Boundless

He was bitten, bed-ridden and now endless.

     It started out as an itch a long time ago. It was all because of that mosquito. It had bitten me in the neck and left a nasty mark. I was never bitten so bad before, so much that a trickle of blood had cascaded down my collar bone and left my white shirt stained. I never felt my hands shake so bad from the after effects either. My neck had hurt. I would scratch it and scratch until I bled some more. Then wipe it away with a finger and a lick. It became so mandatory, and I knew that I would have to see a doctor about it. After a few days I felt myself grow weary, but quickly I would just grab the first aid and cover it. No worries, I'm fine. Nothing a glass of brandy can't take care of, at least before my father finds out it's missing.

     However...

     The bite got worse as I waited. Whenever I came home from my father's fishing boat, my mouth would water as I watched my mother stir the pot of soup containing just celery, carrots and average chunks of goat meat she bought from the market. I will see her collared shirt open because of the heat and her arm would come up to wipe the small sweat droplets off her shiny forehead. Then she'd look at me and smile. "Hello, darling. Are you hungry?"

     "Yes," I'd say, saliva dripping down my chin like I were five again. My mother instantly grew concerned by my changed behavior. My father said I was just growing up, that when children grow up their hunger increases. I believed it too. Puberty can be a sucker punch in the face, or the chest... or the groin, which I didn't mind. But I hated the night terrors.

     I wake up, my sheets soaked and my skin drenched in my own sweat. I was whimpering, I knew. I remember them so vividly, the misty alley, the gentleman in the top hat and cane and his dark red eyes.

     He was the devil.

     And he came to me.

     At the dinner table every night I could tell that my parents were growing distant. They looked at me as if I had changed into a deranged animal. They asked me why I wasn't following my school lessons? Why I was trying to fight the other kids? Why I kept coming home before sunrise and leaving at sundown.

     But I just didn't know how to answer. I didn't know what to say, because I didn't know myself. I was acting strange, and I felt strange. I didn't know that I had developed Hay Fever.

     My parents took me to the village doctor and told him about my illness. They said it had caused me to hallucinate, had made me develop disoriented bad habits. And I believed them.

     The doctor took a look at me, noticed my skin so cold and my pale white face. He noticed my eyes were light and my hair so discolored. He noticed my sickly presence and worn out sighs. He said I did not have Hay Fever, but I was extremely ill. Apparently they didn't know what was wrong with me, and kept me there at the hospital bed ridden for weeks. Soon... summer came, and I was worse.

     I grew thin.

     I was light as bone, my ribs as see through no matter what I ate and what I did. I tried building back muscle but I became so weak that I could not even lift my arms. My legs have become like sticks, and when I stared at my knees I could see the hollow shadows of my bones and know where they connected. My doctor said I was dying and there was nothing he could do, because he had no clue what the cause were.

     They just didn't have the knowledge back then.

     So my family and I waited for my death. I laid in bed, crying, repeating over and over, "I'm hungry. I'm so hungry."

     They offered fruit, nuts, soup, loaf anything they had! I ate them all! I devoured every single ounce of porridge, every single crumb of pie, every single drop of juice and I even accidentally swallowed my bib.

     But I was still hungry.

     Then one night, as the nurses came in to open the curtains that shielded me from the sun's harmful glare that usually made me feel too hot and my skin burn in irritation, I stared out at the receding light and waited for the night's safe blanket to fold itself over me once more. The cool breeze would come in and I'd feel warm. I looked at my doctor, and he would stare back at my disfigured expression. I have grown into a living skeleton, only made of bone covered by a body bag which my doctor calls my skin.

     "I'm so sorry, Warden."

     I just shook my head.

     He told me my parents were here to visit me, and I remembered my mother's large arms wrap around my thin shoulders. Oh God... I never saw my mother cry so hard. She leaned her head down and let out all her grief. My father just covered his eyes. His only son... dying. Why wasn't I born stronger? God, why wasn't I born stronger to fight whatever Malaria I caught.

     They looked at their son, their only son so weak and small. They knew I wouldn't make it. They were prepared, having already planned a funeral. For God's sake... they had a priest come in to see me.

     He asked me if I had any regrets. If there were any last sins I need to confess to before I met Him up there and his inviting presence. As I cried, my dried up eyes could only produce red veins as I looked up at the Father, pleading with him about my damnation. I didn't want to go to Hell. He looked at me with pity and asked, "Oh child, what are you talking about? You are not going to Hell unless you believe in Him and repent."

