Lockjaw

Experimental prose to work on my imagery. See what you think.

Lockjaw

 

By M. L. Zane

 

            What time is it?

            Giving a gurgling groan, his body begins to reboot. One by one, the senses return from nothing. The feeling comes back first, the oozing gashes on his arms and face burning with every breath. A sharp pain overtakes him when he draws breath, and a wince hisses from his lips as his face contorts in agony.

            God, why did pain have to come back first?

            It was then he realized he was flat on his back, staring at the night sky, blurring with the street lights and a vast stretch of empty parking lot. His breath came out in gurgles, fluid filling his throat. Rolling on his side, he hocked up a clot of blood, spittle dribbling from his jaw. Out of the corner of his eye, it was clear that no stars were watching over him that night.

            With every inhale, his chest screamed at him. Sweat rolls down his brow and stings his eyes, and he glanced at the remnants of cloth scattered around him. Littered amongst spatters of blood and saliva, he gripped at a torn shirt, bare chest exposed to a cold night’s air. With the last of his strength, he gingerly dabs the filth from his eyes, clearing his vision and leaving crimson streaks behind.

            Is there anybody out there?

            It was then he realized the world had sound again, and the faint hum of crickets filled the night sky, musically mixed in the busy hum of a nearby light pole. The gasp in his breath became apparent, his lungs inconsistent and rebellious against him. As he ordered them to keep rhythm, they declined, shaking an angry fist of fractured ribs.

            Flattening battered palms, he struggles to rise from the crumpled mess of fluids and vomit. Joints popping and bruises pulsing, he balances on all fours, coughing up more reddish goo, beads of mucus and blood chaining to his chin to the ground.

            It’s so cold out.

            He rolls his head to the left, his eyes finally registering the light pole overlooking his broken form. Wrapping his palms around the concrete base, he pulls himself up. As he unfurls his spine, a massive red smear becomes apparent on the surface. Running his fingers experimentally on the stain, he finds his fingers are fresh in darkened paint, fresh from his own body. Laughing softly, he rises completely to his feet and scans the parking lot.

            Taking a long whiff of the night air, he finds it difficult to smell anything but iron. Ferrous slime clogs his airways, and soon he must switch to his mouth in order to draw breath. But, his eyes do not fail him. There is nothing but an endless stretch of concrete before him, the parking lot extending for miles on all sides. Rapidly glancing around, he ignores his pain, desperately lost in the starless night. Losing himself, he leans against the lamp post.

            It isn’t he; it’s me.

            That was when I heard the crack. Both of my knees failed, and I hit the pavement hard. My right cheek smashed defiant asphalt, and it felt like the blacktop won. This time, I didn’t think I was getting back up. My heart started to agree with me, and a nasty pain made itself known in my chest. Everything felt like it had a nail stuck in it. That was when I heard the phone ringing.

            My eyes rush open, and I’m covered up in my room. Everything is pitch black save for the cell phone screen now vibrating and lighting up, and a handful of words splash against a blue screen.

            “Hey, whatcha doin?”

            Time stamped at 3:40 AM, I decided to ignore it, but not before checking myself over. I seem to be fine, but I’d better watch my back next time. My dreams have it out for me.

                        

Author's Note

Successful experiment or sickly fish? You be the judge.

Reviews

[ZackOfBridge]

Somewhere in between. I like a lot of the descriptions and really like that final, closing sentence, but it was just kind of confusing somewhere between the beginning and end.

[M. L. Zane]

Experiments are always interesting.