Death of Innocense

Fiction, story of survival, pain, death of the innocent

Death of innocence:

Today started out like any other day, sun glaring, dust in the air, and my eyes adjusting to hues of red, brown, and the yellows of morning.

Standing motionless, I took a moment and searched the horizon for movement, any sign of life. I use my senses to locate differences in the world as I know it, as it is.

If I find difference and change, however slight, I find something I didn’t know; something to pique my interest for another day.

Differences in my world are cherished. I pray no two days are alike, and for my efforts I have been rewarded with an appreciation of nuance.

If confined to reflections of the past, I’m sure my life would become mired in boredom and obscurity; my life would end before my tears. There would be no need of me; there will be neither questions to ask nor answers to fear. In my own way, I have become a record of all I experience, a chronicler of sorts.

Asking questions has become my greatest love. It’s the answers I fear, for to hear a whisper is not to be alone, and I have been alone too long. Always questions in the morning, always.

My solitude is interrupted as a dust cloud rises swiftly in the distance. I can make out light and dark masses swirling in the funnel; the creature has started to eat! I have seen these monsters before! In an instant and to my amazement the funnel quickly grows to one hundred feet at its base and the magnificent serpent now touches the clouds.

I turn my eyes in the direction of the nearest outcropping to get a bearing on its direction; a bearing on its intentions.

I start to run. I’ve learned from experience that if I concentrate on nothing else but the far-off rumbling of the beast, I can read its distance by the lows and highs of its screams!

The staggering behemoth has seen me and is moving in my direction! I am in the middle of a barren plateau; there is no place to hide! My only chance is to run in the opposite direction.

Seeking shelter; a hole, a crack, anything! The swarming, screaming, cloud is now a thousand feet tall and two hundred feet across. In a matter of seconds, I’m being shoved by stinging, invisible hands.

Not to heed the stinging is to suffocate while climbing to the stars as it sucks you in. I’ve seen these destroyers before; off in the distance, eating all in their paths while ripping the sky! Then, in an instant, gone! Bellies full, they disappear into some obscure dimension, only to reappear in another place, another time; for another feeding!

Its breath is upon me now, lashing my back with sand, while stealing the sweat from my shirt. I can feel its claws ripping my skin. Its lumbering, staggering pace is the drunk no one waits for.

The pounding vibration under my feet is sending sharp pains up my legs and I can run no longer, I trip and fall hard!

The dry grasses caught up in its fury are piercing my skin and stripping the flesh from my ankles. Shards of debris rip at the back of my arms and the salt from my sweat tells me I am surely found.

Like the beaks of crows, the creature is slicing my flesh before feasting. I can’t take much more. If I could find a hole to hide in its momentum would carry the drunk past my table!

The screaming has pierced my ear drums and the sand encrusting my eyelids has blinded me.

Without warning, the earth vanishes beneath me; with great force I’m slammed repeatedly into the ground. The beast tries to suck me up, again and again. With bloodied finger tips, I crawl forward, digging into the earth.

A crevice has found me in the blinding storm. The ripping is passing over me; the howling is moving on to easier game, and the drunk has gone to sleep it off.

It’s been an hour since our friend past this way, and its noon now. Tranquility and I have rested long enough. Lying motionless, I take a moment and searched the horizon for movement.

A cool breeze to keep me company would be fine. But just like every other day, I have been alone too long.

Now its noon, always questions at noon, always.

Blinded from the sand storm I crawl forward before trying to stand. Strange sticky objects appear under my hands. There, under my body, lay ribbed objects of varying sizes and shapes. They’re collapsing under the weight of my body. I can feel a wet, sticky substance oozing between my fingers; confused, I keep crawling.

The wind has started up again, and keeps yelling and howling as it passes over my beaten body. The clouds are furious because of my escape.

Exhausted, I cover my face and as the monster returns, raking the earth looking for the one that got away. I cannot hear my heart, but the throbbing deafens.

I am going to a place of comfort, a place that only I can enter.

My prayers are answered, I look but see nothing, as cool darkness ascends upon my face and my body becomes limp and useless.

I have gone to a sanctuary of my invention; I have slipped into unconsciousness. I will rest for a while before contemplating an escape.

Morning comes with the sun just peeking over the rim of the plateau. I am hidden. Has the sun seen me yet? I think not. I wipe the sand from my eyes as I turn onto my back. I am still nauseous from my ride. It is when I roll onto my side that I cannot believe my eyes.

I am surrounded by perhaps two hundred small creatures. They are staring at me and I dare not make any sudden moves. I am surrounded for approximately one hundred feet in all directions. As I fight to regain my sight and composure, I notice a dead calm, a sense of loathing. I cannot even hear them breath! I look around, and finally, slowly, see what has happened.

In my haste to save myself from the tornado, I have crawled through a herd of these small, docile creatures; and from what I can tell, I have killed hundreds! The ground is strewn with carcasses of the dead. It was these small fragile creatures who were being crushed under my weight as I crawled to safety by using their hiding place to save myself!

I have killed at least 20 of the females! I know they were females because the unborn lay everywhere! The mortality was appalling. The smell of death was disgusting, yet not one moved or shown the emotion this terror deserved!

I didn’t know what to do. I sat up and then when the enormity of what I had done sank in, I froze in disbelief. The wounded and dyeing lay decomposing in the hot morning sun. I had the internal dried remains of bodily fluids stuck to my palms and their dried blood mixed with earth covering my chest.

Silently and courageously they mourned their dead and dying. The sight was almost too much for me to bear. Many hid under and behind green shields, their tribe color. The young hid close to the ground and were silenced by the elders.

In an effort to save myself, and in the sandstorm blindness, I had inadvertently killed hundreds of these docile, cuddly creatures and their young!

I cannot keep my composure; I begin to weep. I believe I have compassion for other living things and I would never knowingly harm another living thing to save myself. Yet here I sit, being judged; perhaps not for the atrocity itself, but for the sheer absurdity and carelessness in which brought it about.

Hundreds lay dead before my weeping eyes, and I can do nothing about it. The tribe has not moved, and like rocks, the tribe has yet to show any emotion.

Can it be they don’t blame me? Can they possibly understand I did not mean it? Do they, for an instant believe what lay before them is a terrible, terrible accident? Have they forgiven me, knowing it was an accident? There was no malicious intent; I was blind and lost, I was scared, surely they must know this.

I realize there is nothing I can say or do to bring back their children, their loved ones and I fear reprisal. Do they know this? They’ve made no attempt at rescue or burial.

I feel it best if I go, leave them in their grief. I think they are waiting for me to go; neither death nor a fight is at hand.

Simply, silent grieving. I cannot stop my tears as I rise to my knees and with great pain and effort finally to my feet.

One last time I look at the death and devastation I have wrought.

As I begin to walk away, I mutter, ever so silently, ‘I’m sorry.’ I look back to see the green shields moving in the wind. I’m glad they are moving about. I was right; they were waiting for me to leave before dealing with their tragedy. They did not seem vicious, but rather compassionate, and kind; but I have learned one can hardly tell.

I am thankful they were forgiving, companionate, creatures.

For lack of a better word, I will call these creatures, “pumpkins”. The End.