     I told him about my dreams.

     I told him about the times I have seen the devil walking in the alley, his red eyes watching and waiting for me.

     Father blessed my soul and left.

     Before then the priest told me that as long as God was in my heart then I would be accepted into heaven. As long as I repented all my sins that I had committed and were yet to commit I would be graced. I nodded and cried. I didn't want to die, and this hunger was growing worse. I was growing so weak to the extent that I could no longer eat. My time was coming sooner than I needed.

     The next day, Father came back to see me. He was concerned about my disturbing dreams and asked, "My child, tell me what you seek in the after life?"

     I said I didn't know. So the priest left and told me he would come back the next day, and said I should think of my answer for next time. I looked out the window and into the darkness. There were only lanterns lit along a pathway from the hospital but I could still roughly see the shadow of the people walking to and from the pubs and the shops. I slept that night for the final time and dreamed of the devil once more.

     This time, my dream was longer. I saw the gentlemen walk towards me. His eyes burned holes within my own and I screamed in agony as I begged for forgiveness of whatever sinned I had committed. The devil laughed. He grabbed my chin and raised it so I could suffer underneath his smirking face.

     "Oh, my poor child," he cooed. He felt sincere, sorry. His face showed humor but his tone felt contrite. For what? I did not know, but he looked down at me with his dark red eyes that changed so slowly into murky brown. And soon, he was crying, his eyes bleeding bright red. It glowed and I never saw blood look so beautiful before. It almost shone, and it's aroma was heavenly. I could feel my mouth open and water, I wanted to lick his tears and taste it. He was human like me, I thought. No... I knew then that I was staring into the face of an angel.

     "I was hungry... I was hungry."

     I woke up, my eyes wide as I felt the rays attempt to creep into my room from underneath the curtains. It was trying to get in... making it's way in inch by inch. I yearned for the darkness once more. I closed my eyes in fright and just waited for the priest. I needed to tell him about my dream, how the devil felt sorry for me. How he repented for his sin of condemning me and cried blood for me, that he turned back into the Angel of Light for me.

     The priest came that night bringing fresh tomatoes from his garden. He smiled at me, a bible in one hand and his necklace of the cross complimented by prayer beads in the other. I groaned in pain as I tried reaching for him. I could almost hear my hands cracking as I tried to grab his robe. He put down his cross and grabbed my hand tightly in his. I gasped painfully as I spoke, telling him the contents of my dreams in harsh whispers.

     The priest smiled. He told me that it was a sign that God had forgiven me and felt pity for my condition. He was going to let me into heaven once I died, the priest was sure.

     I never felt so relieved, my heart might have just exploded then but somehow inside... I felt wrong. The gentleman in my dream was not God feeling sorry for me, why would God give me the vision of the devil instead of Himself. I wanted to ask the priest about it, but instead he asked me about my thoughts and my answer to his question.

     "Have you made your answer, Warden? What do you seek in the after life?"

     I still didn't know.

     Didn't I just die and go to heaven, meet God and his angels and live forever in peace up there with my ancestors? Why was Father being so complicated? What kind of enlightening answer was he looking for?

     I sighed, my breath harsh. Then I started to cry, my whimpers choked. No matter how long the months had passed during my illness, I was growing thinner and colder. I was dying yet God had not taken me under his wing yet. Surely I'm being left behind for a reason. But why? Did the priest know something? Is that why he asked such a weird question?

     I didn't want to die, but the hunger has grown to a degree of almost unbearable.

     Maybe if I answered him, He would finally let me go.

     The priest leaned into his basket of tomatoes and grabbed a ripe pair. He held one out for me to bite into, and I did so greedily. My chompers were pearly white and somehow still strong and sharp. It was almost the only part of my body that still functions, ironically the part that enables me to eat. The nurses were scared of my disfigured face, how my cheeks were hollow my eyes baggy and my teeth always protruding from my lips and extended like an animal's. But as I ate the tomato from the priest's hands, the juices having streamed down my cheeks and neck and down my throat, my quench and hunger were still not satisfied. My stomach had long forgotten how to gurgle and moan, but I still felt it churn every so often. It's churning was like a spoon stirring an empty bowl, just a piece of metal scraping the sides and making awful noise. But when I saw the priest eat his share, I watched with wide eyes how his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed.

