I hated the world to the point where I stayed inside, locked away in deep thought, letting my pen guide my every move. It was the greatest weapon that I held, nothing else even came close. The gun—the sword—but the pen could deal the most damage, with words, that could rip apart a heart at the seams. Sticks and stones may break bones, but the pen and its words can cause someone to take their own life—therefore, it is the strongest weapon known to man, and I held its power in my possession to regulate life or death. But, even so, that wasn’t my place to decide, to an extent.
I was a short, lanky man, who seemed to have no real purpose. At times I felt I was just a blob of mass, taking up space in this place that many compare to heaven, but for me and those that I used to know — it seemed like the pits of hell. Nothing felt like it went right, and things—people were taken from me instantaneously.
I’m breathing heavily, scratching the names, the names… of those who—no I mus’n’t write this down.
All is silent in the house of the dead. The whole neighborhood lay still and lifeless. The new neighbors were calling me names, horrible names that I won’t dare mark on this paper. The sun died for the day and the moon was born to the night. All was silent, no one moved, and I was left scratching on a piece of paper alone. Solitude. It was I and the black parrot I have grown fond of. I often held my brisk lips to its ear, spilling all of the blood and guts I had encased inside.
The next morning the sky was painted with blood. The shutters of the windows were crying out, reaching for me as if they had arms, but I wouldn’t listen to what they had to say. The house was dying and I with it as one. The black parrot was locked but not locked up, stuck in a void. She would speak to me and I would listen like it was my last dying moment. She whispered advice to me. She told me to pass through the door and invite the new neighbors, but I can’t— they reject—they reject who I really am.
She is the only light I see in this wretched, undying world.
I opened the door to the outside. Flames roared from a house in the distance, burning to the ground. Those who commit larceny and arson were too common, like the dirt of the ground that covers the catacombs of our ancestors, but I was no different than the rest. I bent down, with the black parrot perching on my shoulder, picking up a doll with black hair and the same black eyes as her.
I walked back inside, step by dreading step. The black parrot held the mangled doll in its talons. I screamed at the black parrot, throwing it against the brick wall, snapping one of its legs. Mortified, I snatched the bird off the ground, resting it on my shoulder once more.
I built a contraption inside of her chest so that she could live again. I spent more time with her than ever, whispering in her ear and heeding her avid advice. She still insisted upon me inviting over the new neighbors, but I wouldn't have any of it, no matter how much I liked her advice.
Angered, I stormed out of the house, snatching a carving knife from the kitchen. I opened the sliding hatch of the barn to harvest my spoils of the week. A few fish from my last trip, including some lively catfish. I took a hammer from the shelf, unleashing my wrath upon their skull, killing them instantly.
The others—the others will find the light.
I was contemplating filleting the fish, but I heard screaming coming from the inside of the house — squawking almost. I made a beeline for the door. She wanted food, I must oblige her, no matter what the cost to my mortal body.
I ran back and peeled away the flesh from the meat and the meat from the carcasses. I snatched a spade from inside the barn.
I dug a hole and shut the remains under the Earth. I walked back inside with her on my mind. I couldn’t shake the thought of everything that was happening, just like the day of reckoning.
The black parrot squawked as I emerged from the depths of the darkness, blood on my face. “He’s here.”
It repeated itself three more times, dancing happily, perched on the edge of the wooden chair at the rear of the table. [But it looked like there was more to it than just that.]
I laid the spade among the wall riddled with holes from termites—they lived upon the same vessel as I. The house with the black parrot—this neighborhood—this dark and sinful world—we cannot escape it. Though we can escape this world, we cannot truly leave it. Our vessel is the only place worthy of life, yet we remain a sinful creature since the planet was formed—and the outer cosmos with it.
Cockroaches also inhabited my humble abode—I was different than most for I accepted them rather than rejecting them completely. They lived among me in the same likeness, as I was no different than their kind. I often shared my food with their kind, so they spoke to me saying that they wouldn’t thieve from the stock, I had hid away.
I also had a mouse, whom I named Mercio. He had no real problems, but he was missing one of his eyes. I fixed his problem, making him an eye patch from the fur of road kill, and sap from the drooping tree in the backyard—I believe it was a raccoon, whose eye had flown out of its resting place from the impact. It was almost ironic.
I placed the palm of my hand across Mercio’s back, and caressed his soft fur, back and forth, down his backbone. I held my lips to his disfigured ear, speaking softly. He had been through hell and back, so I took him in as my own. “An eye for an eye, Mercio.” I glanced at his single protruding eye, there was no reason to look at the other eye for it wasn’t there anymore. “An eye for an eye.”
