The Meat Grinder

Two days after starting his freshman year of college, Kevin fell off a cliff and died.
The day he fell, the wind blew with strength. It flew between leaves, in and out of trees, swirled around branches. The Aspens were loudest, rustling on, their resonance was relient only on the wind. That day, the wind never faltered. No, it was particularly strong, and that is where Kevin found himself, and then subsequently lost himself. In the unceasing cadence of the forest.
The rustling was wild whispering; the trees a group of gay schoolgirls with hushed voices. Not only excitement brewed in their murmuring, for there was also a promise. It was the Aspens who rustled this way, in such an alluring fashion. They promised adventure to all that entered into their outstretched branches. They promised romance and freedom, the chance to experience something exciting and new. And they didn’t lie, for the trees delivered on all of their promises. But they did not mention, did not hint at, the other things to come, for in that is where their deceit lied. They didn’t suggest pain, but the forest held much. No indication of grief, but that was in store. No sign of unpleasantness, it was awaiting all. The Aspens though, they worried not about their deceptive message. These deceptive trees did not warn against the misery that was in store. With intense quiet murmuring, the trees were eager to view their victims for the day, those they fooled so successfully.
Kevin woke up that day at dawn. Not among the trees (for at this time he was safe and living), but in his dorm. It was then that that the end began, unknown to him. He rolled over on his side; he played with his lover’s hair; he gently woke him up. Brent’s eyelids slowly opened, his mouth widening into a grin. They gazed into each other’s eyes, absolutely enamored. It was then that, in his mind, Kevin had a great idea: asking Brent to go on a hike with him. And Brent brought up no opposition.
They geared up and set out on their walk in the forest almost immediately. Kevin’s shirt that day was one of Brent’s favorites. Its deep blue color radiated off of his defined torso. An inscription read I dig slow jams. Above it danced a sloth wearing wide rim glasses and a red scarf. He smiled at whoever’s eyes fell on him. The sloth had no judgement in its his heart, just the love of music. At that moment it was Brent who fell under his benevolent eye. Brent thought the shirt made Kevin look cute.
Mount Jackson wasn’t far from their dorm. It was the first hikeable mountain that showed up in Kevin’s search results, and they arrived at the base within 20 minutes. Kevin walked up to a sign and gestured towards a trail entitled the MEAT GRINDER, suggesting they hike it. It would be something to challenge the two of them, or at least sounded like it would be, he told Brent. Brent however wasn’t sure he could hike very far at all, let alone on a trail with such an ominous name. He thought they should hike a different trail, something with a name like Flower Meadow or Quiet Brook. A trial in which they could truly enjoy each other’s company while hiking. A passionate argument ensued, with good points on both sides. Kevin won the discourse in the end, an enormous amount of prodding and begging aiding him in his argument, and so the two started up the Meat Grinder trail at once. dude this is so beautiful

The giddy trees continued to whisper away. If anything, they became louder.

The MEAT GRINDER wasn’t named only for aesthetics. The title refers to a particular part of the trail, a part that many seasoned hikers have trouble navigating. At one point in the hike, two rocks grow from the ground on either side of the path. They close the hiker in, giving them the choice of advancement or retreatment. If the hiker at this point decides to continue on, the rocks get closer together. The hiker presses against both sides of the trail, slowly inching out of the confined environment of rock and to the more open section of the trail.
While the first portion of the MEAT GRINDER is reliant on fitting through a tight space, the second is all about staying away from an open one. Once one squeezes through, the path sharply turns to the left. It remains narrow, about a foot wide. Directly left, the wall of rock continues on, rising into the clouds. Directly right however, the ground suddenly drops off, 100 feet to the bottom. Most hikers agree the view from this area is really quite breathtaking. The beauty doesn’t diminish the danger however, as many have almost fallen off on the path. If the trail was more popular, dozens would have already.
The trail architects knew about the dangers inherent on the path they chose to carve. These people were not dumb. They were kind enough to install a rope on the left wall, something to hang on to. It was the reason all of those people that almost fell off in the past didn’t. The rope’s installation date was the same as the trail’s, 1947.
Kevin and Brent hiked the lower portion of the trail in bliss and ignorance of what was to come. They talked on and on about their lives. They picked flowers, giving each other the most beautiful they could find. They sang together in perfect tone-deaf harmony. They stopped at one point to make out passionately in a meadow, under the sun and clouds and blue sky.

They listened to the beauty of rustling leaves.