     My stomach churned so hard that I felt my insides burn along with the agony. I could feel actual adrenaline within my veins, pulsating in anger and jealousy. I felt greed and lust conform within my mind and gluttony ravish my very soul and place a knife within my hands.

     He told me to do it. So I did.

     I asked the priest to come closer, and as the priest leaned down to my sunken head he turned so that his ear was directly above my cracked, thin lips, slowly dripping with saliva.

     I gasped, out of breath, seeing the gates to heaven that my glutton had told me about.

     The priest's collar had ridden down so that I could see the smooth flesh that peeked from beneath the cloth. My eyes watered as I felt my myself drown in my own pool. I didn't know what I was doing, but I just felt so hungry that I couldn't stop myself. The only strong part of my body was my teeth, and it was like they had a mind of their own. They chewed and chomped and when I swallowed I felt my hunger grew. After I had swallowed chunks of raw meat, I could just hear the sounds of 'plopping' fall inside my stomach. The acid within were overjoyed by their reemployment, just like the rest of my organs. I never felt so happy in my entire life, not even when Rabecca said she liked me back or when my father said I was going to get his boat when I'm eighteen. I was feeling myself grow fuller after every drop of blood and every drop was like salvation. Before I knew what had happened, I was looking at the holy man lifeless on my bed side. His eyes were still open as if he was just awake, but just bleeding very badly. I raised my shaky hands to my face and noticed the strength coursing within me like after a long sprint in the fields.

     Then I wept. I wept so bitterly.

     I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry.

     I was so hungry. Forgive me, Father.

Forgive me.

     That night. I was cured of my illness. My feet were plumped to normalcy once more. My arms flowing with blood, but still lacking muscle. I was still weak, but I could walk, so I struggled to the window in an attempt to flee. Only God knows what I have done and I don't want any people to find out. The sun was retreating once more in perfect timing, having failed once again of catching me on fire and ridding me of the world. I opened the curtains, and I peered outside at the last rays. Then I stopped as I looked at the window.

     The reflection I saw within the glass was not me. I could not recognize this gentlemen staring back. His eyes were flaring red and his baggy eyes were slowly disappearing. I saw my cheeks filling out as if I had fast forward in time where I periodically gained weight. Soon, his eyes were fading. They were turning brown. They were a familiar murky brown that I grew up looking into, whether from my father's own twinkly ones or at my own from within the mirrors of my mother's dressing room.

     I turned back at the mess on my bed. Tomato juice was everywhere on the priest, but at least he's in good hands now.

     I opened the window and crawled out, surprising myself when I landed on my feet out of the two story building and was still able to walk on as if that jump was nothing at all.

     Then I continued on for my house. I needed to see my stricken mother and son-less father once more, I just had to. They would have been happy to see me again, healthy. Strong! I thought my mother could make me some stew like she would. I thought my father would take me out fishing once more like he would. I'm supposed to take over his business once he's retired after all. It's always been a family tradition for years. I must see them! It didn't matter what happened to the priest anymore, he's gone. I'm alive. Maybe that's why God left me here. The priest was meant to trade his life to save mine. Maybe... the priest was able to find his own answer when he reached to heaven.

     I found my parents in our home, my mother was cleaning the rusty old stove while my father was trying to count our money for our home payment. They did not notice me creep inside and watch them for hours as they went on with their evening. My mother sniffled. She looked up and around but glanced over me like I were a wall. I thought they were just too shocked, but as I stepped out at last and looked expectantly at them, my mother finally looked at me.

     And she screamed.

     My father got up in a surprised jolt. He asked her what was wrong. Then she pointed and he looked at me as well.

     "Jesus, my lord and savior."

     I called for them. But my voice had changed. I must have grown into a man while sick. Puberty passed really quick, I almost had forgotten my own. I just shook it off and waited for my mother's large arms to hold me once more.

     She continued to scream, crying and begging for God to help her.

     I didn't know what to do. I told them It was me. It was their son.

     My father grabbed his shotgun from underneath the creaky table and he pointed it at me. His eyes were wet. He was crying.

     "What happened to you?" He asked me. "What is that!?"

     I didn't say anything. Instead, I made a move to hug him. Surely he must have been surprised by my sudden cure. I told them that it was a miracle. God saved me!

