Jayden's Revelations

Trigger Warning: Violence and Mental Distress

Jayden punched the white brick wall, and then his head. Both thuds were swallowed by the stagnant air of the shelter. He shot a glance at his peeling knuckles as they re-inflated with a bright pink and purple hue. He shuddered and looked away from the coarse, cracked stones that were his hands. Sitting up, he looked at his watch and shot a cautious glance at Marl and Dennis. They sat in their usual positions, angled at the wall. Jayden let out a shaky, sputtering sigh. They hadn’t started yelling yet. 

Jayden inched to their feet and gathered up the cards dusting the floor. Daily use mushed oils and stains into them like mud into car treads. He swiftly peeled them off his hands and shoved them into the box. The box flap went limp, rejecting the creases so lovingly set into it by the two old men. Jayden groaned, closing it as the stench of his fellow survivalists reached his nose. He crawled away and rubbed his eyes. This practice cooled his racing thoughts. As the dirt from his hands burrowed into his corneas, Jayden slurped in a few precious gasps of air. Jayden flattened himself into his corner and sagged, letting his hands rest on his feet

The silence sucked itself into Jayden’s ears and rested on his eardrums. Any second now, one of those textured old men would stand up and feed him. He just had to stop himself from suffocating from their musk until then. He closed his eyes, accepting the tack board of thoughts that pierced into him. He—rather, the man he used to be—died again before him. Jayden saw in his own eyes a vile naivety splintering away as he realized what was about to happen. When he saw the news, his world shattered.

Fortunately, Marl was there to bring him into a new one. This new world was barely tall enough for Jayden to crouch in, and its air was moistened with mold and misted with filth. But at least the shelter was safe. Like Dennis said, the outside folks were gnawing on each other. Like Marl said, working with them was the safest option. A little bit of heavy lifting and caretaking was all Jayden had to do to stay away from ribcage-peelers and femur-munchers.

Jayden looked down at his watch. The minute hand had wobbled a little, so it was probably meal time. However, the two other men may as well have been keeping vigil at the shelter's wall. All Jayden could feel was his stomach trying to pull itself out of his chest, but he would rather sit here until he dissolved in his own bile than ask for something. The bruises pressed into his sternum were easy enough to consult when Jayden felt like disturbing his betters, or not doing what was asked. Reminders were always painful and always left a mark. A deep pierce of the thumb, a wide slash across the arm, or a smattering of kicks, stomps, and punches. As long as Jayden was convulsing on the floor by the end, Marl and Dennis were confident that he knew his place.

As the seconds dripped by, Jayden grew more and more jittery. He looked greedily at the cans of beans on his left as he bit down into his index finger. He began to reconsider his stance on disturbing his sheltermates. The three-day-old hollow forming in his stomach was a void that swallowed his every desire until it alone remained. 

He lurched forward and slipped the can into his pale arms, suffocating it in his breast like a too-eager mother. He slid towards his cruel companions, stopping every few seconds and glancing back like a guilty child with a candy bar. As he waddled in front of Dennis, he tossed the can to the ground, then jumped back like a wolf hearing a gunshot, grinding his spine against the wall. If he had laid the can back in its place and returned to his, he might have ended the day with working fingers. That all changed when he pulled on Cerberus’ tail.

Jayden took a minute to steady his breath. The two men still hadn’t moved, but their stench reeked through Jayden’s skull. He attempted to clear his throat, but it viced itself shut. After a moist cough, he began.

At first, the pleading was hoarse. The voice that pled began, at once nasally, guttural, and monotone. It made Jayden’s eyes mist, and he covered his mouth for fear of the alien sounds coming from it.

But he persisted. He got on his knees, rumbling for either of the men to pity him, to save his life with a can of beans. No response came.

He began to whine like a puppy as he spoke, pausing to wipe the dry tears that scalded his pores. His suffering echoed. No response came.

Jayden began weeping. He slammed his fists into the ground, chipping his knuckles. Yet, no response came.

Dennis just sat there, his mouth lolling open like a door with broken hinges. His teeth were stained pink, and a darker red hue dribbled down his chin and onto his neck. Marl, on the other hand, looked straight down, his chin folded in on itself as if to hide the maroon bubbles frozen on it.

Jayden realized what had happened, and he moaned. He mourned the position he’d been left in.

Clearly, these men had eaten their share of beans without him. They had given into their hunger and hid their pale delight by ignoring him.

Jayden screamed, splittingly but only briefly. It died in his teeth and spidered itself into his stomach. Through his flooding eyes, Jayden saw the silhouette of Marl’s knife on the ground. Once again, it was stained with what he knew were bean innards. He glanced up at the geezer. The old coot probably wouldn’t mind if Jayden borrowed it for a bit.

The knife, however, did seem to mind. It felt like a pincushion in Jayden’s hands. Jagged edges from years of whittling and slicing shaved Jayden’s palm. He tried to push it into the top of the can, but it folded in around his pinky finger. He muffled a yelp as he pulled it out. The creases on his hand were stained with blood. He collapsed head first onto the floor and held his breath. Jayden looked up, gasping for air. Dennis’ mouth was still ajar. He was clearly enjoying this display.

Jayden’s legs wobbled as he stood up. His head hit the concrete ceiling and returned to a crouch. He growled as he picked up the can. Thinking about his difficulties with the knife, he decided to continue with a more primal approach. 

He slammed the can into the concrete wall, sending powdered stone into his eyes. With every thud, the can bent and twisted, but revised to yield. The can slipped around in the mess of sweat that was his hand.

He didn’t notice his fingers moving soon enough. It was a simple mistake, really. His middle finger, now positioned, between the wall and the can, crunched under one of the blows.

Jayden screeched and dropped the now-hourglass-shaped can to the floor. The middle finger of his right hand curled backward, pointing back at the wall that made it so. He tried to close his fist, but the finger stayed put. He frantically wrapped his left hand around it, trying to crack it back into place. But all he succeeded in doing was displacing it more.

Jayden’s mind tumbled. He had to move. This oversized coffin was going to kill him and his foul-smelling comrades, he thought. He had to get out. The ladder at the end of the shelter, small as it was, seemed to loom over him. He pushed past the two chairs and their occupants and stumbled to the ladder. As he touched it, the corroded bottom rung jolted a thought into Jayden’s brain. Was the hellish topside better? Were there cannibals waiting outside, drooling with anticipation of meeting him? What hope did he have out there alone? No. Life was better here. His friends would look after him. They hadn’t fed him yet, but it was only a matter of seconds. They were genius survivalists. They had given him everything he needed.

Reinvigorated, Jayden returned to his cozy concrete corner. He reached into the broken glass of his watch and fiddled with the hands, brushing them this way and that, like an amateur guitarist. Once his friends were done with their beans, they would feed him. All he needed to do was wait.