Primer Grey

Someone once said you never hear the shot that kills you. I did. But then again I pulled the trigger so I may have been anticipating it. Or maybe I heard it after I was dead. I don’t know.

That’s the thing and I hate to spoil it for you but when you’re dead the secrets of the universe aren’t revealed, I don’t know what the point is, I don’t know where I am. All I know is that is better to be alive. As alone and useless as I felt when I was alive it was still better than this place. The sky is grey here and not like wispy grey with chance of beautiful snow but ugly grey, slate grey, primer grey. The sky isn’t always grey though. Sometimes it yellow, but again not like a lazy sunny day but like July in Texas where you can see the air simmering as it cooks over the rocks and everything has this sick piss yellow glow around it.

It’s not just the weather that makes me give this place the thumbs down. The scenery is straight out of an old horror novel. I’m lost in a dark forest. No matter how far I walk I never find a road or a town, at this point I would even take a ginger bread house but no, there’s nothing but more trees. Oh there is a mountain under those trees. I haven’t been able to reach the top and don’t think I haven’t tried. It seemed to go up forever so I headed back down (much easier) and there is a river down at the bottom. It has a rocky bank that makes me think of the broken pavement on a road construction site. Here the big ugly chunks of rocks endlessly slide down the scree of the mountain to form jagged walls along the water front.

I know what you’re thinking, hey a river at least you could cool off and maybe catch some fish. This river moves fast like thirty two times speed on your steaming device fast. I threw a log in there once and not only was a football field away in an instant but a catfish the size of a Volkswagen jumped out and chomped it down. I will stay out of the river, but I have to admit intrusive thoughts have suggested otherwise.

I’ve considered walking along the river. There is a better chance to run into civilization on a river. But there are …creatures in this place. Not squirrels or deer or even bears but things. They walk upright like people but they kind of shamble along swinging their overly long arms like old coverage of Bigfoot. They are ashen (of course), some have long stringy hair, some are bald but all have white milky eyes surrounded by dark rings. Their brows and noses look like a crumpled up piece of paper over a mouth twisted in pain or rage. When they are alone they are not aggressive and frighten easily, but some have formed into packs. I’ve seen them. The packs will hunt down and devour loners of their own kind. I shudder to think what they would do to me. A dozen or so of these creatures will run down a stray or even one of their own pack. Then it’s a savage feeding frenzy. Arms and legs are ripped off spewing geysers of oily looking blackish blood like a fountain from hell. They relish in this killing, screaming, roaring and dancing about.

I don’t know why they do this. I haven’t been hungry since I woke here what seems like forever ago. I’m sure they are not hungry. Why would they want to dismember and devour the rotting flesh and sour blood of each other like the last call at an all you can eat shrimp night at Sizzler? I take that back. I know why, because rage is a rush, power is addictive and even cruelty has it allure when you’ve been scared and miserable for so long. Anything to feel something else, still it’s not for me, I hope.

I think these about these things as I sit on a chunk of rock watching the unnaturally fast water flow by. It’s a yellow day and the packs don’t usually roam on yellow days. I see movement from the corner of my eye and turn to see one of them sitting on rock like me, staring into the river like me. It hasn’t seen me yet and continues to stare down at the water. I wonder if it thinks about jumping in. It stands and feeling my gaze turns to look at me. What the hell?

“Hey buddy,” I say to it, spreading my hands in what I hope is a non-threatening gesture. “Rough day, huh?”

The creature looks at me and crosses its arms over its chest and cocks its head like it’s trying to figure me out. It then shrugs like what can you do? I get up slowly and take a step forward. It gets up quickly and shambles back skidding on the loose rock. A thought races through my head, what if I look to it the way it looks to me? What if I am as weird and freaky to it as it is to me?

“Look, man,” I say, backing off. “I’m not here to hurt you. I thought maybe we could work together or something? Figure out what’s going on around here? We can take it slow, baby steps.”

I offer a smile and the thing turns it head in disgust like it’s just witnessed a shark cooing a baby. Hmmm, maybe I blew it.

Then it turns back to me and starts talking. I have to assume it’s talking because all I hear is this tinny, wheezy gagging sound. It seems positive though. It might be trying to communicate instead of trying to scare me off. But, damn is this thing going a mile a minute. And it’s getting louder the more excited it gets.

“Shhhhh,” I tell it. “Calm down, buddy. You’re going to bring the attention of some bad dudes.”

As I try to calm it, it appears to be trying to calm me. Who knows we could both be shrieking at this point. Then I hear the real shrieks of the pack. My new friend looks at me, points over his shoulder and then does the thumb across the neck gesture that universal sign of being dead meat. I nod and we both bolt for the tree line. I make it to cover and dive under a large bush pulling some branches in front of me.

The first of the pack arrives at place between our pondering rocks and sniffs the air. This is largely for show. In all the time I been here and been close by these things, sometimes almost right under their gnarly feet, they have never given any sign that they can actually sniff anything out. But this ugly mother is really making a grand performance of it as the others arrive. Sniffing the air and waving the others out of way as it wanders in idiotic pointless circles. The others grunt and shriek and some even start to throw rocks at each other in frustration. If it wasn’t terrifying it might be funny. The Greatest Showman over there is getting colder and colder and his crew can tell. One of them shoves it. It attacks, going for the throat. Screams and blood fly through the air and the frenzy is on. Everybody joins in and body parts fly! Some go into the river and those monster fish are biting. In the end three are dead (or whatever happens when you get ripped limb from limb in this place) and the others are gorging themselves. I resist the urge to puke.

I can see my fellow fugitive hiding behind some trees on the other side of the rocks. He’s been averting his eye from the grisly scene before us. He sees me and nods then does that very human gesture of a thumb to the ear and a pinky to the mouth. It points to me and back at itself like call me, babe. The idea of a cell phone here makes me smile despite myself. We will meet again and then who knows, maybe we can start to figure things out. I feel something I haven’t in a long time and honestly never thought I would feel in this place. Hope. Hope that things will be… just fine. 

“Author’s” Note: Suicide is never the way out. It takes away any future happiness (it’s there, I promise) and devastates the people that know and love you. If you feel like doing something you cannot undo please reach out to someone. I know the struggle is real. Keep fighting, my brothers and sisters. You are worth it.