Who did this to me? Every part of my body feels beat up; I’m trapped inside a roll of barbed wire. The inside of me fell apart somehow and I must have bounced back the wrong way. There are holes everywhere—in my bones, my muscles, my stomach, and most annoyingly, my brain.
I can feel them—the holes in my brain. Something is eating me from the inside. Nobody seems to know what to do. “Say your goodbyes,” the white-coats say. Their glossy eyes stare at me. They can’t see the holes. If they did would they know how to fill them again?
Who is responsible for this? Who wanted me dead? Why do I feel so alone? Why do I feel so cold? The people around me are strangers. No wait … I know her, the child next to me is mine. But she looks so old.
The sun is going down. Will they help or just talk? I don’t understand what they’re saying if they’re saying anything at all. Their words are gibberish, falling through the holes.
My mind won’t sleep and if I could twist and turn I would. I need to get up but the holes in my bones won’t let me stand. Without the sun I can’t see. If they only knew, they would bring the light to me. Maybe they have holes in their brains.
I’m walking. I don’t know how I’m walking. Someone tied a rope around me but I can’t see who or what I’m tied to. But I can see the portal now. Every time I walk toward the light they pull me back. What are they doing? Maybe they know better. There’s a darkness coming through the portal, and shadows—shifting shadows that don’t need a light to cast. They slither, growing larger till they fill up a hole.
Pray. I remember how to pray. From somewhere around the holes in my brain is a prayer. “Lord, what do I do?”
I see trees, or maybe they’re people holding willowy branches. Everything is moving so fast that I can’t tell between the trees and the people or the shadows they cast. It’s hard to breathe here in the forest. The mist clutches my throat. I take a step and tumble into a river. It’s cold. I’m always cold. I hear the gurgling of the water. No, it’s my own lungs. Am I drowning?
Someone is pulling the rope. I’m back on a bed—prison. Her white coat is stained with blood. Did she go through the portal to get me?
“Take a deep breath,” someone says. “You’ll feel better.”
My arms are stiff. Fluids are pumped into the holes of my veins. The mist, the water, the shadows, the trees, and the people fall through the holes of my brain till darkness swallows us into the void.
(Holes, copyright 2018, by Deborah L. Alten)
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