When the two young lovers arrived at the MEAT GRINDER portion of the MEAT GRINDER, their gayety was interrupted by quarrelling, for a heated conversation erupted between the two. Brent was tired. He wasn’t a particularly athletic fellow to begin with, and thought his efforts that day were perhaps even noble. It was with this content soul and exhausted physique that Brent tried to convince Kevin to descend the mountain. Brent’s argument was that they had had really a nice time, but the day’s adventure needed to end. Kevin’s spirit thrived with adventure. He told Brent that since they had come as far as the Meat Grinder, they may as well go through it. To go down at this point would be criminal, he explained.
Their conversation was entirely reminiscent of the one that they had on the original assent. Just as before, both had good points they felt strongly about. And still keeping with their first discussion, Brent was resistant, but gave in to what Kevin wanted. Kevin always was more persuasive.
Kevin led the way, bursting through space, the rocks pressing in on him. Brent slowly followed. He was uncomfortable to say the least. Kevin yelled at him to hurry up. Brent just stared ahead. He gazed at the back of Kevin’s head and smiled. There was boundless joy in his expression, as if all of the world could fade away, if only he continued to look upon the man of his affections. Brent stopped walking. He stayed stationary, staring ahead, perfectly content.

He listened to the sound of the wind, running through aspens.

Kevin looked back and smiled at Brent, a smile that encapsulated the entirety of their love. Kevin took a step back. Kevin’s smile disappeared. As did the rest of him.
There was no scream. There was no sound, not at first. There was only a dull squish, like water squeezed out of a sponge.
Brent grinded through the rocks. He reached the edge of MEAT GRINDER portion one. Brent grabbed the rope for support. He peered over. Way down at the bottom of the cliff laid Kevin. Kevin had landed head first, his body leaked upon the rock which cushioned his fall. It was twitching at random intervals, a final horrific shudder.
A scream rang through the mountains. It was a scream that rang with desperation. It was the scream of the hopeless, a scream of pure misery.
The first scream was closely followed by a second, one that differed in every way possible. Instead of desperation, there was fear. Instead of hopelessness, there was action. Instead of pure misery, there was pure hopelessness.
The rope had snapped. Earlier that month, the Parks and Recreation department of Boulder, Colorado, had held a discussion about that very trail. They considered closing it down, replacing the rope, putting in a railing. The department did none of those things. When questioned about the decision, they responded by blaming the funds available. And so Brent held onto the rope for dear life, while he plummeted off the side of the mountain.
Brent fell for almost an eternity. The wind rushed around him and against him, trying to push him away from the ground, to prevent the inevitable impact. The wind failed in its endeavour.
Brent hit the ground with a snapping noise, feet first. Both legs shot with pain. Unbearable, intense pain. He clutched his legs. Brent whimpered. He bent over and shuddered with pain. Brent then noticed his hands. They were a deep crimson, engulfed in the color. Bren’s eyes drifted down to the spot in which he had landed. It was a sloth that met his gaze, and quite a hip one at that. I dig slow jams. Brent collapsed in a river of tears, flowing off of the hipster sloth’s visage, tainted red. The sloth didn’t mind, He smiled as he always did, at everyone and everything. Brent, the color red, the crimson sky, the sharply steep cliff, the whispering trees.
Brent regained his composure with a tired, sad scowl. He searched the lining of his pocket. At first not feeling it, his hand finally felt a rectangular block of silicone and metal. Brent pulled it out. The phone had a case on it with bunny ears sticking off the top. The bunny was smiling, cheery and just excited to be part of the world. The bunny was pink, but didn’t mind that one bit.
Brent tried to call for help on the rabbit. He received no signal. The bunny was still indifferently cheerful.
A blue light flashed out of Kevin’s pocket, beneath the sloth, shining through his now maroon colored pants. Brent stared down at it. A pitiful whimper escaped his lips. Brent reached under him to Kevin’s pocket. His weight shifted once more. Brent screamed in pain. His hand wrapped around a purely metal and glass rectangle. With a final gasp of misery, Brent pulled the phone out. Kevin didn’t have a case, he had never believed in the necessity of them. The screen was a spiderweb of glass.
Brent entered the three numbers every child knows. After a few chimes, a woman answered. Brent explained the situation between sobs and gasps for air. The dispatcher dispatched a helicopter to Brent’s location. Brent waited, filling the time with tears.
A helicopter flew over Brent’s slouched body. It retrieved the two lovers, delivering them inside itself. Brent watched his body get placed in a stretcher. Brent watched his love get placed in a bodybag. He watched most of his love get placed there anyway. What was salvageable.
