This week’s Prompt:
A blind person, memory lane, sand paper
This is either a side bar or might even become part of a longer story I am working on. Say hello to Alex, folks.
Memories. We all have them. Unless we don’t. I guess some people are lucky enough to forget things. I am not so lucky.
I’m lying here in a strange bed, in a cabin in the middle of no-fucking-where and I cannot sleep. Why? Because of memories. They rub at my mind like sand paper, making it impossible to do anything but think and think and think. It is probably the fire doing it. Triggering the thoughts. I should have thought of that before agreeing to this trip.
You would have thought the hike would have been the part that would have made me nope out weeks ago. But it is the god damned fire. It is night, so I do not have the dark glasses on. The guys assure me the scarring is not really all that bad. At least not to look at.
I am facing the direction of the fire. I feel it more than anything else, but the smell of burning wood, the crackle and pop as pockets of moisture or sap explode tell me exactly where it is. I can see a little light sometimes, but the distortion through the damage to my eyes make it unreliable and almost direction-less. I blink. I must have them open, I didn’t even notice.
It was fire that made that mess to start with. Five years ago. These guys and fire. Tonight, it is the same people, and something else is going to go to hell. It is not just that kid, Kolby. I can feel something horrible about to happen. It is like a heavy fog, or a vibration in the universe. It makes my bones ache and my muscles tense. I need to just sleep.
Something moves. I hear it. Was it inside or out? I wait. Another sound. It was a scrape, followed by a slight tap, maybe a light thump.
Kolby groans quietly from his place by the fire. His breathing is not good. I hear fluid in his lungs and smell the rot of an infected wound. Otis described the wound to me and it sounds like something far worse than a mountain lion. We just need to leave here. Hike out tomorrow and get someone here to get that kid to a hospital. That is what we need to do.
Simple. We will leave tomorrow. We will get away from, whatever it is, that is making me so restless. I will be back in my own bed before another 24 hours passes.
Callum rolls over next to me, mumbling in his sleep. It is gibberish. It always is, but this time I hear a word that sounds like “evil”. Maybe even Cal can feel it. Though I would be surprised. He never seemed to be sensitive to anything before. Should I be more worried?
It is a stupid question. I am too tired to think any more and I am losing track of my thoughts now. We will deal with it in the morning.