Clarity
Alright, so this is something I kinda wanted to put in for the winter story contest. Unfortunately, I didn't realize that was happening until it was too late and didn't get it done in time. But whatever. It's up now, and it's radically different from anything else I've posted here (I think, anyway, at least judging from my lack of knowledge how to tag it), and with that, I'll shut up. Enjoy.
Clarity: One Day in the Life of Daniel Kalesnic
The sun is bright and shining and my fur is frozen to my flesh. I am terrified, yet content. I am dying, yet so alive. I am young, but my days extend longer than the lives of many. I am merely a wolf, but I live for so much more.
The snow falls lightly, like little boots of happy elves scattered around the barren landscape, and the blinding cursed sun reflects off the aluminum, a laser of pain that reminds me of life before. The meager fire burns in front of my tent, made of worn clothes and scraps of my belongings, formerly those of others. She lies in the tent. She is my all; she is my everything. I trudge back to the wreck and grab dinner. Ferals are rare, we make do with what we can. I'm so sorry, Theodore Breckenridge, lion of Park City, Utah, heading to Anchorage for a vacation. Your sacrifice is necessary right now, for me and her. My all, my everything. That one time, with the feral bear, now that was a real killing. We ate for weeks.
It came into camp like a tornado, a freezing yet oh-so-burning tsunami of fur and teeth and sinewy, deadly movements. We don't have many weapons; all I had were some knives I had collected off the victims and some sharp sheet metal from the wreck. Not that it mattered. I would do anything to protect her. Oh, Marian I wish you could stand and fight with me! Surviving this frozen hell would be so much easier! I'm sorry, I mustn't ask so much of you, you're doing so well to survive, and your very presence makes this all bearable, my all, my everything.
And so she's why I killed that monster. I waited for it to charge at me, then I got out of its way and through my paw around, and I stabbed it, I stabbed it in its neck over and over again until it lay motionless on the hard packed ground, the warm blood pooling under the wounds. I sliced it up, didn't even care about getting the boots of the feet, I threw them away. Charred it. Consumed it. Crushed it into mush and spoon-fed it to Marian, she still can't chew real food, she's so sick, my all, my everything.
I first met her after the crash. I was the only survivor. Then she came crawling out of the wreck, on the brink of death. I don't know how I missed her. I could have sworn everyone was dead, but I inspected her myself after she crawled out. Heartbeat. Breathing. Warm. I promised I would take care of her until rescue came to atone for my sin of omission. She never talked. She never talks. She cannot eat, I feed her. Her name was on her ID. That's how I find out the names of all the victims, like Theodore Breckenridge. I don't need her to say anything, I just need her here. We fell in love on this sub-zero wasteland. We shall be together forever.
I wonder if she'll ever know what my name is. My ID says it's Daniel, but I have to take its word for it. I haven't heard my name in so long and it's always so cold. I have faint memories of when people called me that. Back when it was warm. The completed touchdown pass that made me warm inside. The cheerleaders warm and welcoming and warm inside as well. Paws slapping my back from behind my seat. Going to Alaska for fun. Boom. Panic. Crash! The paws are all gone, only death. Daniel slipped away.
The days after the accident were survival. Frantically searching through bags, looking for aid. I found a radio in the cockpit, right under the shattered world of shards and cherry syrup pasted to fuzzy-covered limp dolls. I tried it, there was no response. The supplies I found in the tube lasted me for a time, but then I found her. I saw my level of supplies plummet as I was forced to share my wealth to keep her alive. I could have been selfish and let her die, but no, I couldn't. She was- no, is, too beautiful, I could never sacrifice her for my own benefit.
And so we've been waiting.
The world revolves around us here in frozen hell, passing the time with scraps from the wreckage. A book, meant to make two hours less uncomfortable, can keep us alive for weeks with its words. Sometimes we read the emergency cards, for comedic value of course. Marian, my poor love, has yet to gain the strength to read; I read to her. We read in our makeshift tent, huddled for warmth. She is the warmer one. And yet she relies so much on me to provide for her. Not that I mind. She is my all, my everything. I'd do anything for her. The books don't get burned like everything else does. Useless clothes (lacey bras! ha, yeah right), seat cushions, expended baggage, wallets, pictures, and other paraphernalia serve us no purpose, so they keep us warm in the fire, which is continuous since I no longer fear our environment. Actually, I also rescind my previous statement about the lacey bras. Marian might like them. I'll make a note to save a few.
