As the sky turned ebony and the clouds loomed overhead, a disturbed grunt erupted from the floor. A quake in the ground and a crack in the dirt. A yell of triumph and a cry of agony. Ten timid twigs of the fleshy variety arose from the dirt, accompanied by a pale pair of arms and an overwhelmingly confused face. Soil is a surprisingly annoying material when one must claw through 6 feet worth of it with nothing but their bare hands…
Oxygen never felt so good as Clay panted out of pure desperation, glaring daggers at the world that gave him so little. ‘Clay’, an ironic name since now one of the worst experiences of his life was related to the very substance. Despite the evident negativity of his current life, it was not always alike this, until one day when his perception of normality became inverted. One desolate day he sauntered outside of his shamble of an apartment, glee in his eyes and pride in his chest, all the way until a speeding car struck his body like a thunderbolt.
Thus his period of mortem began, when doctors analysed his body, deeming him dead on the spot due to a lack of a heartbeat. However in truth he did die, before returning to the land of the living in a miraculously inconvenient time, months later when his supposed lifeless corpse laid rest in an elm box. 6 feet below the cobbled cross embedded upon the ground.
Returning to the present, Clay peered around at his surroundings, a place unbeknownst to him. A place that he may have once known as a child. A place that would forever traumatise him due to his current state of mortality.
One foot after the other, he rose from the tawny turf and unconventionally felt the pained touch of rainwater, as if today could not get any worse. Thankfully he was fully clothed, in what he could only assume was a jet suit before being slashed with maroon. Inconveniently no one was currently present at the graveyard, and thus Clay was forced to tread lightly towards the nearest sign of sanctuary.
Stepping forth towards the nearest inn, he was welcomed with looks of disgust and refused refuge, since apparently he required money and clean clothes to stay there, who would’ve thought? Henceforth he continued his journey into the ‘great unknown’, that of which could only bring him further pain and torment. Unfortunately the churchyard that he was previously residing in was in that of a small hamlet with little to no one that he knew, meaning his chances of survival were also little to none.
On the contrary, upon reading the nearest sign, he recognised his positioning, and realised that there was someone he knew here, regrettably the individual hated his guts, although it was his only chance.
As Clay trembled within the harsh apricity of the winter sun, fright fell upon his mind. The previously mentioned individual whom Clay was aware of was unfortunately, alike him no more than half an hour ago, laying in a coffin, 6 feet beneath the silt, mere meters from where he lay rest in his own elongated slumber.
Upon the horrific realisation of the distinct lack of opportunity presented to Clay at that current moment, he succumbed to the awful effects of a loss of vision; he had not eaten for what had felt like decades and henceforth his body was suffering the drastic consequences of starvation. Terrible moments required terrible decisions, and in the ounce of eyesight left within his pupil, a rubbish bin lay restless containing a lopsided burger with hints of mold, or possibly blue cheese, nonetheless it remained Clay’s only choice…
Unfortunately the unidentified substance was blue cheese, however at least Clay was still in the land of the living, though his taste buds were furious with him. ‘Blue cheese’, who in their right mind would willingly eat cheese that looks as if mold is more present than cheese? Regardless, Clay remained alive and well, though not mentality after cheese incident, and he sauntered northbound towards a nearby forest in the hope that refuge may be reclaimed.
Upon his prolonged arrival of the mahogany forest a rather ambrosial aroma of nature infiltrated his nostrils and replenished his quite frankly declining willpower. His ambition was oddly more apparent than ever, as if this escape from the rat race was his true calling in life. This incidental conquest of courageousness truly slashed at Clay’s moral high ground; what he assumed were weeks ago, he lay depressed as ever typing away at an ever ongoing epitome of monotony known as a box office job.
Clay gradually manufactured the foundations of his new accommodation, consisting solely of torn timber and bedraggled foliage. Peace eventually accompanied his mindscape, and the world was seemingly forgiving him for his crime of walking the earth. There was a part of him that knew it was all too good to be true.
For the second time that day, his vision fell victim to agony as he plotzed to the ground, the world spinning around him. Perhaps it actually was mold laying upon the burger. No, he thought, he would just blame it on the blue cheese for he despised the pure existence of the proclaimed ‘food’. In spite of the evident inconvenient situation, it was rather relaxing to only see the emptiness of the void that was his brain. Thoughts flew throughout his mind like an albatross in the atmosphere.
As he awoke to the cry of, funnily enough an albatross, he acknowledged the pile of a familiar turquoise substance, confirming his suspicions about the cheese. However more importantly he noticed a lonesome champagne chimp peering down at him from an overhanging branch, with a bemused look upon his rosy red cheeks. For whatever reason, the monkey must have been watching him with immense curiosity as Clay snored the day away with his thunderous breathing.
Clay admired the monkey’s odd personality and henceforth named him George after a surprisingly similar monkey from his childhood. As Clay muttered the name ‘George’ aloud, a cheerful ‘hoo haa’ came from the chimp’s mouth indicating at the approval for the name.
As night fell, Clay’s poor excuse for a shelter provided him with just enough warmth to not surrender to hypothermia. With George at his side, his ivory fur flowing in the prevailing winds, life was seemingly at peace for the first time in forever, as for the first time that day, Clay’s vision willingly extinguished.