Back at the hospital, Brent cried himself to sleep. He refused to talk at first. The doctors used his I.D. to reach his parents. Kevin’s parents also were called, to identify what was left of the body. It was a hard day for all of them.
The funeral was scheduled for August 25, a week after that painful day. The family decided it would be best to announce the date on Facebook. That way everyone would see it. On Kevin’s page, they announced the funeral information along with the news of his death.
His 552 facebook friends were devastated. Within the week after the announcement, they posted kind messages on his wall. They offered the family their deepest condolences. They reached out to their friends, the ones not on facebook, and alerted them to the tragedy. When Brent shared his story, paragraphs upon paragraphs about their past, even more support rose. The entire community came together in love.
Well, the majority of the community. Tim didn’t do any of this.
Tim’s Sophomore year of high school was set to begin August 30. Kevin died on August 18th. The day he died, Tim was doing his very best to enjoy the remainder of his summer.
The day Kevin died was a hard one for Tim. Less so than for Brent of course, but the end of his summer wasn’t going as swimmingly as Tim would have liked. His best friend in the entire world (and, let’s be honest, his only friend), Kevin (yes the Kevin who died, what other Kevin would I be talking about), had already moved away. He had moved into his dorm two days before, August 15th. Tim thought he’d have to wait at least four months until he could see Kevin again.
Tim spent the day playing video games, watching movies, and reading. It was rather uneventful, borish, and slow. He sadly fantasized about the sort of wild, college adventures Kevin was going on without him. Tim wished for nothing more than to accompany him, to not get left behind.
Tim’s parents always had a very strict policy on my internet access. He wasn’t allowed to go on fourchan or reddit. They had to approve every movie he watched on Netflix before he watched it. He wasn’t allowed to tweet, tinder, instagram, snapchat.
He also wasn’t allowed to have a Facebook.
Tim was at least permitted a phone, and for the next week, he worried about Kevin not texting him back. Every funny picture that was sent, every clever witticism about Tim’s peers, every attempted conversation starter recieved no reply.
At first Tim thought that he’d probably broken his phone. It wouldn’t be the first time. Kevin was extremely adventurous and had once fallen in a river while trying to skip between boulders on the bank. The phone had gotten soaked; it couldn’t ever recover. A broken phone wouldn’t have been unprecedented.
With this thought process, Tim figured Kevin was fine and finished out his summer. He read a great deal of different books, watched all of the Harry Potter movies for the first time, and finally beat every HALO game. Tim had meant to get around to that for a while.
At the funeral, people wondered where he was. Tim and Kevin had been best friends for years, but never had Tim made an effort to associate himself with Kevin’s other friends. For he thought that they are all ghastly people, obsessed with their hair and just their faces in general. Kevin insisted they were interesting, but never could Tim understand that.
The crowd silently agreed, almost telepathically, that Tim wasn’t there due to personal stress. They all thought that the funeral was just too hard for him. After all, they knew Tim was his best friend. They couldn’t imagine another scenario in which Tim wouldn’t attend. Brent wasn’t there either (mainly in part to his need of medical attention), and he loved Kevin. The mass of Kevin’s friends and family understood Tim’s absence. Or at least thought they understood.
While Kevin himself was put into the ground, Tim too was putting people into the ground, or should I say aliens. He finished an awesome boss battle in Halo; Kevin was put to rest in the Boulder Cemetery.
August 30th came around; Tim attended school just like everyone else. Something didn’t seem right to him though. The status quo was definitely different, more morose.
People continually came up to Tim and apologized. No one said why, not at first. They would simply say “I’m sorry” and walk away. He wasn’t sure if it was a practical joke. ‘Perhaps they were all testing me,’ he thought. ‘They’re all laughing at me while I wander around confused.’
In first period English, Tim finally came to understand why people were incessantly apologetic. A girl named Brook sat down next to Tim. She stared at him for a while, a deep, sorrowful look. Tim was incredibly uncomfortable.
“You need me help you Brook?”
She made a little pouting noise.
“Are you okay Tim? I know we haven’t talked much before, but I’m really concerned about you.” She looked like she genuinely cared for Tim at that moment. Tradgey had brought forth a caring, nurturing attitude towards those who had been hurt. It was a feeling that Brook had never before experienced.
“I’m doing alright.” Tim’s eyes shifted back and forth, his expression progressively more puzzled.
“That’s good. I didn’t see you at the funeral.” She let out a sad, pitiful, forced chuckle. “I figured you were in the worst shape out of all of us.”
“I’m sorry, what funeral?”
“...Kevin’s”
“Wait, which Kevin died?”