Dead of Night

The pain is sharp, my body like an electrical snake that shocks my veins. Fangs laced with strange, paralyzing venom tears through the density of my bones, weaving into the tissue of my skin, and penetrating the nerves in my face causing the muscles in my jaw to seize.

There is a searing ache that burns through my skull. The entire world seems to detach itself from the very gravity that holds it all together, as a wall of dizziness washes over me and I fall to the floor. I can hear his footsteps coming toward me. Through the darkness, it is a slow and silent shuffle across smooth floors. Taunting me. I get the feeling he wants something from me―if he didn’t, I’d already be dead.

The cruel assailant keeps his distance. I can feel his presence close by, thick and sinister, like a stubborn dirty stain on a wall there to remind me of something awful I have done. I keep my breathing shallow, pretending out of desperation that I am unconscious. For me to lie down and hide is very out of character. But the blow to my head has left me feeling confused and disorientated, unsure if I can even fight back. The uncertainty of what I am doing here drives my doubts deeper into my core. Keeping my eyes shut, I hope it is all a bad dream, that at any second I’ll open them and be somewhere far away. But it is neither the pain, nor the fear that leaves a hollow fist of anxiety twisting in my stomach. It is the mere fact that I can feel the discomfort associated with agony.

Slowly, my other senses start to come around, and my nostrils are assaulted by a sour, acidic smell. I can’t recall the last time I ever felt so desperate to get away. I want to make a run for it, need to gather strength, but my body won’t play along. Lifting my head ever so slightly to gain some sense of balance, I feel the tepid sticky substance beneath my cheekbone—like vinegar and tar adhering to my skin, gluing my face to the cold, hard surface of the floor. My body jerks as a loud bang rings through the air, a shot has been fired. The bullet bounces with a ping and pop off metal pipes.

“Get away from her,” a calm, yet determined voice calls out.

The reply is another shot, followed by a loud thump behind me on the concrete floor, causing shivers to rake over my entire body. Out of panic and desperation my eyes fly open to assess the situation, yet there is nothing of horror before me but the stark blackness. All except for a faint shimmer on a pool of water in the far corner of the concrete box.

I hear movement once again and quickly shut my eyes before either of them come to the realization that I am conscious. A warm liquid flows beneath me, and for a second I wonder if I’ve lost control of my legs and bladder. If I believed in religion, in any god at all, I would be praying for my life right now. But belief is a flaw, and flaws are illegal.

A warm hand wraps around my waist, lifting me up from the floor. My legs wobble and fall away from under me as I try to resist.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” the same voice from before whispers in my ear.

My mind tells me to fight, but my body gives into the hush that carries me through the dead of night into the safety of a stranger’s arms.

The moment your universe spins out of control and collides with something so much greater than yourself, your initial reaction is shock and fright—a deep-seeded fear that runs through every inch of your body and brain. As you are jounced from your course, silence surrounds you, haunting you as the world around tilts off its axis. All you can do is wait for the fall.

Everything close to the orbit of you, and him, spins until it’s out of view. In the reflection of his eyes, the silence fills you, and you come to realize for the first time that perhaps it is the world that has always been askew, and not you. Because now it is all crystal clear. And the silence actually means something.

In the quiet of the ashes and whispers of your past life, all that is to come engulfs you, and the collision becomes an impact of life itself.

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