My Feet Touch the Sky

[rasuloman]

My Feet Touch the Sky

 

The world seemed upside down. In the remains of his confused and shattered mind, he knew this was wrong, but somehow it felt right. He hovered above the ground, effortlessly flapping his wings. Were human beings supposed to have wings? Maybe I died and became an angel? He certainly didn't feel like one. He always wanted to fly when he was a kid, though. His wish has finally come true. That was something. It was important. Important was something. THE SOMETHING. He had trouble focusing. When he tried to think about his past, it was like the something didn't want him to think these thoughts, the something that didn't want him to have any past, any future... The something that wanted to swallow him in an eternal, horrible now. He struggled to keep thinking. I think, therefore I am. Yet it seemed so easy to stop thinking and just act, simply live for the moment. It seemed so desirable to give in to that deep voice in the back of his mind that tried to shout down his small i am with a loud, obnoxious I AM. Think, you gotta think, man. Thinking with your thinker, that's what separates us from the animals, my daddy always used to say. The mindless silence inside of him seemed to imply, YOU DON'T HAVE YOUR DADDY ANYMORE, I AM IS YOUR DADDY NOW. The voice tried to sound soothing. Why did it send shivers up his spine? Or was it down? He didn't care anymore.

 

He was missing something important. If only he could remember it, this it would explain everything. Or at least it would explain something. Maybe he somehow lost his memory, like in one of those movies. No, his memory was right there in his mind behind the closed doors. The something has closed the doors and didn't want to let him in. What was his name? It was something something. What was the deal with all the somethings? Has he died? He didn't remember that he died. Or was it presumptuous of him to think that he would remember something like his death? Was this hell? Don't look for hell outside, it's within you, the something whispered in his ear. It's trying to scare me, he thought. But if I'm really dead, then why would I be scared of anything? Somehow this thought comforted him, as if there was really some logical link between being dead and being scared.

 

He looked around him and all he could see was strange, alien growth. And the ruins of the town he spent his childhood in. Or was it a different town? And what were these strange creatures that seemed to avoid him? Why were these birds flying on the ground? Something seemed wrong. Terribly wrong. The something was terribly, horribly wrong. But a stronger urge seized control of his thoughts. Are they edible? Only now he noticed that he was hungry. He took one of the birds and bit its head off. Tastes like chicken marinated in detergent. Instead of satiating him, the bird flesh just increased the pangs of hunger. Look, there's a dead cow nearby. He hovered to the carcass and started feasting. A regular McDonalds, if only I had fries too, he chuckled to himself. His chortling sounded more like buzzing. What would his mom think if she saw him like this, this wasn't sanitary. Sorry Mom, if you were as hungry as I am you would eat it too.

 

Suddenly, something interrupted his breakfast. The sound of gunfire was getting closer. Some bullets flew over his feet. He flew behind the corner of a building as fast as his wings could carry him, which wasn't very fast after the meal he just had. What was happening? His thoughts were again interrupted by something that ran into him. A soldier? Malcolm?! Now he remembered! Malcolm, I'm so glad to see you! I got separated from the squad, I remember being hit... While raising the shotgun, all Malcolm could hear were grunts and threatening buzzes. How can you do this to your best friend, after all we've been through, he thought, while his military instincts compelled him to defend himself. Or was the something taking over? With a superhuman effort and quickness he didn't think he had in him, he flew into the air until his head was in the same level as Malcolm's. Then an instant later his teeth bit into the face of his best friend. The lifeless body hit the ground. What was that look on his face? He looked at the now bloody face annoyed that he couldn't study the expression, because it was an interesting one. Disgust and surprise merged into one by the suddenness of recognition. Why would he be surprised? Didn't he save my life once? For that he felt grateful, but the something tried to suppress the emotion. With an effort, he tried to remember more. I remember my name! Brian. But why does even my name seem so ages ago?

 

No time for reminiscing, the something whispered urgently. The shouts, sound of running boots. He reached for the weapon that was lying on the ground. The cold steel felt good to the touch. He picked it up. The battle was over quickly. Carcasses of his comrades were lying on the ground, while he hovered above them like an apparition. At least I'll have enough to eat for the next few days. How can you think such horrible thoughts, they were your friends, he buzzed loudly at himself, trying to outbuzz the something. The something menacingly buzzed back, while his mind fogged over. While it tried, even the something couldn't prevent the inexplicable sadness that slowly crept into his tortured soul.