He couldn’t talk like the others, but there was something very special about him that was very different from the others. But I can’t say—not yet.
Mercio was a warrior before I got a hold of him—a cold blooded killer that fought for his army. He was the last one standing, amongst piles of other rotting mice—even a great warrior as he was; he lost his eye there to a younger, more ambitious mouse. But the ambitious mouse was a fool, and he died along with his brothers—but Mercio stood strong, being the leader that he was. He sat before me, in the palm of my hand, with deep blue eyes that appeared like the depths of the seas great under water chasms.
He was a great warrior in the past, but he is just a runner now. When I’m not looking he always comes back with food in his mouth, probably stolen from some of the neighborhood houses. I wouldn’t put it past him, for he was a very sneaky mouse.
She was still devouring the fish on the table, hungry as always.
The black parrot had been given no name, for the bird had no real qualities about it; just often squawking at me, and giving constant advice through the words it heard me speak through my lips.
I rested for the night, into the early morn.
She screamed, devouring every ounce of energy I could have gotten for the night’s rest. I felt nauseated—I opened the door hastily and vomited on the grass beneath my feet, oddly enough, the grass faded from green to brown in that area several hours later. I vomited in several other areas, creating splotches in the grass.
She still insisted that I invite the neighbors over, but my answer was still the same.
I held the black parrot on my shoulder, and Mercio in the palm of my hand, smiling. Mercio jumped out of my hand, and disappeared. But the smile about my face slowly fell apart as she had begun to speak once more.
“Come tomorrow, your life will be at the end of its rope. There will be no escape.”
I looked at her frowning, snatching the spade from its resting place against the wall. I walked outside slamming the door behind me. The clouds covered the sky, not leaving one spec of light to reach the surface of the Earth below my feet, but that was where I was going to start.
Rain poured from the depths of the clouds, and the thunder rocked the sky, setting the mood.
I plunged the spade deep into the Earth, getting ready to lie in a pit of despair, a grave. I dug the grave just enough for me to fit inside. I wasn’t a stranger to death; it was the norm to me. I struck a box with the spade—or rather a chest, maybe containing something of potential value. Nevertheless, I had my living quarters made, so I opened the chest to see what it held. I was built small, capable of anything, and the grave was just enough to fit.
A skeleton key was held inside. Smiling, I slid the key into my pocket, I knew that the key would hold nothing but good, the vibe it had given was that of a good nature, but I couldn't be too certain of the future that the key held for me.
Should I be afraid of what she said?
I smiled, basking at the thought of all the various instances that could occur; perhaps I would find riches, maybe another chest with all the gold that a single man could ask for. Yes, tomorrow was going to be great.
I spoke to myself as the darkness fell upon the ground that held our families; that held everything that had ever lived upon it.
I grinned with pride stretched across my cheeks. “Come tomorrow, I’m going to be rich.”
I screamed out loud to the heavens. “I’m going to be rich, do you hear me?”
As said before, Mercio was a runner, and he ran inside the contraption—which was a circular device, made up of metal and the slightest amount of copper, which was configured in the same likeness of a hamster wheel. It could be harnessed inside the chest of a human, or any other biological animal, to keep it alive after death. Its sole purpose was to rejuvenate the heart of its natural functions, by use of metal wires connecting directly to the heart itself. It allowed the heart to pump blood once more, even days after being declared dead. The legal definition of being dead at the time was when the heart stopped pumping blood throughout the body, and essentially, depriving the body and all of its organs of their natural duties.
Mercio scuttled outside through a hole in the wall, and he patted me with his hand, shaking.
I picked him up and set him in the rocking position, rocking him fast to sleep like a baby, of course there was no milk involved in this situation. He just fell fast asleep from the continuous motion.
There, Mercio slept in my arms, without a worry in the world. I decided not to go back in to the house that night.
What if death were to consume me tomorrow? I can’t worry about that now—for I’m ready and not afraid of death.
I stayed outside with Mercio for the night, away from her.
The next morning was bright, and the sun cut through the clouds like a sharp knife. I had a feeling that the day was going to be great, but then again there was always the comment she made the night earlier to me in the house. ‘Come tomorrow, your life will be at the end of its rope. There will be no escape.’
I changed my mind in an instant. I was going to invite over the neighbors, and for some reason I felt it was completely necessary.
