A Nice Trip

A Nice Trip

Running
With each step, I pushed myself harder, desperate to outrun them. Them. I didn't know what else to call the horrors that pursued me. Relentless and mindless creatures, their humanity long stripped away. The turning had taken everything from them. Everything but the instinct to survive. But I was still faster. Faster than Mr. Right or little Davey. Was I proud of that? Morally reprehensible? I was still alive to debate it; they weren't.
But fate had a wicked sense of humor, and my constant glances over my shoulder became the punch line.
I tripped, stumbled forward, my body careening toward the ground. Time slowed, the massive trunk of the dark tree--stained with blood, its bark broken like my world--swiveled by as my eyes searched for solid footing. The sidewalk, cracked and uneven, had been my undoing. Pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out the eerie silence that enveloped the ruined neighborhood. Quick, short steps--yes, yes, yes. No. The tip of my worn sneakers stubbed.
Agony shot through my knees. "Get up!" I urged myself, but it was too late. I could hear their haunting, rasping breaths growing closer. Shoes stepped into my downcast, wide eyes.
"Nice shoes," I laughed, hearing my voice for the first time in... I didn't know.
"Are you alright?" Another voice that wasn't a scream or threat. Calm; normal.
"What?" I dared to look up.
It was a man, impeccably dressed in a suit, staring as unbelieving as I must have been.
Confused, speechless, my mouth hanging slack, I rose; no pain? Absently brushing off the dirt, looking past the questioning man at the once-familiar neighborhood. Familiar again. Manicured lawns, sprinklers hissing, a shiny car gliding effortlessly down the pristine street.
"How?"
The man began to speak, thought better of it, opting for a nod and a quick exit, leaving me in disbelief and awe.
My mind spun with uncertainty. Was I dead? Was this some strange afterlife? I drew a deep breath, closed my eyes, something I rarely do, and allowed myself a moment to be. Letting go, relaxing. Taking in the smells, sounds.
The air, devoid of death and decay, instead laced with honeysuckle and fresh-cut grass. An echo of a radio from a nearby home, the simple chirping of birds. Further away, the hum of traffic along MLK Drive. MLK Drive, a road I knew well. The daily commute. The grind. Concepts I'd given up on.
I hugged myself so tightly I couldn't breathe. Eyes equally tight, afraid to open them. Afraid of what I might see. Had I finally broken?
"No," I shouted, gasping for air, forcing my eyes open. The world remained, steadfast and tangible. "Yes!" I screamed, jubilation spilling forth as I skipped and danced across the lawn and into the sprinkler. Laughter erupted as the cool water enveloped me, clothes drenched, shoes abandoned. The soft, wet blades of grass caressed my calloused, weary feet. It was a moment of liberation.
But jubilation turned to confrontation. "Get out of here, you lunatic!" An older lady in curlers had appeared, holding her screen door in front of her like a shield. "I'm calling the police, you hear? Now go!"
"The police!" I shouted back, a wild grin spreading across my face. "How wonderful!" I left, barefoot and carefree, my steps imprinted on the warm pavement. Ordinary existence, once taken for granted, now shimmered with significance.
My stomach growled, reminding me of the harshness of my former life. I'd long given up on ever tasting a real hotdog or hamburger again. Instinctively, I reached into my pocket, discovering only dirt and dried meat, whose origin I dared not ponder. "Maybe a salad," I chuckled, relishing the absurdity of my newfound choices.
Homeward-bound, I paused, realizing that the notion of "home" had transformed. After the world's end, I upgraded from my modest studio apartment above Mr. Right's garage to what I had first thought was my dream home. Massive, with five bedrooms and three baths. A media room, swimming pool, more stuff I forget now. What I found was anything but. In a very short time, there was no running water or electricity. The once grand home had become just a shelter. Lonely.
Shivering, I missed my small place. It had been warm, inviting, mine.
It was mine again, I realized.
I had an absurd thought. Would I find myself home? What time was it anyway? Time. Once reduced to night and day, it became quantitative. Had meaning. Normal. I reached for my key--of course, it wasn't there. How quickly I was returning to post-apocalyptic thinking. Much faster than the reverse. No need to break windows or doors anymore; the hidden spare was in the false rock by my begonias.
Seeing Mr. Right's huge F350 hanging over the driveway, almost into the street, I knew I was home. The last time here, it'd been engulfed in flames, screaming all around me. People running.
I ran. Heart pounding in my chest, I tripped. Falling, I saw the massive root, like a gnarled serpent. It had slithered beneath the concrete, cracking the pathway. Pushing up till it caught me. Fate.
Someone was there. Raspy, standing over me.
"N-nice shoes," I chuckled. "You get them from the man a few streets over?" The chuckle erupted into a laugh. Unable to stop, I kept laughing till my guts, falling out of me, hurt too much.