Ravine

James didn’t know what came over him when he heard that wretched gurgling sound echoing through his house. It was four years and the noise still haunted him. James knew more about unspeakables than most, he’d lived with one as it slowly ripped through the body of someone he loved dearly. He thought there might have been a cure at first, searching high and low as the bouts of amnesia bloomed into fits of aggression. Some would say he had too much hope. He should have given up. And they probably weren’t wrong, but hindsight was a cruel thing.

James knew what unspeakables were before they had a name, before the world had turned its back on so many people. While others were boarding up their homes, James was boarding his basement; locking the door with bolts as tears ran down his face. James didn’t feel any less guilty when he heard those groans pushing from his mothers rotting organs. 

He knew she was gone, and she would be devastated if she knew her own son feared her. She went to work full of love and hope for her patients - returning with a parasite.

 It was then that James vowed to keep out of other people’s business; his mother had died because of her kindness and he wouldn’t make the same mistake. 

Packed bags had been stacked by the door for months, even when James was convinced she would get better and he’d feel stupid for preparing to run. It was stupid to hope, James had thought as he explained to Peter:  ,”if we don't go now, we‘ll be caught when everything goes to shit… come on Pete I know I sound insane,’ James begged,”but I need you to trust me,”

And of course, he had. Pete had always been trusting, loyal, kind. They were traits James admired about him. Even now, four years in, and Peter was the same wonderful person he always had been. He hadn’t let the circumstances dictate his personality. 

James was jealous. He felt like he’d lost most of himself to his mother’s condition, and what kindness he had left, had faded in the years since. 

Why did Peter stick around? James couldn’t be sure. Was he clinging onto who James used to be? Did he feel some obligation to stick together after so long? Or was he just too scared to go off on his own?

Either way, James was grateful for him as they huddled around the fireplace on a frigid September evening. They had been squatting in the same place for upwards of three years now, which would have been risky if they were in the open, but after just over a year of moving regularly, they came across an abandoned warehouse. Again, risky to go inside, but they had nothing to loose. In they went. It was properly locked up when they found it: metal walls ringing with someone’s past life's work. 

There were no windows, which meant no weak access points (and no light either but you win some you lose some). It was the only stroke of luck the pair had come across and they weren’t about to give it up. 

James looked up now at the metal roof and remembered the relief flooding through his system on that day. He drew his gaze to the camp mats in the corner and the dilapidated sofas in the staff room, dragging his eyes to the smoke extractor hanging above the flickering fire. In another reality, this warehouse would’ve been teaming with life, but it was frozen in a time of near misses. Everyone was so sure the struggle was over.

“Are you alright?” Peter asked.

He’d forgotten Peter was there. “Yeah. No. I just… can’t at the minute, Pete” James returned after a moment, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

“Ok” Peter stood up unsurprised, walking to his mat. “Sorry mate,” 

He felt guilty. When was the last time James had held a full conversation with Peter? It wasn't that he didn’t want to. He missed talking to his friend as the evening darkened and the moon shone until the sun appeared again. He just didn’t have the words anymore. James used to be so good at listening, he was the one people went to when they needed to talk. And yet now it was all he could do to keep from rolling his eyes when Peter spoke about wanting to go home. He knew what he should say: “we’ll get there eventually,” or ,”Everything will go back to normal someday,”.

He knew the old James would say that. 

But James also knew none of it was true. He didn’t know how Peter still had hope; how much longer would it be before he realised that this was it? This was reality and it wasn’t going anywhere.

James sighed. Still, he felt guilty brushing Peter off as he did. He stamped out the last of the dying embers and got into his sleeping bag. “I’m sorry Pete”

“It’s fine, I get it mate”

James sighed again. Peter would never get it.

—————————————————————

The night passed and a new day dawned. It was strange with the absence of bird song, like a film with no sound. James woke first; he peered under the crack of the door, waiting for light to filter though. After about half an hour, James unbolted it and began running. It was the only thing that kept him sane.

The air rushed past him, the ground uneven beneath his feet. One foot in front of the other, further and further until his lungs burned. This was the only thing that hadn’t changed; he ran as though he was running from something. Maybe he was. Running to leave the fear and stress behind.

James passed trees and streams which looked healthier since humans had left them alone. Bushes and moss overgrown, it could have been out of a fairytale. Were it not for the apparent lack of life James would believe it was. 

James was running just the same - but life no longer teamed around him. No squirrels scurrying up trees, or seagulls laughing. That’s what brought James back to reality, slowing him down, coming to a halt. Everything really had changed, would anything ever feel normal?

James walked further, noticing the sun beaming high in the sky, he found himself searching for any sign of life. An irritating fly or an obnoxiously loud cricket.       Anything. 

Nothing.

He slid down the nearest tree, feeling the rough bark scratch his back as he hit the grassed floor with a thump. James sat there. Listening and watching the greenery around him for hours. He liked the idea that something could still live on in this harsh world, even if it was just trees. At least the trees were there.

He began to hum lowly, feeling the noise vibrate through his vocal chords. Mindlessly allowing his voice to carry through the air, knocking against the remaining ecosystem around him. Effie’s songs were always calming to hear. If James closed his eyes tight enough he could hear her voice in place of his, he could feel her stroking his hair  after too long a day. Her airy voice would carry the weight of his aching mind and all troubles would melt. God, he missed his mum; in all of this, those were the words he never lost.

Why was the world so cruel?  James sat there, humming, as time stretched before him - worlds colliding with what-ifs and if-onlys circling his mind like hawks. He was picking at the grass beneath his fingers as he caught one, clipping its wings to examine it. He imagines he would have carried on in his book-hating, band-obsessed life. He would’ve left dust piled onto books as he used the library’s tables to jot down lyrics. The librarian would scowl at him, because he wouldn’t care about the books people had poured their lives over. James would win them over eventually though, he always did. He always used to. 

James was pulled abruptly from his mind’s cage, sensing a change in the surroundings. He had been so in tune with his search for life that he have noticed even the slightest shift. And this was no slight shift. This was… a person? James hadn’t seen anyone apart from Peter for years. He moved swiftly behind a bush a few yards away before he could be noticed.

The man walked over to James and crouched down in front of the bush, his eyes a stormy grey and focussed, curly black hair falling in front of them. The man was beautiful, life-like. But he looked tired, too tired. James watched as he walked over to the very same tree he had only hours ago, sliding down it. James watched as his gun fell from his side and into a bed of cloves. This man was truly lost to the world. James was too afraid of alerting his presence to move. So, there they stayed. The sun was sinking lower and James felt connected to this stranger, something in his chest reaching out to comfort the man; to lift the weight from his shoulders. He looked peaceful. Eyelashes pressed gently to pale cheeks, lips parted slightly, and breath even.

Well, until he woke up.

Panic set in and the man took off running. James wondered if he’d make it back to safety before dark. He hoped so.

James looked back at the tree… the man had left his gun.

He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t just let him die. That something in his chest told him he wouldn’t forgive himself if he did. 

So, James picked up the gun and followed him. 

BANG!

Shit.

—————————————————————————————————————

Why

What’s the point

Of life 

Of living 

Why 

Why am I here 

On the earth 

As it’s spinning

My vision is blurring 

And I don’t want to exist

Brain is burning 

I didn’t choose this

Why do I feel life is too hard too long

Why do I feel like a ticking time bomb

Some think it’s too short or fast

But I only think of how long it seems to last

100 years is too long a time

When a minute seems to rob me of rhyme

I don’t want to be here

I don’t want to live 

The world wants so much 

And I don’t want to give