TRIP: By Kenneth Muise, Jr.
Saturday, November 7th, 2009Shea sat up straight in bed with his ears ringing. He knew it was beginning.
Two sources of light existed. The blue analog of the bed side clock read 2:25AM. The one window in the room emitted a soft yellow glow through the blind and curtain.
He grasped his head at his ears. His head was throbbing and the breeze was beginning. It wasn’t really a breeze he knew but that is how it felt, like sticking your head out a car window going sixty miles per hour.
I wonder where this time.
His heart was racing and the pain came, hot and jabbing in his eyes.
Oh god, oh god, here it comes. The ear ringing was excruciating, his eyes burned and then the bright light.
A second later he was laying face down on cold earth. He scrambled to a crouched position, his hands slipping on wet leaves.
He knew two things; it was dark and the ground was dirt and leaves.
A forest…?
A dog was barking somewhere in the distance. Cold, in his boxer shorts he stood straight up, breaking a branch under his foot. He screamed out in pain and hopped on one foot. He felt the warm blood trickling to his heel.
Realizing that it was not a single dog but a pack, he froze. Trying to concentrate and listen.
They were getting closer.
Was that muffled yelling? Was it men with dogs? Where were they? Where was he?
They were very close now, suddenly, as if they had crested a rise somewhere in front of him or turned some corner that he was unaware of. He turned to run and his other foot got tangled in a root and he fell forward, his head striking a huge object.
Grasping his head and rolling backwards against the object, he used his hands to brace himself. He could hardly stand and was blacking out. It was a tree.
He was falling down, back scraping on rough bark. But the dogs were closer.
Shea pressed a hand against his bloody forehead and sat back against the tree.
They are right on you!
Can’t stand let alone run.
He was acutely aware of the dogs barking and upon him as they surrounded his location. Then a human command from deeper into the darkness snapped him back slightly into alertness.
The barking was so loud and unorganized. His ears ringing, the breeze came and his eyes were hurting again.
A paw was on his leg and hot, acrid breath was in his face. A final bark, a bite of his cheek and he was gone again.
***
Shea was heavily clothed and running through a wooded area. He followed a man with a large flashlight.
His hands were heavily gloved in leather and both grasped a large shotgun.
He stared at the weapon in his hand and ran into the back of the man in front of him who had stopped. The dogs were frenzied and everywhere.
“Watch where the fuck you’re going, Murphy!” the man snapped over his shoulder.
“Silence!” the man commanded and the dogs were silent. Shea could still feel them panting and shuffling.
I am Murphy…
He was unsure of what was going on but he was considerably safer than he had been before the last “trip”.
“Hancock,” the man who he had run into said, “take care of this…and let’s get the hell outta here. My missus has cobbler cooling.”
Shea noticed four other additional men, three of which had lights.
The man who must have been Hancock stepped forward and raised a rifle pointing it directly to his front. The three men with flashlights aimed their beams in the same direction.
Shea froze. The lights and rifle were aimed directly at him.
He sat against a tree breathing heavily. Half conscious a large wound was open and drooling blood from his forehead to his face and chest. His cheek had been torn open.
He was looking directly at the Shea who had initially dropped into the wooded area.
The Shea against the tree looked up and squinted into the lights.
Hancock drew back the bolt on the rifle and then drove it forward. He sighted in on the Shea at the tree.
“You still thinking about my daughter now you dirty bastard?” Hancock said.
A rattling blast and Shea watched as head exploded against the tree.
His ears were ringing. The breeze came, hot stab in the eyes and the bright light.
As Shea left again he stared at what remained of his head. One of the men lit a cigarette and he was gone.
How can I see that!
He dropped to his bed, bounced once and landed hard on the floor.
Shea was in his boxers, barefooted and wore thick heavy gloves. The large shotgun slammed to the ground next to him. His feet were dirty and stuck with leaves.
Hitting his bedroom floor had hurt but he knew that would be the extent of his injuries. During every trip that he had gone on in the last six months two things were always the same. One, he was always extremely hurt during each one trip and, second, he never brought any of that pain back.
Other things came back with him, like the gloves and shotgun, but never the wounds.
Thank God…
He stood up and checked the clock at his bedside. It read 2:25AM. If not for the various things he brought back with him he could have easily convinced himself that he was psychotic.
He tore of the gloves and saw that they were brown rawhide. He picked up the shotgun and brought it to his closet. He placed the weapon and gloves gently amongst the other items; a tusk of some sort, a pocket watch, sea shell necklace, and a feathered spear.
When would it all end?
Shea headed to the shower. He still could sleep the rest of the night.
©2009 Kenneth Muise, Jr.
Ken Muise has been active-duty soldier for fifteen years. When he isn’t soldiering, reading or writing he enjoys tormenting his three teenage daughters via facebook and eating his wife’s cooking. He has been known to get into heated debates with his Quaker parrot, Boom Boom.
