As the mud starts to surround me I am no longer able to breathe. I
catch my last gasp of air and feel a few last raindrops fall on my head. I say
goodbye to my Earth and my land. My mouth and lungs fill with mud that travels
throughout my system. I am blinded by the wet black soil that has been
downpoured on so hard that it has become deadly. I am frightened. Slowly inch
by inch I sink farther and deeper in the mud. My life will come to an end soon,
and I, the last remaining creature of my kind, will become extinct. I struggle
and fight to survive, but the downcoming mud has to great of a force. I feel
the mud take the place of my heart, and I die. I feel dazed and confused. I
always thought I would die of starvation, not from actually trying to catch my
prey.
For thousands of years I have lived underground. I have become a
petrified fossil. All the flesh and skin has either rotted away, or was eaten
by bugs and other things underground. All that remains of me are my bones. I
became petrified, because when I was burried under the ground all those years
the groundwater dissolved all my bones. They were then replaced, a molecule at
a time, by the minerals in the water. This long process involved all these
tingly sensations. I felt odd for the longest time, but now I'm a new me!
About 900 years ago I received company from someone up above. His name
is Mr. Wolly Mammoth. Wolly died because of a volcanic eruption, and was
trapped in the burning lava. He's my best buddy and I was so glad he decided to
come join me. We always talk about what we think goes on above us. Sometimes
the Earth rumbles in a strange vibration. Wolly and I call these vibrations
Earth shakes.
100,000 years later and my friend Wolly has left me. He was dug up and
carried away by these "humans." I guess this is what these creatures are called.
I've heard echoes in the ground from younger fossils that the "humans" killed
them and buried them. One night me and Wolly were talking about these humans
coming a digging us up one day and putting us in their museums.
“I shall never forget the awful climb on hands and feet out of that hole that was about five feet deep with greasy clay and blood (although I did not know then that it was blood).
... and out of my lungs as I breath, the thunderous beating in my ears is starting to resend. I look around and realize that I have fallen less than halfway to the ground. I am a live, but my job isn't done yet. I pulled my feet together and make two perfect bounds to the ground below.
“The only way I can feel the least bit important is to think of all the mud that didn’t get to sit up and look around”
out. They were made to dig huge graves. And when they had finished their work,
Shaking my head, I looked around. There was nothing but mud. Well, I’m bored now. What do I do? Do I wait here, or...
Proximity to death is more than a reoccurring theme in “Greasy Lake”. Mortality is almost synonymous with growing up and the inevitable change from adolescence to adulthood. The older people get and the more life people have, the closer death is to everyone. After each incident, the narrator grows and finds himself one step closer to demise, barely able to escape from the vise of
things about my journey, mentally, physically, and emotionally, was that I wasn’t sure when or
My sweat soaked shirt was clinging to my throbbing sunburn, and the salty droplets scalded my tender skin. “I need this water,” I reminded myself when my head started to fill with terrifying thoughts of me passing out on this ledge. I had never been so relieved to see this glistening, blissful water. As inviting as the water looked, the heat wasn't the only thing making my head spin anymore. Not only was the drop a horrifying thought, but I could see the rocks through the surface of the water and couldn't push aside the repeating notion of my body bouncing off them when I hit the bottom. I needed to make the decision to jump, and fast. Standing at the top of the cliff, it was as if I could reach out and poke the searing sun. Sweat dripped from my forehead, down my nose, and on its way to my dry, cracked lips which I licked to find a salty droplet. My shirt, soaked with perspiration, was now on the ground as I debated my
Life is a journey, a cycle. We start somewhere and end somewhere, we are on a round trip. We experience different seasons and grow both physically and mentally. But some point in life all of us realize that we want last, live forever. From a very early age on we are being told that we all one day will pass away and be buried in the ground. The short story:”A Journey”, written by Colm Tóibin, takes us on a journey together with a young boy called David and his mother Mary.
Like something out of a movie, a wall of molasses was rushing towards us at something like 35 miles per hour. At, at least 25 feet tall and coming right for us, we panicked and turned to flee in our car. I looked behind us and saw a horrific sight. Buildings were being swept off their foundations and men, women, and children were stopped in their tracks and drowned in the sticky fluid. It was gaining on us, as we rushed through the town. The molasses was always gaining, always coming, and never stopping. Not a sweet way to die, I thought as we were cornered in an ally way and darkness overcame my mind.
Immediately, I angled my position and went for a dead sprint toward the water. I jumped off the cliff. I never felt anything like it; the trajectory had me flying through the air for longer than I expected. A surge of adrenaline pulsed through my body, bringing a new sense of life to me. The scorching heat went away as gravity pulled my body toward the water, bringing me a pleasant breeze through my fall. Then, I finally hit the water. I didn’t stick a solid landing, as I went head first into the water. I panicked and opened my eyes under the murky water, only to see nothing but dirt and sediments float around me. I kept sinking and saw a monstrous fish swim right in front of my face. At that very moment, my body went into overdrive, and I managed to project myself back up to the surface.
... with other humans that are now buried in the yard of a gone place.
...we found the bodies, yet the crashing blue-green water spins me into a reality that is worlds away from the sight of stiff men. I'm not sure if this is healing or forgetfulness; all I can be certain of is the bite of the water on my skin and the dropping sun. I stare at my hand under the surface of the water, fascinated by how far away it looks and by the deep blue color of my fingernails. That hand isn't a part of my body, how can it be, it is deep in the water, opening and closing experimentally as water crashes on top of it. I want to leave it there, forever feeling the numbing water, forever fighting the currents that would wash it out to the Pacific Ocean. But then my arm moves, lifts my hand, and I realize it is mine, as are my legs and toes and wet matted hair. And the water keeps falling, pounding, rushing and I just stand there, staring, watching, waiting.
In life there are many roads we walked down. I have seen them all, been there done that. Yet, I continue to walk down the same road day after day, to find myself falling short and falling in hole I can barely, and scarcely crawl out of. Until one day I fell in a hole so dark and so deep that I, myself, could not get out. I sat in this hole for what seemed like years, alone, cold, and afraid. And that's
I am like a timer with only half of its sand left. And it’s absolutely terrifying.