Survival (4)

Darkness surrounds me, and my body falters. My legs tremble beneath me, and my back aches as if carrying a weight far too great. I try to lift my head, but the effort feels fractured, like shards grinding against one another. I do not know if those two figures, bathed in deep blues, see me the way I feel, but if they do, they must think I am mad. Perhaps I am. A fool for the words I just uttered. I would strike myself if my body weren’t burning with pain.

My muscles scream, heat coursing through them as blood pulses with a fervent rhythm. Oxygen floods my veins, and with it comes a clarity sharp and unwelcome. The numbness fades, replaced by the prickling sensation of needles carving paths under my skin.

I collapse. Blood spills from my mouth, staining the ground beneath me. My body convulses as I retch, purging the contents of my stomach. Red. White. Yellow. Pieces of creatures I cannot name, mingled with larger, solid fragments drenched in deep crimson.

“What the hell is this guy’s problem?” a voice cuts through the haze, distant and distorted, as though my ears were stuffed with cotton. My eyes, barely open, catch glimpses of the world in crimson hues. I have seen this before but never understood it. Not like this.

Through the veil of red, the night reveals itself. Blood paints everything. My arms, my legs—my flesh riddled with holes, swarmed by writhing maggots. They feast, burrowing into me, devouring flesh inside and out. I convulse again, fighting the bile that rises in my throat. The wind, weak and indifferent, does nothing to rid me of the parasites. I strike my arms, my legs, shaking them loose.

The maggots scatter, some falling away, others clinging stubbornly to my wounds. None, I realize, have managed to burrow deeper as they do with others like me. They feast only on the surface. My skin—ravaged, pocked with craters and streaked with rot—reveals the truth. I force myself to my feet, the muffled voices of the two men echoing in my ears. Their once-blue forms now shift to muted violets.

I spit onto the ground, clearing my mouth of its filth, and dig my fingers into my ears, desperate to scrape away the obstruction. Bloodied and trembling, my fingers press inward, dislodging clusters of wriggling intruders. They fall, leaping from me as if compelled by some unseen force. My hearing sharpens, and their voices grow clearer.

“Willi, let’s get this crazy bastard to the Browns,” one says, his tone gruff, dismissive.

“Fine, but you’re buying the first round,” the other replies, flicking a cigar to the dirt.

The pair approaches, their forms towering and blurred in the ruddy haze of my vision. I touch my head, the ache there a dull reminder of my fractured state. The world around me is drenched in red—redder than I have ever seen. The moon looms bright, scarlet against the sky, which itself bleeds a darker, blood-like hue. Stars shimmer faintly, flecks of rose in the sea of crimson.

The air feels warm. Comforting. As though this world, drenched in my color, is home. But that thought unsettles me. ‘Home…’ The word lingers, bittersweet. I want a home. I want so much. But why now? Why here?

Pain flares anew, maggots dropping lifeless from my flesh. They squirm no longer, their bodies motionless as though death itself rejected them. Yet those feasting on the corpses of my kind—the brothers and sisters who fell before me—continue their macabre dance, thriving as if their purpose is fulfilled in the wake of destruction.

I study myself, my body marred with wounds ranging from shallow scrapes to gaping craters. Skin peeled back to raw, exposed flesh. Crusts of dried blood clinging to what remains. Yet I forget the pain. My veins thrum, a river of molten red surging within me. Blood divine in its warmth, its power.

Before me, one of the men steps closer, his figure obscured by the drizzle that begins to fall. Raindrops pelt my skin, each one sluggish in its descent. I can see them clearly, each droplet suspended as though time itself is tethered to my whims.

I smile—a slow, creeping motion I barely register. The man’s fist rises, his violet form blending with the night yet outlined starkly in the haze. His movements, too, are sluggish, the punch creeping toward me at a pace that borders on absurdity.

The rain falls, drop by drop, each one distinct. I see them all, none faster than the time it takes me to blink ten times. I wonder if I have gone mad, if the maggots have burrowed into my brain and twisted it beyond repair. But then I remember—the writhing parasites now lie motionless on the ground, as if flung from my body by an unseen force. My blood burns hot, and my eyes fix on the fist before me.

I have not even moved. I only blink, a faint smile tugging at my lips. It is slow, creeping. My lips rise into a grin, and dimples form on my battered face, sluggishly as if my own body resists. My eyelids close. Slowly.

‘Pow!’

