Overpass
He woke up face down, taking in a sharp dirt-filled breath. Violent coughing ensued, which in turn kicked up even more dirt from the floor. It got into his eyes. He rolled over, curling up into a convulsing ball. Once the coughing started to subside, pain greeted him. He felt as though he had been dropped from a third floor. Breathing was pure agony. His back and chest felt tight and compressed as if he were being crushed between two cinder blocks. Nothing was broken. At least he didn’t think so. He had just had a rough night. Another one. If only he could remember what happened.
Slowly and carefully he stood up to find his bearings. Brushing the dust and grime from his face, he squinted into the afternoon sun above. His head was pounding. Had he been hit with a metal pipe? What did he get into last night? This was not the kind of rude awakening you get after a violent bender. This was different.
It took a moment for the sun’s glare to wash away from his vision before he took stock of where he was. He was standing in a dry ditch beneath an overpass. Had he fallen asleep there? Did he pass out? Was he beaten up, mugged, and left to die? Confusion settled in further when he realized he not only didn’t remember how he got there, but he couldn’t say what he had done the day before. Or the one before that. Come to think of it, he couldn’t even remember what day it was or what city he was in. Not even his own name.
He started checking his pockets for clues. Anything that might trigger a memory. Closing his hand around a few thin objects, he pulled out an old stained spoon, a shoelace, and a used needle from his left pocket. Unsurprisingly, he reached to his right and pulled out a plastic lighter. Ok, maybe he just shot up by himself down here and passed out. Or maybe he had died from an overdose and was now an entity. Trapped between worlds. Lost and invisible, but tethered by pain to the physical realm.
After climbing out of the ditch, he half-collapsed on a small patch of grass that separated it from the street. A steady stream of cars crawled across the overpass. Commuters returning home after a long day at work. Did he have a job, a family? He had no idea. He just sat there with an empty stare.
He noticed a lone man walking along the overpass carrying a brown paper bag. There was nothing particular about him, but he still caught his attention. Did he know him? Once across, he continued his path and disappeared into an adjacent street. There was definitely something about him. It was his only lead, so he decided to follow him.
Keeping a safe distance, he walked behind the paper bag man for a few blocks. His step and body language told him the man was going somewhere. This was no afternoon stroll. The man turned a corner and onto a street where five children were running around kicking a ball. As he walked past, one of the kids kicked the ball to him. He stopped and stared at them coldly, the ball by his feet. The children started asking for the ball back, hesitating to approach as the man didn’t exactly project a friendly or inviting disposition. The man tucked the paper bag beneath his armpit and slowly reached down and picked up the ball. He then produced a rusty nail from his pocket and stabbed the ball with it. The children’s cries of protest were met with an evil sneer. The man dropped the deflated carcass with the nail still stuck inside and moved on.
Following this asshole down a labyrinth of unkempt suburban streets as he kicked at cats, spat at barking dogs behind fences, and bullied children wasn’t the recently awakened man’s idea of a cure for what felt like an even blend between a hangover and death. But he could not help it. It was as if he was being pulled by a magnetic leash.
The sun was going down when the paper bag man kicked open the rusty gate of what looked like a derelict house. Rotten boards covered every single one of its windows, a pile of burnt garbage the only thing decorating the dead ground that was its front lawn. Instead of walking to the front door, the man took a path that led to the back of the house. He then ducked through a broken section of a perimeter fence and disappeared into the darkening forest beyond. Fear now started contaminating the awakened man’s resentment towards the mysterious force that compelled him to follow in his footsteps.
The path through the forest was deeply worn, but it felt abandoned. It gave the awakened man the unnerving sense of being lost in a treacherous place. Like when you walk alone at night down a dangerous street. Eyes locked three feet ahead, scared and alert. Ready to break into a sprint at even the slightest provocation. Terrified to look up and give permission to whatever threat lies beyond the veil of darkness to pounce on you. Inevitably, he stumbled on through the twilight.
