Just Breathe

Just Breathe

By: Dark Owl

The sharp clicks of my polished ebony colored shoes against the fractured and unbelievably dilapidated sidewalk echoes relentlessly in my skull. The faint sound quickly transforms into a violent booming in my head. That booming ruthlessly mutilates all other conscious thoughts that were hopelessly trying to find their way out of the darkness which is my mind.
         Kaw! Kaw! The guttural croak of a solitary Raven sitting atop an eerily perfect oak tree awakes me from my deep trance. I swiftly shift my gaze from the old torn up concrete to the lonesome Raven. Its marbly looking eyes peered at me with great resentment as if to bitterly judge me for the countless flaws that it sees deep in my soul. I detach from the stare in attempt to prevent any further judgement. Kaw! Kaw! Inhale...Exhale. It once again urges me to let it pass through the gates to my soul, but I stubbornly refuse. I will have no part in such matters. Not now. Not ever.
         I continue trudging forward in attempts to ignore the relentless Raven who tries ever so hard to harass me to my wits end. Kaw! Kaw! Inhale...Exhale. I keep my gaze fixated straight in front of me, refusing to look back at the massive building looming behind me out of fear that the Raven will somehow manage me to make eye contact with it. Kaw! Kaw! Inhale...Exhale. I refuse to let that happen twice; it has seen enough.
Steadily, I carry myself forward using every ounce of my will not to turn around just as a child fights the urge to peek from underneath their covers after they believe that the boogie man is looming over their heads. One foot in front of the other. Left, right, left, right. Inhale...exhale. Inhale...exhale. After a few painstaking minutes of steadily walking I eventually approach the terribly dull sign that I was greeted with 90 days ago:

CNYPC

9005 Old River Rd, Marcy, NY 13403

315-822-8222

                   
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Crumpled up candy bar wrappers and old pieces of chewed up Wrigley's gum litter the dimly lit and rainy street corner. Oddly enough, today, the city that never sleeps, is most certainly sleeping. They must be avoiding me those sons of bitches. I swear... Only a single beaten up little car comes racing down the street spraying water on the few annoyed passer bys in the ten minutes that I have been walking.
         "Excuse me sir, would you be so generous to spare a poor old man some coin," graciously begs a decrepit old men. He extends his arm slowly outwards just barely having the strength to hold it up. Sitting loosely between his painfully purple fingertips, there lies a small, empty Chef Boyardee can filled was but a mere penny. I continue walking. You know what, I can do better than that.
         Just a few seconds after I passed the beggar, I quickly spin my body around and slowly approach the man. My hand rummages through my shallow suit pockets groping for the 1966 penny that I constantly carry with me everywhere. The uncomfortably cold sensation of metal stroked my fingertips, and I gently clenched my fist around it as I retrieved it from my pocket. With a flick of my thumb, I toss the one cent coin up into the night sky managing to land it perfectly into the beggars crappy little tin can.
         "Thank you sir. I am thankful for your kindness and God bless," gratefully thanks the man.
         "Anytime my friend," I exclaim sarcastically. "I just hope that's enough for you to buy yourself a couple pills, you lowlife piece of shit," I malign sharply. I walk off abruptly leaving little time for him to retort.
         I did the right thing, right? He deserved it anyway, he was just a druggy, that's all. I was helping him; that's what I was doing. Ya, that's it. I was guiding him back onto the trail. I was giving him incentive to be a productive member of society. I was just letting him know how other people perceived him. I just wanted to show him that society looks down on people like him and I figured that by alerting him of this, he could get a bit of motivation to be normal--or at least try to be normal. Wow...what a great person I am to try to help such a lost cause. Besides, it will all pay off in the end; it will all eventually come back to me in the future. I know they say Karma's a bitch, but I have a feeling it's going to be a true blessing to me.
The familiar scent of potent Clorox fills my nostrils as I slowly swing open my apartment door with the room number 66 plastered onto the front of it. Before I enter my apartment, I pull off both of my dress shoes and grab them from their linings making sure to never touch their dirty outsides. I set them down neatly on the shoe rack making sure that they are perfectly parallel to each other and the shoes beside them.
         1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8....9. I routinely count the usual nine steps that it takes to get from the front of the door to my queen mattress. I strip from my taylormade yet extremely uncomfortable suit, and I take special care to meticulously hang them up in my closet from darkest shades to lightest.
         I lay my head down on the soft pillow letting all of my thoughts sink in just as my head sinks into the plush down pillow. Just one more week. That's it. One more week until the trip of a life time--Fujikawaguchiko, Japan. I've heard the forest there is absolutely entrancing.

