[921] Thirst

Because of the short length, I have just included the entire story here. Fairly new to writing. I see a lot of issues with this so feedback for future writing is greatly appreciated.

[1095]

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I watch the pancake mix bubble in the pan. I slide the black plastic spatula underneath and flip. The grey kitchen tile is cool on my feet and I hear rain patter against the windows. I take the clear plastic pitcher off the counter and pour another glass of water. The glass is empty again in seconds as I gulp down the water. I scratch at my neck. What started as warmth this morning is now a red hot burn in my throat. My tongue runs over the cracked insides of my cheeks and parched gums.

The smell of burning batter brings me back to the moment. My dry eyes grind against glass as I look at the pan. I switch off the heat and toss the entire pan into the trash. Why did I throw that out? I saunter into the living room and slump into the couch. I flick through what’s new on Netflix and settle on some documentary about rare viruses.

I stand up. I sit down. I lick my lips and feel the fissures. Blood seeps from them down onto my chin. It’s 10:30 am. I’m late for work. I pull stained work jeans over my shorts and change into a worn graphic tee with some type of triangle and color splash on it. My feet slide into heavy steel toe boots and slowly lace them. Across and back. Through the holes.

A woman steps into the room. “Brian? Where are you going?” She’s in a robe and slippers. A lazy yawn escapes her mouth.

“I’m late.” Where am I going? Right. “For work.”

“It’s Saturday. Are you alright? Come back to bed, let’s lay down for a minute, okay?”

She has something in her hand. A bottle. She has my water. That’s why I’m confused. I stomp towards her and place my hands flat against her shoulders. Fear dances over her eyes. With a burst of anger, I push. She slams into the wall behind her with a shocked expression. In her terror she dropped the bottle and it rolls to me. I unscrew the cap and desperately place my lips around the opening. Cool water flows down my throat, and for a moment clarity is restored to me. Reality slaps into me and I see tears drip down my wife’s face as she slouches against the wall and stares at me. In this temporary reprieve, I plead to her. “Get help.”

Sanity drains from me in staggering jolts. For a moment, I am between the lines. The thirst yanks at me as if pulling marionette strings, but the recognition of my wife, my home, gives me power to stay calm. And then, I tip over the cliff and rush towards the pit of delusion. I slam into nothingness and fall through the other side, once again a shell.

The woman runs through an open door and bangs it shut. I turn the knob but the door must be locked. I move into the kitchen. Muddy thinking and memory loss are swapped with wrath. Agitation boils over. I stalk the kitchen for objects deserving of rage. First, the dishes. Plates shatter against the walls and patterned ceramic slivers decorate the floor. Wine glasses smash and their stems roll across the tile. I bend into the sink and look directly into the faucet. I reach for the handle and lift up. Water pours over my face, into my eyes, nose, and mouth. Only the slightest relief teases me before yielding to pain and madness. With dripping hair and a drenched shirt collar, I run to the front door and out of the house.

A bright morning sun confronts me outside, mocking my shriveled skin. I stumble down the sidewalk as neighbors cannot peel their eyes from me. Blue, red. Blue, red. Lights in front of me, heading towards me, right at me. I zip off to the side between two houses and through the backyards. Dogs bark and voices yell for me. Woods marking the end of the property lines grow before me and soon I’m guarded by trees and vegetation. Voices echo behind me, but quiet as I continue into the woods. A familiar trail appears before me, this section a recognizable turn up the hillside. This is a favorite spot of ours. Convenient, but not too crowded or loud. For a second, control shifts to me, before the crazed, desperate demon rips it away. Cutting across the trail, and through another, and another, two things drive me: fear and thirst. Around another tree, over the hillside, the slope flattens out and a clearing opens before me. Benches packed with couples and families border a tranquil pond. A family of ducks float past smiling children, and leaves float down to the surface.

Water. Salvation. In a trancelike dance, my limbs contort forward as my trapped consciousness resists.

“Sir, are you alright?”

“What are you doing?”

“Get out of the pond, dumbass!”

Submerged up to my knees, now waist, now chest, the water soothes my burning skin. I plunge forward into the center of the pond, but the depth wouldn’t matter anyway. A primal urge wrenches my jaw open and I breathe deeply. Water surges into my nose and mouth, filling my lungs. Hands grip me and pull upwards but I fight against them, clawing my way back down. The desire to live is overshadowed by a more intense impulse. Another deep breath. Another. Soon, a body floats to the surface. My thirst is quenched.