Gauntlet

Part 1: Chapter 1

The middle-aged man sitting behind his cluttered desk studied me up and down. This interview had gone on for half an hour at this point. Each question asked was followed by his eyes drifting down to my wheelchair. Why couldn't he get over the legs? I'm still the same person, aren't I? None of the interviewers could get over it.

He let out a sigh, readjusting his seat before returning to the poor posture he was content with.

"Listen, I have serious respect for idiots like you. You keep throwing yourselves at walls, hoping to find a weak one." He paused. "We are not one of those. Mister Times has built this place up enough that we don't have the ability to care about each employee. But, whether we care about them or not, they still take their share." He locked his eyes on me, brows slightly furrowed. "Why do you think we give them money?"

This felt like a trap, but without being able to identify it, I answered, "To work, I guess?"

"And so, by that logic, why would we give you money?"

"To work?"

His hand hit the table, the items on it rattling. "Listen, I don't think I'm getting through to you. Let me be a little more blunt. You wanna walk from one electric panel to the next, maintaining them." His gaze strolled back down to that damned wheelchair. "And yet, you can't walk. Make sense?"

"You keep looking at my wheelchair. I can move just fine." He was losing patience, and so was I.

"The answer is no, Hunter." He spoke firmly.

"I didn't get this degree for nothing," I burst out.

But as I calmed down, I was met with a man unfazed and annoyed.

Defeated again. I had no choice but to leave. My wheelchair rolled past the judgmental eyes of those in the reception area and led me through the exit. It was the largest company I tried to get a job at, and still I was rejected.

I got used to the constant stares quickly, but now, a month after that stupid panel shocked me off the ladder, it's starting to annoy me. Why's it such a big deal? Am I any less intelligent?

I've moved back in with my parents. But even without rent, I can't afford to fix this problem.

There were plenty of people in the parking lot. I wasn't looking at them as I swung myself into my car, but I felt them looking. Folding my wheelchair and chucking it in the passenger seat, I thought maybe I should wear my degree on my shirt.

"That's stupid!" I yell, almost crying in the process. That damned interviewer, I thought, as a tear escaped. I sat, forehead against the wheel, for a minute.

I tried to convince myself that he was intimidated by me. My grip tightened on the wheel the longer I failed to do so.

It was only one lie to myself. Wasn't it?

A few minutes later, I lifted my head with a sniffle and started the car. I drove away with the hand controls I installed to replace the pedals. I installed them by myself using my electrical engineering degree because I could. What else was I supposed to do with the garbage piece of paper?

A part of me tried to focus on the positives. It told me all about how well my car handles and how impressed everyone seems to be when they see it. But the overwhelming majority of me was too miserable to care. Said majority decided to ignore the comfort by concentrating on the road and blocking it out. It helped me notice that there wasn't a single car around me. Nothing in front of me.

But before I had a chance to comprehend it, I was thrust toward the wheel, being stopped only by a deploying airbag.

There was no pain in the presence of all the adrenaline rhythmically pulsing through every dazed part of me.

What the hell was that? I let out a wavering whimper.

I was too scared to move. What could I have crashed into? My mind flooded with confusion as my head stayed buried in the airbag.

My shaking arms helped me lift my head as a fear of what I might see built up.

I was met with a smashed windscreen, covered by the lifted hood. The tears I didn't know I was crying were becoming more frequent, as I remembered that this wreck wasn't insured. I blew everything on what was now a write-off.

I wasn't injured, but that just meant I had to live with this problem, amongst all the others. Feeling significantly more defeated than when I finished the interview, I fumbled around to find my wheelchair and got out to confirm what I already knew.

It was crumpled, but from what? There were a couple potholes, but that force must have been from a head-on collision. This made no sense.

I had given up on thinking now, instead studying the nearest pothole and pulling my phone out to call the police.

The phone started ringing. It was a regular old pothole. A little big, sure, but not enough to cause this damage.

"911, what's your emergency?" The response was a stark contrast to the sad silence of the situation.

"M- My car just crashed, but I can't. . ." The pothole was starting to shake, which proved strange enough for me to pause my sentence. I moved back in fearful anticipation of something.

"Hello, sir? Are you there?" What the responder was saying was becoming increasingly low on my priority list as the pothole shook increasingly violently, until it exploded. I dropped my phone as it revealed a pool of gelatinous white liquid.

I was flung off my wheelchair towards the puddle with a force feeling almost uncannily strong. But even with this tremendous force, it struggled to pull me through the viscous liquid.

I was spat out the other side onto an open field of grass blinding in its green glow. My brain seemed to have stopped making an attempt to comprehend anything going on.

Vibrant green seemed out of place for either heaven or hell. And so, with this flawed and ultimately useless thought process, I decided that I at least wasn't dead.

But in my quest to convince myself that I was alive, I failed to notice a large shadow cast over me like a reverse spotlight of sorts.

The realization that this shadow belonged to a flying creature activated my fight or flight. By the size of the shadow, fight wasn't even considered.

Unable to run, I was forced to drag myself away from the beast as quick as I could manage. But the shadow grew and the screeches got louder. It became apparent that my futile clawing was simply not winning against the abomination.

Finally, as if deciding when to conclude this race, it landed with its three needle-like legs before me. Its large eye stared at me indifferently as it swung one of the legs at me. My body used all the adrenalin it had built up to push myself away.

And it missed my body.

But relief wasn't allowed. It was broken by the sight of my forearm flying through the air, leaving a trail of blood behind.

The creature seemed satisfied with this outcome and flew away. I was left to stare in agony at my upper arm having nothing attached to it. The grass below me was stained scarlet, and I was left to wonder if this was actually it.

I was becoming progressively more lightheaded, but decided to use this time to reflect. I wish I could have made some money. And maybe had some functional legs again.

That was everything, I thought as my vision got fuzzy. But there was something else. I couldn't think what it was, but there was definitely something. There had to be. I didn't know why I thought that, but couldn't shake the feeling.

It was no matter in any case. I seemed to begin to hallucinate, as I saw a humanoid figure red like the essential fluid I was losing. She approached me, and that was my final memory.

My vision faded, and I no longer thought.