We keep each other warm at night too. I hold her and kiss her, downy white vulpine fur caressing my lips. She makes me feel warm on the inside. I know she feels warm on the inside too. And so we lie there. Sometimes she lies so still, I think she might not be breathing, and I feel a chill far more frigid than anything the wilderness could dish out rocket down my spine. Then, I concentrate and look closely, and find that subtle movement that lets me know she is still with me. And so, like this, I can fall asleep happy, dreaming of Marian and I in our favorite stories, then wake up the next day for another twenty-four hours of misery.
Another day, like today. Today is like any day. This morning I ventured into the wreck once again, finding the cache where I had stashed useful items and moving past it to gather more food for the fire. In the what seemed like eons of downtime and boredom I had between taking care of Marian's (my all! my everything's!) survival and my own, I read, of course, and organized the remains in the wreck. It helped time move on, and it helped us find things more easily when we needed them. I dumped fresh material into the inferno, and looked over the surrealist masterpiece that was our camp. The frozen cylinder which held our life, yet was dangerous enough to take it away. The tent of warmth and love in which we stayed directly adjacent to it. The fire which gave off so much heat and life, nestled between, yet in front of the two.
The other side of the plane, where the others are buried. Not six feet deep, and not out of mourning. For preservation. Those that I remember, however faintly as my friends, they are included in this. They, at least, have not been consumed. I do this out of what respect I have left for now, but I know the time will come, and I have no qualms about it. They would have- no, they want me to do it. To save myself. To save US. Marian, my all, my everything, must make it, too. I shuddered and turned away.
Today was a rather fast day. I sharpened the knives. You never know when another feral bear might strike. Though I was almost hoping for another to come. This is how much excitement means to me out here in this sub-zero refrigerator of doom, stretching as far as the eye can see in nothing but inky whiteness. It's brilliant and blinding, but it only conceals its deeper, darker, demonic nature. It fools you with its beauty like a twisted, sadistic succubus, drawing you in and making you pay with your life in its algid embrace. The day goes on, wind blowing over the camp in its own longing whine, until dinnertime arrives.
The process of preparing Theodore is a long one, and I usually start preparations hours (I think, my timekeeping is less than satisfactory) before first consumption. I'll spare you the details, perhaps those are better suited for another day. After the knife cutting, flaying, stripping, tearing and the freezing sun doing the same to my unprotected face, I roast the first bits, then bury the rest like the others, saving them for another day. Once it's done cooking, I take my portion and mash up Marian's. I feed her and take care of her first. She gets all the warmth of priority, my all, my everything. Then I take my fill, watching her body as I partake in my sup and drink my melted and warmed snow-water.
I read to us out of our latest book, and I watch her some more. How could I not give so much attention to my all, my everything after all the non-attention of the rest of the day. She deserves it. She needs it. I put down the book momentarily, and hold her. She feels warm. I feel warm inside. I kiss her. She looks at me, her mouth open. I know what she wants. She wants to tell me that she loves me, but she just can't. The words don't come out. But I love you too, Marian! I love you too! You don't have to say a word. I hold her and kiss her more, and she feels warm inside, I know. I can feel it.
Our unspoken passion for each other exhausts me as I lie here, the suffocating gristly blanket of darkness being pulled over our heads, the fire providing a strange Promethean light, defying the universe. Some of the light seeps into our tent unimpeded, and I use this to write these memoirs (or whatever you might call them) with scrap pencils and paper from the wreckage. Maybe they will be found. Maybe they will be us.
I glance at our latest book, The Sound and the Fury. Faulkner classic. I laugh at the insane delusions of the characters. As I write these pages, the wind presses the sides of our shelter, and I stray closer to Marian, my all, my everything. I look at everything, my physical world and my own private mental one, and I hope these pages keep me from falling insane, then I succumb to sleep.