Joplin
“Please…”
---
It’s raining hard. So hard in fact, that my skin is starting to feel a burning sensation. I’ve been standing out in this abyss of grey field for hours. That apocalypse of wind 500 feet out hasn’t moved an inch. I haven’t either. My legs finally give out and let my cold, shaking body into the muddy ground. I try to look up at that tornado again. I can’t move. My skin is ripped off by an unexplainable force. Is that whirlwind finally here? My vision goes dark. Darker than it already was, out in this bland field of devastation.
“Grhhhh…” It’s…making noise?
“Urrrggggg…”
My bloodshot eyes pry open again. I struggle to sit myself up. I see that the walls of my childhood house are floating in a circle above me. Though that’s strange because I’m three states away from that dreaded house. Am I hallucinating? But it seems so real. I pass out again.
“Help...”
“Brhhh..”
Again, I awaken. The wind is still all around me. Yet, this time my bones are gone; everything is gone. All that my eyes witness is that damn tornado, now miles away. It’s grown. A lot. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was now classified as the biggest one yet. I close my eyes.
Now I’m in what looks like was a city. Tons and tons of debris surrounds me. I see people in the air. Their dark figures seem to have wings. Messed-up wings, made out of their own skin. The butterfly people. Everything goes silent and dark again.
I gain consciousness once more. I’m lying in the bed that I had as a young child. Everything in here is exactly the way it was arranged eight years ago. I look out the window and see those butterfly people again, but this time I can see the terrified looks in their eyes. One eye looks familiar, almost like my own. I realize that the body of that bloody butterfly is my own…
---
My ears fill with soft jazz and the hum of an air conditioner.
“Good morning, Mrs. Johnson,” a young lady says to me. “Here’s some water and your morning medication.” She hands me a glass of water and a cup of three different colored pills.
I look around, unsure of where I am. I could’ve sworn I was just visiting my old house. Everyone here is old. Is this a nursing home? My mouth hangs agape as I try to vocalize my thoughts. Nothing comes out.
“Don’t try to speak. You have permanent damage to your vocal cords,” that lady calmly speaks. She hands me a pad of paper and a pen. “If you have something to say, just write it down.”
My hands shake. I realize that they look like my grandmother’s. My fingers grip the soft pen and write, “can't breathe”.
---
I had a laryngospasm, at least that’s what the doctors had said, and I don’t even know what that means.
Actually, it’s strange being here. The doctors seem to love having me here. It’s like I’m more important than everyone else. They seem…excited.
A man comes into my room; he doesn’t look excited like the doctors did. He wears a mask of misery with the cane in his right hand. His face distorts as he gets closer to my bed. Talking in a rough, whiskey-like voice, he says, “You’re dead.”
I’m… dead? Who is this man?
His face seems to melt away as I slip into another phase of unconsciousness… forever.
Your story was a really fun read! I loved how naturally everything flowed, and I never had trouble imagining the settings or the characters. The way you describe each moment makes every scene stand out so clearly. It has such a cinematic feel that I could picture every part of it while reading. Keep up the fantastic work. I can't wait to see what you write next!