Poison

Poison

The darkness approached vigorously, along with the gloom that never seemed to die away. It was as though suffocating black silence had overtaken every fragment of the world. Obscurity had invaded anyone and anything. The sky was threateningly austere, though not even that was visible through the thick branches of the overgrown trees that snaked through the ruthless air. Distorted into an inhumane shape, the moon let its rays of mist slither slowly through the forest.  

Mike degraded into a constricted ball. He was cold, and he was petrified. Stale sweat stuck to his body. Bitter, glacial wind hit his cheeks and he shivered. The wind increased, and as though with rage it stripped him of the combination of emotions never dissolved, leaving Mike with just one. All hope had deceased. Every person Mike knew was dead. Perhaps everyone was dead.

Overpowering grief took over his already unaided state, tears threatened to betray him. The trees whispered, and the sound of their moving branches startled him. Mike looked up towards the sky, barely breathing. He sensed the presence of someone...something...? Shuddering, he pushed himself up till he sat on his knees and listened again, this time more carefully. Nothing. He sighed and stood up, his breathing too fast to control. Looking up to the sky again, his eyes narrowed. Trying to predict the weather was impossible. He grunted in frustration, just a fragment of his sorrow released. He wanted to scream, he wanted what was left of the world to feel his stabbing pain, to sympathise enough to bring back what had been taken. But that was impossible.

Then the rain fell.

He was too late. Hastily, Mike retrieved his jacket from underneath him and jumped up as the first droplets slapped his body. Heavily, it plunged from the hating above.  

With his protective over-coat on, Mike slumped against a tree, not even bothering to shield himself from the poison that would slowly contaminate him. Well what was the point? Everyone else was dead; he may as well be too.  

For just a moment his mother's face floated in Mike's mind, stealing every other initial thought. He remembered the last words she had forced herself to whisper to him just before her death, "Don't give up".  

Her memory cleared away, like the sun clearing the clouds. The rain fell harder still, but he was too transfixed to notice as he repeated the words over in his head, realising he would be betraying his mother's memory if he let himself get hurt.  

Shards of glass bit into his skin and Mike leapt up with a slight fright.

The rain had begun its duty.

Slowly but painfully his exposed skin started to blister. Skin peeling, he grunted in distress as the first of the blood trickled to the ground. Mike quickly threw on the hood of his coat as the panic began overtake him. Hands trembling, he produced the protective gloves out of his pocket and hurriedly dragged them over his scorching hands. Mike secured every button and zip, and pulled his hood tightly around his face, keeping it bent down, away from the intoxicating sky. Walking on, he made his way to find shelter.

He ambled through the stifled forest with a peculiar sense of paranoia. It was as though the menacing sky itself was scrutinising him, daring him to contradict it, trying to take him too. Mike carried on walking, the sooner he got out the rain, the fewer blisters he would have. Walking on he mused, what if he didn't have all this protection? He most definitely would have died by now. A slow and painful death, his body slowly disintegrated into nothing, whilst he screeched in torturing anguish until nothing was left of him at all.  

He shook his head, in attempt to rid these thoughts, the illustration of his own body diminishing on the ground beneath him. Instead he focused on his surroundings; Mike held his head up to a certain point looked around. Trees. Dead trees, their leaves stripped, leaving lonesome, naked branches, skeletal human hands reaching desperately up to the sky, ready to grasp, ready for their revenge. It was difficult to remember when they were once beautiful. The colourful blossoms would never grow back, not to something so hideous.

Everything was desolate; all that was visible was his breath in the darkness. And every breath he inhaled was like daggers stabbing at his throat. Every sound was soft, even the occasional creak of twigs beneath Mike's feet and yet they still made him flinch momentarily with terror. His stomach ached, he longed for food, though months without actual food had forced his stomach to tolerate without it for hours on end.  

He had been walking for a few hours now, and the rain had diminished into a slight drizzle, though it had started to disintegrate the protection around his body, he would have to repair it before the rain grew heavy again. Surprised Mike came to a clearing of trees, just beyond he could see a pond with mistiness gliding and swirling like spirits above it, the water appeared black under the night sky, though it reflected the moon well making it gleam beautifully like it should, like it did a few decades ago. Unfortunately he knew as soon as the moon buried behind the dreary clouds of fury the water would appear repulsive again, representing this miserable present day.

Beyond the pond, was what appeared in the darkness, a small matured cottage. It only had two floors and its roof looked as though it had been repaired several times, it looked stable and good enough to reside in for a night or so. Finally Mike had found shelter! The triumph forced his heart beat to quicken and an unfamiliar grin to broaden across his face. He had been searching for shelter for what seemed like months. It was hard to keep track of the days now, the sky simply invaded with dusk and was defeated by the light a few hours later. This battle was just a cycle.  

He wondered if it was used as residence, or had the people who lived here fled and been killed too? What if everyone had worked on finding places for hidden survival instead of trying to fight back? It was obvious the entire worldly population would suffer from these foolish, human actions.

Sauntering towards the front door, Mike contemplated between knocking or just walking in. He settled for knocking, what if there was residence here? He knocked twice. Deciding not a person lived here, he pulled down the old handle of the door, not surprised to find it unlocked. A terrible musty smell overwhelmed him, he closed his eyes first, in attempt to familiarise with it.

He opened them again, startled to sense a cold blade by the side of his throat.

A hand grabbed roughly at the collar of his disintegrated shirt as the blade pressed into his nape.  

"Think you can just ponce into someone's property like that lad?" The coarse man's voice, heavily laden with a Scottish accent accused him. Mike was stunned, his body refused to move as hope was drained from his body.

"Aye, you'd be wise to answer me lad" he threatened.  

"I thought this place was empty...I didn't know it was accommodated and I'd appreciate it if you unhand me" he grabbed at the hand holding him captive. The man swore and the blade was inserted more deeply into his neck, he felt the tingle as it pierced his skin and he grunted in pain and frustration.

"I'll be the commander around here lad" he hissed. "What do you require from my home?" his hold on his collar tightened and he breathed in Mike's face, a disgusting odour issuing from his mouth.

"I was looking for shelter" He answered determined not to express his fear through his words. "Are you going to help me?"  

The man laughed, but released his collar. The knife remained by his neck. "You got some nerve lad"