Short Story Saturday: Plan

PLAN

BOOM!

I crumple to the floor in agonizing pain. Well, that certainly hurt more than I thought it would. Why does it still hurt? This isn't how it's supposed to go.

I open my eyes, which I'd pinned shut right before. Well, I open my right eye as the left doesn't seem to want to cooperate. Speaking of things not wanting to cooperate, I can't get either of my legs or arms to work. I try to focus the vision in my lone eye and work to make sense of what I'm seeing.

Of all the junk in this old, abandoned barn to land in front of, I'm unlucky enough to have fallen on my side in front of a dingy mirror. I can see every bit of damage I've done to myself, purposely and not. I didn't mean for that piece of rebar to jam itself through my neck. I guess I figured out why I can't move. But, my face . . . that I did on purpose, though I had no intentions on seeing the aftermath.

I'm not sure what my dad had loaded in his shotgun, but I'm betting it wasn't the best thing for killing yourself with. My angle must have been off too. Also, I now knew why I couldn't see anything with my left eye. Somewhere in the pile of blood and meat bits that is the left side of my head is the eye, but I can't decipher which pile of goo and gore it is. I also can't seem to pinpoint my ear. There are a few teeth sitting in the bloody flesh, though.

I should've done this on a Friday, so I know someone would show up, and they could put me out of my misery. But, no, I just had to be a dumbass and do it on a Tuesday. Nobody comes to the barn during the week.

***

It's dark now, and I can't see. The sun set a while ago. There's a scurrying on the floor. Then something tugs at the mutilated flesh until it rips a chunk free and runs away. It happens several times during the night.

***

I wake to the sun shining on my face and an irritating tickling sensation. I look at my reflection. The blood has dried and has more of a brown color to it now. The meat bits have paled from their bright pink color, and there are areas of bone showing from where the animals in the night stole chunks of flesh.

Something catches my attention in the mirror as it flits around. More than one, and I register the smell as I figure out what's flying around my face. Blow flies. A whole swarm of them. I quickly process what they're doing and cringe inwardly. I guess the cringe wasn't as inward as I thought as the pungent taste of pus wets my overly dry tongue.

By mid-afternoon, the gore that is the left side of my face is coated in a sickly, yellow tinted slime that if looked at carefully moves and slides. It's not the pus itself moving, but the newly hatch maggots that are feasting on it. I've long since felt the original pain and am left with a dull sensation of the squirmy little fucks slipping in and out of the dead flesh they feed upon.

It takes a much shorter amount of time than one would think for the maggots to grow. Once barely visible specs are now easily seen in just a few short hours, but it'll be dark soon. By the last of daylight, I watch as they begin to make their way into my nose from my mouth where there are just too many of them—some must find other places to go. The pain as they burrow themselves into undamaged flesh is becoming unbearable. Though, there's nothing I can do. I try to scream, but the sharp intake of air forces a clump of maggots down my windpipe, and I feel as if I'm choking.

***

It's dark now. I know I will never see daylight again as I feel the slimy creeps begin to dig into my good eye. I don't know how much longer this will go on, but the last thing that comes to my mind is that this situation is so much worse than what brought me to this old barn, to begin with, and I wonder why I thought it would be a good idea. I wanted to end my suffering, not cause more. Nothing ever goes the way I plan.




*This story can be found in my short story collection, Images from a Wandering Mind: a Sick and Disturbing Collection

Snippet Saturday

A little slice from a current W.I.P. for your Saturday enjoyment.

I drove along Interstate 64 in Virginia, glancing at the roadside signs. Then I saw the one I'd been looking for: Falling Springs Falls Next Exit, Exit 16.

Everything slowed to a crawl. The sound of my breathing was all I could hear, and it was deafening as I looked at the speedometer. Seventy-five as it should've been. I'd had the cruise control set, so I was uncertain why I'd thought the car had slowed unless it had died. Though, I knew it hadn't because I passed by other cars on the highway while I glanced around. Seeing as I drew sluggishly by the cars around me, I was left in a confused stated. It seemed to take forever before the exit came into view.

I glanced to where my hands strangled the steering wheel. My knuckles appeared deathly white against the black leather of the wheel; the bone threatened to break through the skin. My head swayed, and the edges of my peripheral started to turn to a fuzzy, black static. I was thrown into overdrive, realizing I was hyperventilating, and everything sped up to normal speed but soon surpassed into a frenzy of overly fast motions.

I flew past the exit. Though, I did swerve into the right lane. Unsure how much further I'd driven down the road past the exit, my car's tires hit the shoulder, skidding to a stop. I threw the door open and stumbled out of it. A small chorus of car horns blared, startling me in a sea of headlights, and I hurriedly shut the door.

Leaning against the car for support, I made my way around to the passenger side of my car. When I'd gotten around to the back tire, I slid down the car's quarter panel. My butt hit the loose gravel of the highway's shoulder. I felt the stinging pain shoot through me as each piece of gravel left behind its own small, biting bruise.

I put my head between my knees, trying to quiet the sudden urge to vomit. I knew the panic attack would subside somewhat quickly after figuring out what was happening to me, but I wasn't so sure I had the time. At some point during the attack, the bond had opened, and I could feel Marshall on the move toward me. Though, he had to have been in a vehicle as he moved much slower than I knew he could if he took a straight shot in my direction.