and people are realizing that.” I fiddle with the ring in my hands and say, “I’ve dreamed of the perfect wedding since I was four. Lisa, weddings are necessary dammit.”
The car ride home as awkward and silent. We usually enjoy the silence, we bask in it, we are it. We are quiet people, but this was almost painful like a cup is getting really full but the person pouring water into it has no intention of stopping anytime soon, and if something doesn't stop this silence we are going to spill everywhere. “Stop the car!” I yell. We come to a screeching stop to the side of the road. My door swings open with the force of an ox and the same ox releases my lunch onto the side of the road. I wipe my sleeve across my face and I get back into the car. Lisa looks at me and asks, “Are you okay.” Instead of answering I turn the radio on and find a channel I like. I stand in the bathroom off the side of our room staring at the ring in my hand and then the sink drain. “She really doesn’t want to get married.” I mutter to myself, “Then I don’t need this.” I drop the ring and with a collection of dinks, the ring is gone forever. I unlock the door and start walking out when I hear it cry. It’s crying. The ring is crying. It’s not like a child, the sound is more like if you were to rim a metal bowl with a spoon. Two hours later I took the drain apart and retrieved the crying ring. “It’s okay, little guy. I’m sorry that I did that. Everything is going to be alright.” The crying stops and I stare at it. It stares back. Lisa snores as I lay awake. I get up and retrieve the ring from my drawer. The ring guides me to the kitchen. It guides me to the spoons. A spoon cries to me and I grab it. They guide me to Lisa. I guide the spoon. Lisa cries. The ring laughs. |
Dee
I'm a writer, artist, and comic enthusiast. Archives
September 2020
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