Black Flies

II. The River's Cracked & Cold

Pain.

Pain is all that withers through her muscles and bones, her bloodstream aching, overworking itself. Pain seeps down her skull, into her jaw, pooling saliva off of her yellowed teeth and onwards where gravity pulls it. She can't close her mouth, the shock from her throbbing build is too much stress that she pants heavily, constantly, dryly through her sand-dry throat and lungs. The breathing is forced but necessary; without oxygen, she would be but a broken, rotting corpse on the floor, for her injuries are so severe it would require the work of a God to let her rise and stand.

Dark.

Ginger's surroundings are black. And by black, it's so vague that not a light is seen through the slits of her exhausted, droopy eyes. Ahead of her, a window, the glass is unnoticeable because of the outside world's color. She hasn't seen anything so dark in her life, not even in her few dreams. The city was always radiant, no matter the angle of the window; skyscrapers, cars, double-decker buses, businesses, and pubs. Always shining some sort of light onto the street among the large lamps that traced the edge of the asphalt street that burned the pads of her feet to a char on hot summer days. And the light in the house, of course; the nightlight in the hallway, the reflection of the outside world on the blank television screen down to the wood floor, the security light just outside of the townhouse's front door. She can't trace her brain for a moment in her life that she has been surrounded by so much blackness.

Someone else is in the room. Someone breathing, snoring. They snore like a grizzly bear but smell nothing resembling the big, tough creature that brings itself into Ginger's worst nightmares to eat her in one bite. They smell like the woods, the wilderness, like sweat and mud. The scent she is familiar to is nowhere to be found in a mile of air; no humans. She is very, very far from the city, farther than she's ever been in her entire life. An eventide of beginnings for the girl was quite astonishing.

A whimper escapes her jaw, crackly and jagged. She's scared, she wants to go back home. Her masters would be worried by now that she was missing, especially on such a dark evening. Why exactly she is missing doesn't come straight to mind, but she guesses the creature sleeping next to her on the soft mattress could have something to do with it. He- she's picked up on his gender by the strong scent of his glands- must be the culprit of her pain and suffering. Ginger needs to get out of these hereabouts, needs the familiar lights of the city. There she could get help, help from someone she trusts. Here, it's no use but to whine and hopefully have her wishes granted.

"Ginger?" The being mutters next to her, the breath in his body quickening as he awakens from the noise of her cries. Yes, that's my name, she thinks, letting a bark escape her drooling jaws. Flicking on the lamp next to him and finally filling the room with a soft light that Ginger longed for, he turns a bearded glare towards her and rubs his eyes to study her. "Oh, you're awake."

She yelps, whimpering under her breath and wagging her bushy tail. Assist me, she barks, get me out of here. His expression softens, and he rubs his open chest in a small scratch with his fingernails.

"Now now, be still, you have open wounds, my friend." The man chuckles quietly, crawling out from underneath the old and dusty quilt she's laying atop. Padding across the floor with feet of a human, he nears her slowly and offers his hand out. Ginger wearily sniffs it, smelling the same smell of the wilderness on his skin. "Good morning to you, too. You scared me for a moment there, yelping and crying out so loudly. I'm sure you can't understand me, but I'm extremely pleased to see you made it through the night. You're strong, aren't you, girl?"

Please stop talking and take me home, she wags, begging with a lick to his hand. You're friendly, but you need to get me out of here.