(Picture Credit HERE)
Authors Note: Every author has a labor of love that gets trashed over and over again. It’s like witnessing a horrible accident and being unable to do anything about it. The story that follows is my abused child. It has been rejected over 7 times, but I still have faith in it. Like many of my works, it’s foundations lie in music. I invite you back to the era of early 90s metal and secret songs. In an effort to sell more music bands would place a “B” track or a secret song on the CD, compact discs (like a blu ray but only for music) for you younger folks, to increase sales. I will let you discover which esoteric secret song this story is based on (shouldn’t be too hard if you’ve been following me for any length of time) and all the wonder that goes along with it. Never lose hope or faith in something you believe in, especially your labors of love. Good luck to all and happy writing!
Necessary Life by Arthur Unk
Daylight broke through your hazy mind as you woke up in your ditch. The dew of the grass felt cool on your skin. Open eyed, you searched the sky above and chose blue to be your color. Calm. Deep breath. Rhythmic heart beating of a life born again. There was goo all over your clothes and hands as you rolled over to your knees. Your nails chewed to the flesh. Long fingers stretched away the stiffness. Your blue jeans stained and faded. Your flannel shirt worn thin. Your boots covered in dried crimson.
Calloused hands rubbed against the grass. Green was now your color. Oh Lord, take this cup from my lips. Why did everything keep changing? God punishes the wicked who disobey. God was the final judge. The voice of God was your master. The giver and taker of life. Abel, the good son, was the first to show the way of favor with blood. It was God who last spoke to you, “This is necessary. Life feeds on life.”
No image from the days before remained. The repetitive motion of your hands on the grass slowed as the haze returned. There was always sound; a light breeze, a dulled yet raucous tone in your ears, cries of small children screaming faded into the distance. The halo above your head slipped down and choked your breath.
Nausea that accompanied nervousness made you feel uncomfortable. Your head throbbed more as you stood upright. Your thoughts emptied; no memories stayed. The constant pain had an old familiar sting. The world faded in and out with each heartbeat. A long valley of grass, weeds, and an open sky was your soul. You crawled out of your ditch, onto your road with the hope that your mind would return soon. Walking sometimes helped with the pain.
Your sun showed a car parked in the distance further down the road. If God is the Father, you thought, then Satan is our cousin. Why didn’t anyone else understand simple thoughts? Your memories burned away as quickly as they formed. House. Moon. Walking. Red doors. Stairs. Knife. Smiling. Gray. Screams. Hands. Blue faces. Nothing.
You arrived at your car. All the doors were locked. The car was new and red. An expensive leather satchel with stitched lettering rested on the front passenger seat. Margo was not yet a familiar name. Your breath fogged the glass. You caught a glimpse of the stranger reflected in the glass. His mouth moved, but no sound escaped. Why was he always screaming?
You searched your pockets, but did not find any keys. Out across your field you saw the movement of two tiny people walking by your woods. The world kept fading, pulsing. The knife was still in your hands; the blade dulled by the same goo on your clothes and boots. You walked towards them. A warm feeling washed over your body as you heard the voice of God. Red was your color and, of course, those little people out there were yours too. “This…is…necessary. Life feeds on life…”