Eventually, a small clearing materialized to the right of the path. In it, a small rundown brick structure stood slowly losing the battle against the elements and oblivion. Upon closer inspection, the awakened man realized it was a public restroom, probably intended for hikers and visitors. Remnants of a happier, more peaceful time when the surrounding area wasn’t such a dangerous place. A dim light was shining from somewhere inside. Like a moth toward a flame, he approached the open doorway, minding his steps to be as quiet as possible.
10 feet away from the structure, he had to cover his mouth and nose to avoid coughing as he was met with the gut-turning stench of old sewage and burnt plastic. It intensified with each step. He wanted nothing more than to turn away and leave this forsaken place. Then he heard it. A moan came from inside the bathroom. He froze, thinking it might just be his fractured mind playing more tricks on him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood when he heard it again. This time, it was followed by a harsh “Shut up!” and a loud smack that stabbed through the muffled silence of the surrounding forest.
Each encroaching, unavoidable step became increasingly painful as every fiber of the awakened man’s being wanted nothing more than to run away. Alas, he reached the doorway and peered inside.
A woman sat on the floor. Her wrists were bound to a dark metal pipe protruding from one of the walls. Her hair and face were caked in filth, but even in the dim light, he could make out the swollen bruises on her complexion. She wore a white (now mostly dark brown) button-down shirt and a checkered skirt; a school uniform. Dry blood covered her inner thighs. Tears of horror welled up in the awakened man’s eyes.
He was so shocked by the image of the tortured teenage girl that he barely noticed the paper bag man standing in the middle of the room staring at her, his back to him. He emitted a low growl before fishing the contents out of the bag: a spoon, a shoelace, a used needle, a lighter, and a small plastic bag. Disturbed and disgusted at his inability to react, he stood frozen and watched as the monster uncovered the stab-riddled arm of the girl and proceeded to inject her with whatever poison he had brought back today.
Satisfied, the monster took the gear and stashed it in his pockets before starting to unbuckle his pants. The sound of crunching glass made him stop halfway. The awakened man’s breathing stopped and he slowly lifted his foot to reveal a broken shard hidden in the darkness. The monster turned around to face him. His face, something about his face made the awakened man’s heart sink. It made him want to be swallowed by the earth and disappear. It made him want to forget and to be forgotten. Then the monster started moving towards him and it was as if something had unlocked. A switch had been flipped. Every fiber in the awakened man’s body, every synapse in his brain now fired the same order: run.
His legs carried him faster than he thought possible. Adrenaline dissolved all physical pain and provided him with so much clarity that he could make out the path in front of him in the pitch dark forest. Before long, he was back out on the dilapidated suburban streets, sprinting around corners trying to find a way out of the labyrinth. But despite his efforts to outrun it, the monster was slowly gaining on him. The magnetic pull worked both ways, it seemed.
Miraculously, he found the street where the children had been playing with a ball earlier that afternoon. He struggled to pick up the pace. His chest felt tight and his legs were starting to cramp, but he pushed on, spurred by the image of the overpass that was now only a few blocks ahead. Somehow he felt that if he made it across, he would be able to outrun his plight. That the monster would simply turn around and run back to the forest.
The overpass was only a few yards away, but each step he took depleted him twice as much as the last. His body was screaming in pain again, rekindling the agony of his awakening. The monster did not break its stride.
Despair gripped the awakened man upon reaching the overpass as he saw it stretch far away into the horizon, into infinity. He was never going to make it across. He suddenly felt naive to have even entertained the hope of escaping. Despondent, he slowed his effort almost to a crawl, then stopped and turned around to face his pursuer, recognizing his own image accelerating towards him. Relinquished to his fate, he patiently waited for the monster to crash into him. Then in a last desperate effort, he grabbed a hold of it and spun around, taking both of them over the railing and tumbling towards the cold hard concrete ditch below.
Back to writing short stories. It’s been a minute. Ever been to any abandoned houses or structures in the woods? Let me know about it in the comments. If you would like to receive weekly stories like this, please consider a subscription. As always, thanks for reading!!