     Father took a step back and shot me. He shot me again. He shot me again and again and again.

     I did not fall.

     "Father-"

BANG!

     "It's me-"

BANG!

     "Moth-"

BANG!

     "Love-"

BANG!

     ...

     I done it again. My father had fallen on the ground in his own blood. I didn't mean to do it that time. I wasn't hungry that time. But he wouldn't stop shooting at me, so I grabbed his gun and threw it to the side, I didn't know his arms would go with it. I don't even remember grabbing them and ripping them off.

     My mother cowered in the corner. She prayed for Jesus, Moses, God, Abraham, anyone who she believed would listen. Then she fell down too.

     I didn't even touch her.

     I think she died from a heart attack or something.

     I saw her collar open and neck exposed, and I felt my stomach gurgle. It tasted sweet.

     That night I left my parents house for the last time, their corpses rotted for the villagers to find, one armless and the other drained of blood. I didn't stick too long to see what their reactions were or if they were looking for me. I just hid and waited.

     As time went by and I sulked, they died soon too. Most of their deaths were by me, I picked them off the farm after winter when they were fattened like pigs. It soon wore off to me that I had killed my own parents, that I had killed a priest, and was now killing everyone I knew; the people I went to school with and my neighbors that watched me grow.

     It didn't matter now. They're dead. And I'm still here.

     I look into the mirror of my bathroom every morning and stare at my reflection. Face, so young and holding a smirk, contrite for unknown reasons. Brown eyes stare back, mockingly. It was 8:00PM and my shift did not start until an hour later, giving me enough time for a quick breakfast. My roommate was playing video games next door causing a racket. I barely see my roommates, but today must have been his day off.

     I left my bathroom and entered our living room seeing his fat a*s on the couch surrounded by chips. When have the people become such dead weight? It's as if they have all turned into that one fat alcoholic villager that sleeps with the pigs in the barn which nobody likes.

     "Hey dude, it's your turn for the groceries this week," he reminded me, twisting the controller sideways at the screen as he drove a cart with a cartoon character inside it. It was chasing the other characters and throwing a banana peel at it. A long time ago I would have been appalled by the adaptations of jeans, wires that connected electricity into inanimate objects and satellites. But somehow you learn to go with the flow. I never thought an invention such as the AC could ever exist before but I've never been so grateful of it. Also, did you know that we went to the moon? Oh what a dream for me to see my companion up close.

     I only moved in two weeks ago so I nodded at him. "Alright," I said, grabbing my coat. "I'm leaving for work."

     "Whatever."

     I looked at him some more and restrained myself. Maybe once I leave this town and head for another I'll do him the favor of ridding his existent in this complicated society by being a part of my daily meal plan. But I shrugged him off.

     My eyes turned red in the reflection of my car window. I slowly dropped the hooker back onto my car seat and quickly wiped up the stream of blood from her neck. Her red lips shone brightly in the moon light, and I stroked it with my thumb. My girlfriend is just sleeping, officer. We had a long day of partying at a friend's house.

     I dumped her body off at a secluded dumpster somewhere and proceeded to head to work. I opened the doors, greeted Samantha at the counter and dumped my coat into the lounge. Then I went into the back and grabbed the keys. The graveyard shift starts, and I sighed.

     Maybe next time when I move on I'll become a mortician's assistant. Or maybe I should save enough money and buy another fake I.D.. If I had another identity, I should definitely become a psychologist... or maybe an astronaut! There is so many things that I could do.

     I have all the time in the world now to do them.

     But...

     I think I'll go to Alaska and become a fisherman.

     My father would have liked that.

     I think... I will like that the most.

© 2012 (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞Emmett☜(ﾟヮﾟ☜)

Author's Note

People must be confused. Don't be. Whatever it is you think was going on, sure, it could happen. Let your mind run wild with ideas. You'll most likely be almost right, maybe 99% close. But still, like many reviewers have been noted to do, you will take this LITERALLY. In this case, you can take this literally, but if I were you, I would try to see it with deeper meaning. I implore you in fact. I beg and grovel of you. But I already know.

I think I should turn this into a series, because there are many sides to this that have been left unsaid, and stories that should connect. But I know I won't... I like short stories after all.

Thank you for reading. Please let me know of grammar/spelling errors, especially for past/present tense.