Freak – Part Two
Serialized Fiction
Pain. Pain. Pain. When he woke up all he knew was the excruciating pain, all along his body it tormented him but the majority of it resonated from his left thigh. The alarm continued to squeal its penetrating song, the sound of those whimpering and crying out were a dim echo. For a moment, he thought himself dead and sent to Hell. At any moment, Virgil would appear to guide him out of the blistering inferno. But it wasn’t meant to be — he was there, laying alone among those in agony, no help in sight. He had been left….surrounded by the damned and forsaken. It was this thought that caused the tears to begin swelling in his eyes. These people truly were horrid to abandon him suffering, knowing fully well it would mean his death.
Chances of survival plummeted and were sinking exponentially further with each passing second, the alarms bellow served as an unwanted reminder of this saturnine fact. Those that found shelter in a vault would be saved while he and the doomed lingered for eradication. Just turning his head caused severe discomfort as he took in his surroundings. With half of his right face still laying on the ground, all he could see was a small glimpse of the horror that had taken place. Struggling and grinding his teeth, his sore neck began to rotate and the surrealistic event that occurred came into view. Bodies of children and adults lay dead or dying — few attempted to crawl away, a heavy stream of blood in trail.
They wailed out for any sort of aid, screaming for loved ones or lost friends. One boy sat crouched over the body of a convulsing girl. The boy wept and cursed and the sky “why?!”, it was as much an accusation than question. The ground was drenched in blood. The viscous liquid saturated the soil, turning it into a vile, cruel mud of human life. The windows were not immune from the terror; in fact, they were the most disturbing objects there. The jagged pieces of glass that remained along the walls resembled wicked, serrated teeth. They effectively turned the entire school into a giant monster, an enormous Grendel-type beast that had just eaten its full…
Besides the blood that painted everything — the windows, the walls and the ground — there was even worse; the gore… Human flesh hung in the windows were it had been lacerated off violently and jaggedly, a patch of skin here and an ear or two over there. Caught on the window among random pieces of clothing, they dangled and swayed with the wind, the sun causing the blood to sparkle and the flesh to become luminescent. It was a horrible sight accompanied by a dastardly odor that reeked of fear and excrement.
As his aching neck finally turned toward the window, his stomach lurched and a terrible sob escaped him; his body shivered. The window looked like all the others — chunks of skin, cloth and blood. But there was something else — her hair, her beautiful brown hair. It now dangled surrounded by the carnage. He tried to deny it but there was to be no doubt it was hers — it had to be. He gawked at it almost all day, he knew her hair. Knew it so well it consumed his dreams, it stood as his remote beacon of hope….she was dead, she had to be. His heart broke. He would cry but the effort exceeded his means. This was going to be his last opportunity — he had to have it. He needed to feel it, smell it and love it. If not him? Who esle? He continued to watch, admiring it now, taking in its beauty as it fluttered amid its disturbing company. It was then that he took note of the trail of blood leading away from the window, like all the other trails it had to lead somewhere or better put, to someone.
He attempted to push his limbs against the ground in order to lift his body up for a better look but a swift impalement of pain overtook his entire body, thwarting his efforts. It was then he understood the reason for the bitter feeling in his left thigh. He now pleaded for his neck to make the odyssey of turning left. The effort of getting up was too much. He was sweating immensely and breathing was becoming a ragged chore. The lack of oxygen was causing him to become lightheaded. He was rewarded with the sight of a slim piece of glass protruding from his leg. Panic began to set in as his brain interpreted the situation. His pants were soaked — he hadn’t noticed that before.
The pain he initially felt now made its glorious re-entrance. He attempted a scream wishing to add his wails to the yells around him but he was cut short. His body didn’t even allow him the undomesticated pleasure. The feeling in his chest felt heavy, as if a large man stood upon him as a group of criminals continuously shivved him in the torso. He lacked medical experience but something inside told him to extract the glass — that if he didn’t, it would cost his life. He slid his left hand carefully down his thigh, his skin becoming more and more tender the further his fingers crept. He continued until he made first contact with the wounded area, a region of red. His jeans were disgustingly saturated with his own blood and torn open. They resembled the frayed vintage pest sought out when purchasing their clothing. But while they paid hundreds of dollars for the meaning less and trivial fashion, he had only paid with his own flesh. Creeping his index finger downward he could feel it gravitating towards the area of trauma.
next: Freak – Part Three
previous: Freak – Part One
more by FRANCISCO LEYVA
photograph by Eric Lagergren