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The dull thumps of my sneakers against the packed trail of dark charcoal colored dirt and broken twigs barely has little resonance in the heart of Fujikawaguchiko's dense forest. The sound is present, yet faint, one moment, and then the next second, there is complete and utter silence--not the pleasant kind. It's the kind of silence that claws at your sanity in attempt to derail oneself from the grips of reality. The kind of silence that threatens your own life with the sound of your own labored breathing and racing heart beat. The kind of silence that makes you plead to hear a sound--any sound--even if that means the blood curdling sounds of your own terror.
         The sound is not the only off putting thing about this forest. The trees are so densely packed that light barely even peaks between the countless number of oak and fir trees. The trees bend in unnatural and deformed ways while the roots jut out of the ground creating a bizarrely bumpy forest floor. Among the numerous unsettling aspects of this forest, is its unexplainably off putting atmosphere that is so prominent here. This is perfect.
         Kaw! !Kaw! I recognize the familiar sound all too quickly--it is that fucking Raven! It can't just leave me alone--it won't just let me bring about my own painful misery! It has come for me--it is my time and this is how it is going to kill me. Its weapon of choice...torture.
         Kaw! Kaw! By the time the second screech comes, my legs dart out from under me in a surge of panic and adrenaline. I bolt uncontrollably off the trail in what I think is the exact opposite direction that the Raven's crow came. The thump of my heart quickens so drastically that I feel like my heart is halfway ripped out of my chest and my lungs feel like they are about to pop like a balloon.
         "Oh, Jack honey...I am so glad you finally decided to visit me and Myra!" My wife Elizabeth and my 5 year old daughter Myra stand in front of me blocking my path forward.
         "Daddy! Have you come stay with us?" My daughter excitedly asked.
This can't be real! It can't be! They are dead! Tears stream from my eyes and run down my cheeks as my emotions suddenly overtake me.
         "This...th..thi...this can't be happening--it can't be," I sobbed.
         "You are right, Jack honey, this can't be happening. You killed us. You killed us when you ran us both over because you were in such a rush to get to work--how petty. Your greed for money and power killed us, Jack--your ignorance of all else besides work. You killed your five year old daughter. It was all you."
         "Daddy, now it's your turn! Aren't you excited!"
Guilt and fear floods my body in one swift wave leaving me momentarily paralyzed. Every memory and every ounce of guilt from the death of my family flashes before my very eyes as if watching a timelapse of my life. Out of sheer terror, I dart back in the direction I came from, whilst trying to block out the traumatizing screeching of my family following quick on my heels after me.
         "Hello son. I'm so glad that you chose to visit me instead of your crazy wife and daughter, it's better that way in the long run," my father psychotically states as he looms directly over me. "Now why don't we finish what we started, huh?" My father grabs ahold of his familiar old belt buckle and slowly pulls it out from each belt loop one by one. Flashbacks of my childhood are once again flashing before my eyes. The brutal crack of the belt, and the sharp stinging pain like the stings of 50 wasps quickly ensues. The fear that persists for weeks and even years at a time. This is my fate--there is no escape. Inhale...exhale. Father raises his belt high above his head...



Inhale...Exhale.
Crack! I scream violently in pain as the belt makes contact my cheek.
Inhale...Exhale.
Crack! A single tear runs down my bruised cherry red face.
Inhale...Exhale.
Crack! Warm, viscous blood starts to pour down the side of my face eventually covering my entire left cheek.
         
He viciously grabs a hold of me by the neck and pulls me in closer to him. The thick leather belt wraps around my neck like a boa constrictor, and he latches it onto my neck as if it were his waist. Slowly the end of the belt begins to rise upwards. This is it. The end of the suffering.

Inhale...Exhale