A Most Deadly Trap

Today, humanity still feels the impact of a young girl's death from almost 12 years ago...

In some distant way, I'm a bit horrified by how little names matter anymore.

Families will see her picture on the news, say to themselves oh no, what a tragedy, and go right on eating their dinners.

Some years ago, I'm sure they'd agonized over those little details.

Or maybe not.

Maybe it's always been this easy for them to swallow whatever they hear.

Standing in the dimly-lit kitchen, I glance outside, squinting to see past the rain splattering against the window. There's not much to look at; mostly a poorly rendered blur through rain-smeared glass. There are bodies on the streets, nothing unusual. The automatic city lights flicker on, so close it feels like I could reach out and touch them, and for just a moment, the temptation is there, a sinister hiss like a gas leak in my brain, a brief mad urge to brave the outside world, fill my lungs with the sweet smell of natural air, run my fingers through the mud and...

Stop. Stop it.

Going outside isn't an option. Not anymore.

My thoughts are interrupted by the growling of my own stomach. I look down, face involuntarily scrunching up. I can count my ribs through my shirt. My arms and legs are frightfully thin. Not like before, when I was well-fed and food was plentiful. There's nothing much to eat nowadays. Even if I could go outside, all the vegetation is gone. There are no more animals.

The Earth is a dingy, barren wasteland, and those of us who haven't collapsed under the sun's radiation cling to life inside our own homes, starved, sick and tired.

And all because of one girl who was killed over a decade ago.

Lightning flashes, and for the briefest moment I see her face in the storm clouds.

I switch on the TV. Shows stopped airing long ago, but I have a few video memos stored away on a hard drive. The sight of the familiar face of the news reporter from 12 years prior makes my heart clench, mind swimming in memories from before this... whatever you want to call it. Before the beginning of the end of the world.

"It was a natural passing. But some might call it a suicide." The reporter gestures to an image of her, bloated and swollen and dead, as if to emphasize his point. She looks horrible. "This girl was born with a deficiency; this kind of fate was inevitable. She'd been overheating and growing paler every day. If she stuck it out, maybe she'd have lived a few more years, but it was simply too much for her to handle. It was a natural and painless death."

I shudder at his words. There was nothing natural or painless about it.

She didn't just die, she was murdered.

I know that better than anyone.

I can still hear the shrieks of agony, the sound of tender earthly flesh giving way to cold, mechanical silence. She had sobbed, screamed, and fought against me to her dying breath. I hadn't expected her to go down without a fight, of course, but I had confidence in my own strength. Ultimately, I went into the battle knowing I would come out on top.

And I did.

She had all but given up, her body heaving as the life began to bleed out of her. Her face was squashed against the pavement, disfigured, horrific, lifeless. I swallowed and crouched beside her.

Gloved hands forced her body apart, digging and scraping clumsily to find something of use. I started as the finger of one tiny hand curled around my wrist, tugging my attention back towards her face.

"There's no trap so deadly as the one you set for yourself." Her body trembled, voice barely above a whisper, but her words were deafening and sent a chill down my spine.

Her hand fell limp across my own, and then she was dead, a hollow, empty shell, and yet even now I couldn't deny she was beautiful. Her features were delicate, uniquely attractive despite what I'd just done to her. Certainly not unsightly by any means.

I'm sure folks would come from far and wide to admire a creature as gorgeous as she.

My stomach roiled at my own thoughts.

If it exists, it can be exploited for profit. So what if she's dead? If I fix her up a little, I'm sure nobody will be able to tell.

I braced gloved hands against the lid of a trashcan and emptied the contents of my stomach into the bin, cringing at the sharp burn of bile.

This wasn't the first time I'd done something that'd made me physically ill, but this was the first time I'd acted upon it. "Get it together," I told myself, attempting to wipe the vomit from my mouth and grimacing as I only succeeded in smearing mud across my cheeks.

This is fucking ridiculous.

I really needed to get it together.

It hadn't been my fault that she had died. She was simply a hindrance, a mere inconvenience. I hadn't meant to kill her, but some things were unavoidable in this world.

She concealed herself, too protective to share her spoils with the rest of humanity. I had been the one to rip off that congenial mask she wore, and became something more... less... something different.

I had established boundaries. The boundaries failed to yield to accommodate the shape of who she was, even when she pressed against them. And so, she'd suffocated, choked under the pressure. How could I be blamed for that?

Thunder sounded above me, and I looked up to see that the sun had disappeared beneath a sliver of mottled grey.

Well, that was fast.

Still, it wasn't exactly unwelcome. The rain would wash away every last trace of my presence in that place.

The problem, it turned out, was that moving her body would be an impossible task on my own. It wasn't a one-man job, and the rain wouldn't make it any easier. The air suddenly felt thick, making it difficult to swallow. I felt queasy as I stood up, licking my lips. I hadn't brought an umbrella with me on this particular venture, and the rain was quick to take advantage of the situation, beating down relentlessly, soaking through my clothes.

It's about time to head home.

I turned away, not bothering to spare her a second glance. I'd come back for her once the rain had ceased.

...

The rain hasn't stopped in 12 years. I don't think it ever will. Not until every last human on Earth has been extinguished.

They lost count of how many died due to radiation poisoning. The air is thick and hot, impossible to breathe. The house filters don't do much either. We're just biding our time, holding onto life because we're scared to die.

Sometimes I think I'm being punished for what I did, but I know I'm not to blame for what's happened. She would be killed eventually; I was just the one who happened to untie the knot.

Still, that girl still haunts the edges of my memories, occupying my thoughts every day. I don't think I'll ever forget the day I killed her.

I don't think anyone will ever forget the day Mother Nature died.