I walked over to the neighbor’s house, banging on the door.
A man opened the door. His appearance was rather shocking. He had no shirt on, and his fat rolled over the front of his pants, possibly a beer gut. I couldn’t judge him though, no matter how much I really wanted to.
He spoke with his hands, waving them through the air. “What are you doing here?”
I now remembered why I never liked him, but I couldn’t judge the likes of him, for I too had plenty of impurities.
It wasn’t really his appearance that struck me though, but rather the way he conducted himself. His house was a complete wreck, even worse than mine.
“I came to invite you and your wife over for a dinner. Is she here with you?”
He pulled his sweaty hands up to his stomach, scratching back and forth. “She went out last night and has yet to come back. I sorta hope that she never comes back. She seems to be more harm than good at times.”
His wife may have been gone, but he followed slowly behind me as we traveled through the path where the trees seem livelier than any other place. The branches of the trees stretched at the sides of the pathway, overshadowing it. It appeared as if they would snatch your soul from your body in an instant. The man was horrified at the sight of this, and turned his head toward the ground as he walked toward my humble abode.
Mercio ran up to me before I could open the door to the house jumping into the palm of my hand.
The man shook his head and raised his voice. “A mouse?”
“His name is Mercio, and it means warlike — for he was a great warrior for his time.”
The man shook his head once more. I had the feeling that he thought I was crazy, but even I questioned my own sanity a few times here and there.
As I opened the door, Mercio leapt to the floor. I wasn’t dead yet—so far so good.
I looked back at the man’s face as I walked inside. He had a grin that stretched across his face. Something wasn’t exactly right. The atmosphere that surrounded the room was eerie and quiet, even for a man of my stature.
The room fell silent, and she sat on the couch in the living room. We had no television for I was the type of person that would sit down and write stories from the depths of my mind. I wrote great and mysterious stories, but no one read them for I kept them in private—except for this one.
This one was special. This one was my story. To be told for generations to come.
I turned to the man, who seemed preoccupied at the moment. “What was your name again? I forgot.”
He was completely unresponsive, staring off in the direction of the couch.
“Are you alright? It looks as if you have seen a ghost.”
He was still unresponsive, staring off.
I waved my hand in front of his face and he finally snapped to, talking anxiously.
“Who is the woman on the couch?”
“My wife.”
“What is wrong with her face? She looks dead, but she is moving.” His mouth flapped open. “What is going on? This doesn’t make any sense!”
Mercio jumped out of the cavity I built inside her chest.
I pointed to the newspaper I had tacked on the wall. “See this? She was killed years ago, and I built a contraption inside her chest that only Mercio and the black parrot could use. All of the moments that they don’t spend inside the contraption, she is dying. I built it that she could still stay alive.”
Mercio slid a rug a few feet over, and under it was the lock—perhaps there was buried treasure under there! All of the bad news has fallen, she was wrong. I pulled the key out of my pocket swiftly, and the man saw it.
He looked down at the lock on the floor. “What is that key for? Is there treasure down there?”
He became anxious, picking up Mercio and throwing him against the wall, killing him instantly.
I became angered, and my face took on its true form.
He picked up the black parrot, and pulled a knife out of his pocket, holding it close to the bird’s neck.
“You wouldn’t dare!”
Blood covered the floor, and the black parrot fell to the floor silently.
Angered, I opened the lock quickly, not looking at the results of it.
We got into a tussle. I punched him in the jaw once. “What have you done? You have taken her from me!”
Full of greed, he pushed me into the pit—there was no treasure, only corpses piled high.
Wait, I remember this. These were all of the people that were killed. The pit was filled with my friends, my family. How could I forget something such as this! I didn’t find a key to treasure; I found a key to my past. I couldn’t save all of them, but I saved my wife. But without Mercio and the black parrot, she was also doomed to return to dust.
He laughed, looking down at me. “Don’t you get it? You are just like all the others. Every corpse that is down there is just like you.”
“What have you done, you fool! Look behind you!”
“Of course, trickery.”
She awoke and pushed him on top of me.
His face turned a white, milky color, and he started to scream at the top of his lungs. “What is happening, please God, help me please!”
She shut us in, never to see the light of day again, but I never understood how she was alive that day.
Here is the link for March's short story. http://bit.ly/ZnIjqz
Become a fan on facebook if you like it. c:
Http://www.Facebook.com/johnhicksbooks
Or follow me on twitter @John_Hicks2