My eyes snap wide open, the force sending a tooth flying from my mouth. The metallic tang of blood fills my tongue, iron saturating every taste. My nose runs—wet and warm. My body stumbles backward, rain slicking my skin as I fight for balance. My legs tremble again, betraying me. The heat of my blood, the redness clouding my vision, drains away. That violet fist, which moments ago seemed so surreal, returns to its mundane hue.

The blood-red moon looms above, a stark contrast against the violet sky. The rain accelerates, hammering down as it should, no longer crawling through time. My assailant draws back his arm for another strike. His form is clear now, outlined in shadow and drenched by the storm. And I... I stand there, staring, frozen. But not for long.

I feel it—my arms tense, my core hardens, my legs root to the ground like an ancient tree bracing against the wind. I stand like a boxer on his last legs, his final round. My eyes flicker, heavy with exhaustion but alight with something primal. Something unyielding.

The rain mixes with my sweat, cascading down my battered frame. Darkness nips at the edges of my vision, but I remain standing. Teeth gritted, jaw aching, I press forward, head down. The second blow comes, a straight punch aimed directly at my skull. It crashes into my forehead like a hammer striking stone. My vision blurs, my eyes water. Pain blooms white-hot, an explosion behind my eyes. Every instinct tells me to stop. To yield. To collapse.

But I do not.

I push forward. My boots grind against the blood-soaked earth, squelching as they dig into the carnage. Something soft and wet crushes beneath my steps—entrails, perhaps. I stagger into the violet-clad man, forcing him back. His footing slips as he steps into the gore. He curses, his voice venomous as his furious gaze meets mine.

“End this already,” he growls, his words directed at his partner. His voice shakes, either from anger or unease. Perhaps both.

The other man—also cloaked in violet—remains silent, his expression twisted with disgust as he gazes at the remains of my brothers and sisters scattered across the ground. His boots sink into them, crushing flesh and bone alike without a thought. I can’t make out his face clearly through the rain and the fading haze, but his intentions become crystal clear.

‘Click.’

The sound pierces through the downpour, unmistakable in its clarity. My blood freezes. A gun. My body reacts before my mind can process. My veins surge with fire, adrenaline flooding my senses. The hairs on my neck stand on end, and my heartbeat roars louder than the rain.

I pivot, pushing off the slick ground with every ounce of strength I have left. My boots leave the muck behind, splattering crimson streaks across my tattered pants. I know what is coming.

‘Bang!’

The first shot rings out. It cuts through the storm like a predator’s snarl. I bolt forward, every step pounding against the earth. My lungs burn as I inhale ragged breaths, and my muscles scream in protest. But I don’t stop. I can’t. A gun. Of all things—a damned gun!

My mind races alongside my legs. I curse under my breath, each profanity hissed through clenched teeth as I pump my arms furiously. The rain blinds me, streaking down my face and mingling with the blood. My vision narrows to a tunnel of darkness and red, the moon a fleeting companion to my right. The mist hangs low, veiling the distance in obscurity.

I run faster than I ever have. I run until I am far, far away. Far from the weapon. Far from the violence. Far from death.

But as the adrenaline ebbs, reality crashes down. My legs falter, and I glance down at my body. The rain has slowed. The mist thickens, shrouding the landscape. The moon is gone, swallowed by the storm. Yet through the haze, a dull, red-light flickers faintly in the distance. My heart sinks as I realize the truth.

Warmth spreads across my thigh. I reach down, my fingers brushing against something sticky. My heart pounds in my ears as I press against the wound. A bullet. A clean shot. Blood trickles in rivulets, hot against the chill that seeps into my bones. My knees buckle, and I collapse.

The ground rises to meet me with unrelenting force. My breath hitches as the pain surges, sharp and unforgiving. The cold creeps in, draining the heat from my veins, replacing it with a biting chill. My fingers tremble as I press harder against the wound, but it is futile. The blood flows freely, pooling beneath me.

I try to rise, to push forward, but the agony roots me in place. My body shudders, teeth clenched as my own warmth abandons me. Tears mix with the rain on my face, the ache in my chest now deeper than the wound in my leg. I bite down hard, drawing blood from my lip as I fight to stay awake. But the darkness is relentless.

The wall of the cavern presses against my back, a cold and unyielding presence. The emptiness around me is suffocating, infinite. My vision flickers, the world reduced to shadows and whispers of light. I am alone. I am unseen.

The void embraces me, and I find solace in its cold grasp. My eyes flutter shut, the pain a distant echo as I drift into the void.