Climbing Out of Poverty

Some poor Millenial hopes for the best and ends up with more than disappointment.

The Internet has ruined me.

Between the ads for things I have to buy on impulse, and the headlines that lure you in by being vague, I'm losing myself every day.

Today was no different. As I sat on the toilet, legs numb and dying from disuse, I scrolled through a list of "Valuable Things Found in Attics."

It intrigued me. I'd just moved in to a new house and I'd never been in the attic. For all I know, there could be something as ghastly as a cursed idol, or as innocuous as a forgotten painting.

I had to know, especially with my crippling debt and lack of employment.

My fiancée was playing some video game and eating candy while I drug a chair through the house and on to the back porch. 

She heard the commotion and decided to see what misadventure I was about to find myself in next.

She assured me that there was probably nothing in the attic and I was wasting my time and health for curiosity's sake.

After climbing on to one of our shaky chairs, I pushed on the hatch with all of my might. It shifted a little, but not much.

I began to beat on the sides of the hatch with the meaty hammers that I called hands. The hatch broke loose and flew open, revealing faint images of wooden beams and shades of gray.

"Please be careful," my fiancée said. "You know we can't afford to take you to the emergency room."

"Why do you think I'm looking for valuables?" I said in a voice that was drenched in resentment. "I'm tired of being poor."

My hands fumbled around the mouth of the attic and found some stable points to dig in to.

The back of my throat felt heavy and my stomach started to churn. I was nervous and hearing negativity from the love-of-my-life didn't help.

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained," I said as I vaulted up into the darkness above.

I pushed as hard as I could and drug myself into the cavity above.

It took me a few minutes to catch my breath, but I was ready to explore.

The flashlight on my phone blasted everything in the room, including my poor eyes.

"Son of a b***h!"

The phone slipped out of my grip and clattered to the wooden floor below.

A cold hand ran down the side of my face and clutched my chin, and I yelped like a scolded pup.

"You're not scared are you?"

I nodded and began to tremble.

"Poor little man," she said. "Let me hold you close."

A wicked right-hook knocked me to the ground. She drug me to the corner of the room and rested my head in her lap. She smelled like mildew and dirt.

"You dropped this," she said. Her voice sounded far-away and metallic, like she was inside of an airplane hangar.

My phone was pressed into the palm of my hand and she ran her fingers through my hair.

"Poor, poor little man," she whispered. "I bet he wants to see his little wife."

A tear ran down my cheek and she wiped it away.

"That's too bad," the woman said. "Because you're all mine."

She leaned forward and kissed my forehead and then my lips. It was like sucking on a piece of charcoal.

"You're sweet. I like that."

Before I could stop it, I began vomiting. I guess fear and disgust do that to a person. My new friend didn't seem to like this.

"Did you just... Did you just get sick on me?"

I felt her thin fingers wrap around the side of my head.

"That's okay, dear. The flesh is weak, after all. I'll make you feel better."

Her thumbs started to dig into my eyes and I felt immense pressure inside of my skull.

"Shhh, if you struggle, it will only hurt more."

I started to claw her arms, but she just extended her reach and tightened her grip. In a matter of seconds, I heard a sound that was a bit like someone biting into an apple, and a bit like someone popping a grape. It was all followed by the most horrific, shooting pain I had ever felt.

My face felt warm and my cheeks were wet. My mouth filled with the iron taste of blood. Coughing, sputtering, and gagging, I only wanted to survive. I didn't care about being poor. I just wanted to be alive.

Within a moment's notice, I felt her fingers burst through the back of my skull. Her fists closed and she pulled my head apart as easy as someone would open a book, tearing my face into an hourglass shape.

Collapsing to the floor was all I could do. Blood began to pool around my body and I realized I was screaming. I wanted to stop, but I was surely in shock by this point. I felt my breathing become slower and more labored.

My last thought wasn't one of calm transcendence or loving-compassion.

I could only think that everyone is right. Curiosity is a killer.