Survival

My lungs felt as if they were failing me, ready to collapse at any given moment. My chest twisted with a sharp searing pain. The dust and sand danced around me violently in the hot sticky wind. I pushed myself on up the rock and sand mountain in search of civilization, of anything. I tried to remember how long it had been since I ran out of water, but I couldn't seem to remember. All I knew was I wasn't dead yet, and I didn't plan to be anytime soon. The sun was a whip on my back it's flames were lashing me every second. My clothes did very little to shield me from the dreadful weather conditions. My cracked lips burned and my skin was irritated from so much exposure to the harsh rays the desert land provided. I thought back to many days ago

"How dare you talk back to me? Ungrateful child!" The hand that had struck me many times before struck me once again, but this time was different. This time I could tell by the look in his eyes he had the intention of killing me.

"Father, please! I meant no harm! I only wished to see the world, just-" his fist collided with my body. My ribs made a noise that sounded something like a bug being squished, but intensified. I knew they must have been broken, but I didn't want to let him see me cry. I held in the tears and winced in pain. I waited for him to get caught in a moment so I could make my great escape. Break away from the man that was once so loving, but instead became my worst nightmare. If mother was still here perhaps he would be more sane, or perhaps we'd both fall victim of his outbursts. The close confinements of our home seemed to affect him more so than it did mother when she was here. It had been years since she left. I was only twelve years of age when she abandoned us, and now I was on the brink of seventeen.

"Your mother also wished to see the world, and look where that got her! She's likely dead for all we know!" I could taste the metallic taste of blood on my tongue as he backhanded me. His hand formed a fist and blow after blow landed on my body. Most of them were on my ribs and stomach. I had to escape. But, what if the world is as harsh as he says it is? What if no one else who's left their homes (if anyone had left) has survived?

There was only one way to find out. I waited until he started shouting again. What he was saying I wasn't sure. The ringing in my head was too loud. This was my opportunity for freedom and hopefully something better. I took what little strength and kicked him off of me. He went flying backward coming down with a hard crash. His body collided with the ground while his head made contact with the table behind him. I checked his pulse. He was still breathing, but was unconscious and I hoped he stayed that way.

I had little time to collect a few necessities before I left. I collected a burlap sack and threw some water bottles, a blanket, an extra change of clothes, and a few of the jars of food we had saved for the years to come. Without further delay I walked to the cool steel door, unlocked it the same way I saw my mother do many years ago, and left.

Just a little further and I'll rest for a bit before continuing. I pushed my body to go further. I finally found a big rock that produced enough shade for me to get comfortable under. I fell into the shade like I was a marathon runner falling over the finish line. Smaller rocks cut into my side tearing my skin open, but compared to the pain in my ribs it felt like nothing. I dabbed at the wounds with the blanket in attempts to stop the bleeding. I gave up; the sand would cover the wounds and I'd tend to them at a different point in time when it's less hot. I needed to save my energy. I laid back against the rock, accepting the pain that came with the contact with my burns and cuts. I popped open a jar of sweet pears I had taken from the house and drank some of the juice, only enough to put moisture back into my mouth before I put the jar away. It wasn't much longer until an uneasy sleep took over my body, something that didn't come easy in this sticky place.

Knifes were stabbing me. Hundreds of little knifes all over my arms, legs, face and stomach. I screamed. I soon realized the knives I was feeling were vultures. They pecked away at my flesh. I began to flail my arms around the flesh eating birds with their sharp beaks and thankfully they flew away realizing their prey was very much alive and fighting. My body was worn and tired. It was now sunset. The sky was a blood-red color as it is every day at this time. It might have been beautiful if the conditions were better, but they weren't. I was a little over halfway up the mountain. If I walked until it was dark I'd be to the top and might see a town.