Suddenly it was like somebody had stabbed me in the eardrum with an ice-pick. The pain and the sudden, one-sided silence was the loudest thing ever. My head, rigid on a stiffened, spasming neck, spun its wild eyes around - looking out for someone, anyone! - from the top of my reeling body, until my knees wobbled out sideways and I came down sitting hard, a shock shot through my spine from assbone to skull.
My hand flew up - !??! - disbelievingly, gingerly my fingers grasping the wood handle. The handle that was now attached to the right side of my head. I barely touched it - my fingers communicated flashes of pain: there were letters carved into it. Initials. It felt stuck firm, but I wasn't about to force it - even the lightest touch I'd just given it sent sick squirms of pain scooting back along never-before-used nerves. I pulled my hand away - slick with streaks of blood. I looked up, into the distance. Eyes filling with tears. Lord, it hurt!
There was no one here. An empty lot with only me in it. More like a field - the nearest buildings were all old, weathered. Like outlying buildings on a farm or ranch, but not anymore. Nobody for miles around here had grown or raised anything in a long while. There was an old brown tractor made out of rust that looked as though it had been set in place like a civil war cannon: a monument to some stupid crap that had happened in olden times.
That handle. It had felt like an ice pick. Someone had stuck an ice pick in my ear! Sudden hurt - emotional hurt. Tears flowing freely, face flushed with hot shame that dribbled as freely in rivulets down the right side of my face, the right side of my neck. My poor ear! Why?! I'll never hear right again! Who the hell does that?! Rage. I jumped to my feet again, fists like clenched lead - trying to look wildly around. Mistake: my whole head engulfed by throbbing, sick-making pain. Teeth clenched, air hissing out in hyperventilated spurts. Neck, burning down one side. The blood felt like skin sliding down, underneath the skin.
Guys, this isn't a true story! Don't worry, it didn't happen. I'm making it up.
I slowed my movements, careful, as black swum at the edges of my contracting peripheral vision. Deep breaths - more pain. I looked around me by keeping my head absolutely steady, and turning my whole body with wide-legged, little-old-man steps. It felt like it took forever to make a full circle.
There was no one there at all. The buildings surrounding were like still photographs. I could even see the grain, but it was swimming on the high-gloss surface. I needed to get help. I was going to black out.
Please, God - let there be somebody home. Please God - let it not be the psycho with the ice pick!
With steady, shuffling gait, I made my way forward towards the building I happened to have ended up facing.
10 comments:
Dude. I HATE when that happens....
Boy, I'd really like to read the rest of this one.
Ditto to what limom said.
But... there is one that I really want to read more on, but I can't remember what it was called, or when you posted it. It was, if I recall, set in the year of the LA Olympics - so 1984?, and there was a young boy and girl and I think they were about to break into somewhere.
Wow, my memory is rubbish sometimes, but!, I do remember that I have being gagging to find out what happened next. If there was a next... or if you even know what post I'm rambling about!
@The Vegetable Assassin - I know! Minding my own business and then wham!
@limom - I'll take that as a compliment! Part ones are a specialty of mine.
@Mel as well - I believe you mean The Summer We Lost Each Other's Virginity? Huh, I didn't think anybody much went for that one. No comments!
See, they like this kind of post! To me, this is like one of the fight ones with an unseen opponent. I have trouble really reading the whole thing, because what???
And gross.
@blue - it's cool! You don't have to love every single thing. I try to offer a wide variety, suitable to many tastes!
I'm trying for a sort of Dean Koontz effect, here, only I'm not sure which one he is, so it may be somebody else. I'm working some pretty visceral themes here, such as "Terror in an open field." "Man vs. Who Knows What" and "My poor ear!" Strong stuff - and definitely not everybody's bag!
Ahem. "Strong stuff" he says. It's also possible the execution may be partly to blame, may be not to everyone's tastes.
Also, now that I look at the post title, it really kind of undermines the "terror" aspect.
But it is mean! MY POOR EAR! Who the hell does that?!
That's the scary part - there are people in the world who are just that messed up. But what if they could do it even when there's nobody around!
It's a horrible, horrific premise - and the worst part is, we don't even know at this point if we're dealing with the supernatural or the merely ingenious!
We're all just going to have to wait for Part 2.
Sorry, I think it's the execution. I've read a lot of Dean Koontz (he's not very good, but I've still read it) and crime books with a lot of gory details---this just seems unnecessary and out of nowhere.
As to what will happen, I think your guy here (you? whoever the guy is) isn't placing enough importance on those initials. I think he's stumbled, in his slightly futuristic world, onto some kind of lobotomizing human farm, and he's just been nouveau-lobotomy-branded with a wooden-initial implement.
Or maybe I just think that because I wasn't reading closely.
Come now - no need to apologize! :-)
I categorically refuse to fault anyone for their tastes - in execution, or anything else!
(and as an aside - you're quite right! Our off-balance protagonist has no idea what he's stumbling towards!)
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