sat and waited, hoping my mind had being playing a
trick on me. Maybe it had been the start of a dream never finished. Looking
around, everything was still in the house. The lights were off, with the living
room illuminated only by the glow of the television on a late night
infomercial. Sally had picked up my plate from earlier, and had more than
likely muted the TV before leaving. I was still wiping the sleep from my eyes
when I heard it again. This time there was no imagining anything. I had heard
that gut-wrenching scream before. It was a sound I had never wanted to hear
again.
As
soon as it started up, it seemed to be choked off in the middle, as though
someone had been holding their hand over his mouth to stop him. He was silent
again. I couldn’t even hear the clock ticking over my rapid heartbeat pounding
in my ears. Something was wrong, and I was having a hard time just getting up
to go see. Part of it was terror that I would go down there and wouldn’t be
able to do anything but watch. The other part was a dread that I was too late,
and didn’t want to go down and find Job’s body lying there, lifeless.
Again
there was the howl of pain, this one lasting longer than the others before
being cut off. I pulled myself up, my legs feeling like dead weights as I
desperately tried to move. It felt like I was moving in slow motion, no matter
how much effort I put into getting through the kitchen and down the stairs. I
had no idea what to expect when I entered his room.
Before
getting to the final step, I could see the pillows that had been kicked to the ground.
One had come to a rest at the foot of the stairs. I half expected to see that
he had tried to get up and leave on his own, a feat I knew would be nearly
impossible without major consequences. Reaching the bottom, I stared in wonder.
What
I was witnessing almost couldn’t be described. I had never seen anything like
it. He was still on the bed, but only partially. The sheet had been bunched up
and tossed to the side, only covering part of his good leg. Where his other leg
was supposed to be, there was only the splint. It was still fully formed, as if
encasing his leg and ankle like before, but where his foot should have been,
there was only the shape of it, made entirely of swirling sand the same color
as his skin. It traveled up his leg, above the splint, then reformed to skin
across his knee and thigh. The left side of his torso was intact, fading out to
more of the moving sand where the right side should have been. The only thing
left was the bandage and tape that had been covering the deep stitches in his
side. It was saturated in red, and may have been a sign that the stitches had
come apart due to the stress it was under. The shift climbed up his side and
into his shoulder, leaving only his arm. Even his hand had shifted, and was the
churning outline of a fist. Most of his face and neck had transformed, with only
the right eye, which was closed, unaffected.
There
was no sound coming from the gaping mouth of particles. Almost every injury had
shifted, creating the shape of his body, but almost translucent. I could see
the sheet underneath his head through his altered face. I watched as the
swirling suddenly started to take form again, becoming whole. As it reached his
mouth, the ear-shattering cry picked up where it had left off. Every vein in
his arms and neck bulged against the pain, and his entire body glistened with
beads of sweat.
He
didn’t even know I was down there, too consumed with his own problems. I wasn’t
sure if the shifts were causing the pain, or if the pain was causing the
shifts. Either way, it wasn’t stopping on its own, and I had no idea how long
he could keep this up. The cell phone was still lying on the floor where I had
set it the afternoon before. I considered calling Sally, to see if she had any
suggestions on how to stop what was going on. I had a feeling she would be just
as puzzled as I was. I had to do something, and
trick on me. Maybe it had been the start of a dream never finished. Looking
around, everything was still in the house. The lights were off, with the living
room illuminated only by the glow of the television on a late night
infomercial. Sally had picked up my plate from earlier, and had more than
likely muted the TV before leaving. I was still wiping the sleep from my eyes
when I heard it again. This time there was no imagining anything. I had heard
that gut-wrenching scream before. It was a sound I had never wanted to hear
again.
As
soon as it started up, it seemed to be choked off in the middle, as though
someone had been holding their hand over his mouth to stop him. He was silent
again. I couldn’t even hear the clock ticking over my rapid heartbeat pounding
in my ears. Something was wrong, and I was having a hard time just getting up
to go see. Part of it was terror that I would go down there and wouldn’t be
able to do anything but watch. The other part was a dread that I was too late,
and didn’t want to go down and find Job’s body lying there, lifeless.
Again
there was the howl of pain, this one lasting longer than the others before
being cut off. I pulled myself up, my legs feeling like dead weights as I
desperately tried to move. It felt like I was moving in slow motion, no matter
how much effort I put into getting through the kitchen and down the stairs. I
had no idea what to expect when I entered his room.
Before
getting to the final step, I could see the pillows that had been kicked to the ground.
One had come to a rest at the foot of the stairs. I half expected to see that
he had tried to get up and leave on his own, a feat I knew would be nearly
impossible without major consequences. Reaching the bottom, I stared in wonder.
What
I was witnessing almost couldn’t be described. I had never seen anything like
it. He was still on the bed, but only partially. The sheet had been bunched up
and tossed to the side, only covering part of his good leg. Where his other leg
was supposed to be, there was only the splint. It was still fully formed, as if
encasing his leg and ankle like before, but where his foot should have been,
there was only the shape of it, made entirely of swirling sand the same color
as his skin. It traveled up his leg, above the splint, then reformed to skin
across his knee and thigh. The left side of his torso was intact, fading out to
more of the moving sand where the right side should have been. The only thing
left was the bandage and tape that had been covering the deep stitches in his
side. It was saturated in red, and may have been a sign that the stitches had
come apart due to the stress it was under. The shift climbed up his side and
into his shoulder, leaving only his arm. Even his hand had shifted, and was the
churning outline of a fist. Most of his face and neck had transformed, with only
the right eye, which was closed, unaffected.
There
was no sound coming from the gaping mouth of particles. Almost every injury had
shifted, creating the shape of his body, but almost translucent. I could see
the sheet underneath his head through his altered face. I watched as the
swirling suddenly started to take form again, becoming whole. As it reached his
mouth, the ear-shattering cry picked up where it had left off. Every vein in
his arms and neck bulged against the pain, and his entire body glistened with
beads of sweat.
He
didn’t even know I was down there, too consumed with his own problems. I wasn’t
sure if the shifts were causing the pain, or if the pain was causing the
shifts. Either way, it wasn’t stopping on its own, and I had no idea how long
he could keep this up. The cell phone was still lying on the floor where I had
set it the afternoon before. I considered calling Sally, to see if she had any
suggestions on how to stop what was going on. I had a feeling she would be just
as puzzled as I was. I had to do something, and
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