Helpless
Here is the opening Chapter for a short story I wrote for my Creative Writing class.
I lay helpless in a heap upon the earth’s floor. Christ, so helpless it sickens me. My legs wont move but I can feel a tingling sensation pulsating up and down the lengths of each. At least they’re still there. Course that doesn’t mean they’ll be of any use. I struggle to fill my lungs with the necessary air. So this is how it shall end. Paralyzed, incapable of moving like some worthless vermin, helpless, gasping for air. A hero’s death my ass. Was death ever like the stories? Now that’s an odd thought. Was life ever like the stories so many engross themselves in? Hardly. So why should I expect death to be any different. Still, it leaves something to be admired. A death brought upon by the act of some great valor, probably in the process of saving innocent people from the grasps of evil itself. I will have no such death. Not that I’m so unfortunate or ill fated to be deprived of such an ending. Who’s to say such an ending exists? I for one have never seen it. And needless to say I’ve seen my fair share of deaths.
So why do I feel this sense of let down? Surely this can’t be it. The sweet fresh air of morning dew rising off the floor burns in my lungs, too pure for my dieing corps. I know this is the long awaited end. I have anticipated it, even searched for it. I do not fear it, yet I still fight it, struggling for that last chance of redemption. Even as I do, I am revolted at the sight I know I must present of the struggling lost cause. Oh the weakness! Just give in! But it’s not that easy. It’s never that easy. The body must fight for survival. Disgusting really. A major flaw in the development of mankind.
My breathing begins to steady. More and more air reaching the lungs with every gulp. Quite unfortunate. My last chance at an escape from the mental awareness of my end. A lack of oxygen to the brain would have provided a satisfactory blackout. But again, too easy. It is a cruel, cruel world we live in. It seems I will pass the last minutes of this god-forsaken earth in complete clarity, or rather, what’s left of it. I open my eyes in the hopes that this will be my last glimpse of this unsatisfactory world. I look around at the people passing by and my lips contort into a snarl. Such a group of incompetent people that I actually feel sorry for them. It’s almost laughable to watch them trip over each other in their rush to be away from me. A sudden need to be somewhere else. Of course not open panic, no, no, they’re beyond that. They do their best to ignore my existence, yet slink away from me as if I carried the plague. Well, I guess for some of them I do, in a sense. I bring the plague of thought, of question, hell I bring the plague of reason! Something they all lack.
