Entanglement: A Modern Frankenstein | Creation

3.2 Survival

Chicago, Illinois | May | Timothy

(continued)

"No! I was sitting in my seat and feeling high, then lying on the floor," he thought as he failed to sound out the words as he intended.

At some point in his life, he managed to get up onto his wobbly feet. The asymmetrical features were not new, but he was terrified when he saw the gaunt face in the mirror. One eyebrow hung lower than the other and one side of his thin lips askew as though pulled by an invisible string. His scraggly hair was now accompanied by over a week of patchy scruff which would have been a beard on a better male specimen. Beneath the hair follicles and dirt and unbalanced structures, he was emaciated to the point of looking like the underlying skull itself. The only signs of life were in his wide eyes looking back at himself.

Time had no relevance for him at the moment even when he saw the clock on the wall of the main room. He wasn't sure if it was 5:42 in the morning or evening. He went back to the desk to find his phone and check the date. He agreed to leave the chair sideways on the floor after a brief attempt to right it. He settled against the wall and stared down to where he expected his phone to be. He just needed to check the date.

A high pitch buzzing began in his ear and extended into the center of his brain. He placed one unsteady hand beside the ear he thought had let in the noise. In his mind, a tunnel formed. There was light at the end of this shaft. The end of the tunnel promised warmth, comfort, and freedom from worries as he was welcomed forward. He just needed to reach out a little further and perhaps...

"Don't be a quitter," he heard himself saying. Although they sounded like words of encouragement, he knew them to be words of defeat. They were a reminder of all the times he had been defeated and lost. This tunnel promised to be an escape from that. It promised to be a new chance at a victory—or maybe the ultimate acceptance of defeat. He was already sensing relief at the thought about that promising light. He recalled the thrill he had experienced hours—maybe days—previously.

"Re-reconnecting," he thought. He might have even said it, though he had no idea what or why he thought that.

And he would not remember that thought later. Instead, he thought about the one fighter he had seen keep getting up. He was knocked down time and time again, but he proceeded to get up. Despite the warnings from his corner and some girl who might have been his girlfriend or wife, he had gotten up. He was resilient and the crowd loved him for it. "Magnificent Manny!" they were all shouting. They loved him more every time they told him to stay down, but he got back up. He threw more punches and took more in exchange only to return to the mat.

"I will not go down again," he said. He was Manny, fighting the fight of his life. He swung wild punches at the tunnel and the light and its false promises. It pounded back at him. It was stronger. He could feel it all around him, enveloping him, but he pushed against it. He leaned into it like one fighter clasping another until the referee pulled them apart. But there was no referee here.

"Man-ny! Man-ny! Man-ny!"

And then the buzzing faded and the room reformed around him. He was still standing... well, leaning against the wall beside his desk. He still felt achy and weak and cold and hungry and thirsty, but he felt a renewed passion to continue. He felt a new sense of hope that he could make it. For now, making it was just making it back to the sink to get water.

He needed to shower. He needed more water, but he would take that in stride this time.

In his new sense of control, he began to wonder what information was available to help him regain his bearings. He remembered having come over here for his phone. He looked down and did not recognize the phone immediately because part of it was camouflaged by a pool of dried vomit. He rescued it with only a small section of the sticky mass attached. He peeled off the rubberized case to get rid of those remnants and wiped the rest on the cleanest section of this shirt.