Short Story: Help

[Church]

Tap-tap-tap. Tap, tap, tap. Tap-tap-tap. SOS. SOS. Please save me.

 

I don't even remember how long I've been in here. The darkness seems solid, almost permeable, the air thick with the stench of the dead. The floating things used to pause and look at me, only to float away hurriedly. They cannot help me, and have tarried here too long, their glowing eyes looking ahead to things that endlessly need doing. Now they endlessly pass me by, dimly lighting the prison of my own making.

 

Tap-tap-tap. Tap, tap, tap. Tap-tap-tap.

 

On my right is the door, the one I shut so hurriedly. On my left is a yawning chasm, blacker than black. I came in here seeking refuge, leaving what was left of my squad on the other side. I listened to their screams as they died, imagining them writhing on the ground a thousand times. And them. Always them. They were tireless, they showed no favorites, their only goal was our demise. From everywhere and nowhere they came, an endless stream of nightmare. It is said there is no loyalty among thieves; what they took from us they fought tooth and nail for, only to turn for more, looking upon us with lifeless eyes.

 

Tap-tap-tap. Tap, tap, tap. Tap-tap-tap.

 

I used to scream at them, the floating things. But this only caused them to pass me by all the more hurriedly. Poor company to the man doomed. I lost count of how many ages ago. The screaming brought them, and they shambled near with screams of their own. And they wait. So patient, so sure, the truth of inevitability. They will outlast death itself, for they cheat you of death, wrong your body of his cold embrace. But I wait too. I will outlast them yet, I wait for peace, for rescue, whichever comes first. And I knock, the rhythm stuck in my head, the mantra of survival.

 

Tap-tap-tap. Tap, tap, tap. Tap-tap-tap.

 

I used to be a soldier, to stand at attention and dish more than I took. There are no soldiers any more, no friends, no enemies. There is only survival, and them. I looked on and saw friends and foes alike succumb, and then turn on us as one. The elites, terrifying as they are, cower in fear against the bitter eventuality, the soft wet scuttling noise as the end approaches on a floor slick with blood. This is living death, for death has no place here. They stand as one, walk as one, and kill as one, twisted faces of brave men and women in unison with hinge-heads thrown back in howls of pain, tireless and never ceasing. Do they see, I wonder? Can they feel what happens to them, can they understand the horror that they have become?

 

Tap-tap-tap. Tap, tap, tap. Tap-tap-tap.

 

If there is life left to live, then I am living what is left of it. I came to this world in a tiny metal shell, streaking through the atmosphere of this godforsaken ring like a comet. When we jump, we don't know what will happen to us. We risk our lives so that others may live. We go to hell every day. We go feet first. I have been here long enough, and now is the time to face my fear. Through the pit or through the door lies danger. But I go feet first. I am a Helljumper.

 

Tap-tap-tap. Tap, tap, tap. Tap-tap-tap.

 

That wasn't me.