Where Every Scroll is a New Adventure
The white static made it hard to see what was what.
He could see his own breath like a foggy mist while his feet and arms begged for him to stop crawling through the thick snow. His nose caught in the smell of burnt metal and vulgar smoke.
Warm blood poured down as his left eye squinted and winced.
He touched his forehead only to see a warm sticky red trickle down his fingers. His head lolled to the side, before he regained his focus and continued to pull himself through the snow.
Hudson was already feeling lightheaded, but also felt like the world was slightly slanted.
Either way, it just didn’t feel right.
“How long has it been since I left the site of the crash? Have I just been going in circles? Those trees look familiar,” Thoughts creeped through his mind as he was too weak to push them away. They ate his determination and hope like bugs, while only emptiness stayed.
Everything hurts. My mind feels like someone swung a hammer at my head, He thought.
However, he thought about Felix, his co-pilot. Poor Felix waited at the site of the plane crash, his torso stuck under heavy metal and burnt steel.
What makes it even worse, the whole plane ride, all Felix talked about was how excited he was for his and his fiancé's wedding. How they were going to have it at a large beautiful church. Inside the church would be decorated with white flower petals. How they ordered custom golden rings for each other made specifically in Belgium. How beautiful his fiancé would look in her wedding gown.
Hudson’s stomach lurched at the thought of how Felix’s face twisted in pain when he tried to free his legs from under the wreckage. At how Felix had such calmness in his grey eyes when he looked up at him. He trusts me. He respects me.
The wind now sounded like a woman’s high pitch scream. Too much. It’s all just too much. His arms gave out and half of his face became buried in snow.
He could see crimson seeping into the pure white.
He tried to get up, but his arms gave out.
He could barely feel the snow cushioning his face. He wanted to call out for help, but he stayed silent. He hardly knew where he’d crashed.
Calling out into unknown territory could lead to fatality.
He wasn’t sure if any enemy officers were around and he didn't want to learn that the hard way.
His pale blue winter uniform is soaked. He should’ve worn his pilot suit all together, but due to the rush he was in he had little time to put it on.
With all the strength Hudson mustered, he army crawled through the snow and pushed ahead.
It was still bright outside, but he was worried that soon the sky would be casted into a deep darkness.
He noticed that the gash on his head was still bleeding heavily and the tips of his fingers were making his body scream in pain. Shards of glass from a broken windshield embedded into skin.
Squinting his brown eyes, he could see that they were an ugly white at the tips of his fingers.
Frostbite.
He shivered as he could hear his teeth clattering against each other.
He wearily looked up where he was faced with a black raven sitting on an overhanging branch. Its talons hooked the branch and its jet black feathers looked glossy in its white surroundings. It tilted its head at Hudson and squawked.
Hudson heard a twig snap behind him, but he was too frozen to roll over and see.
The raven squawked again and flapped its wings around frantically before it took off at the drop of a hat.
It flew away and Hudson watched it in burning envy.
Even the bird has places to be, He thought with bitterness. He was alone with his thoughts.
His cold wretched thoughts.
He glared ahead, before he rested his head on his arm, his legs feeling consumed by the cold.
For all his life, he had just been debating, comparing and surviving.
Reality hit him hard and pulled him under.
He would never have a chance to say those important words to Bill.
His family was scattered from the war.
Some of his friends were still yowling and fighting in the trenches, others fighting in the skies being shot at like birds, and more were dying in hospital beds, wounded beyond repair.
While only a rare few were stuck in New York, cheering him on.
Yet here he was: failing.
All the letters he had gotten from Jack. All the sweet words from a kind man who had been never, but good to him, would mean nothing soon. The man who he looked up to…the man he had hoped to return the kindness…he would never see again.
His heart lurched at that.
And what about Charlie and Cassidy?
Charlie had seen him off when he was on leave. Her hug was powerful even when she cried. He remembered how she promised to write, promised to cheer him on and tell his story.
Cassidy on the other hand now had two kids and was married to Robert. Happy and blessed.
He was so proud of her and happy.
He was an uncle.
Was.
But his thoughts turned to a different direction.
He wouldn’t even get discharged honorably, gaining peaceful retirement. Or even recognition for his hard work.
His body might be lost.
As well as his name in the archives.
People would forget him.
The cold had reached to his torso now, gripping tightly around his organs while his rib cage was too feeble to protect.
The bruises and cuts were starting to get to him as the pain he had repressed was now pulsing through him. He could feel the shards of glass poking at tissue and muscle, some even drilling deeper.
His eyes watered, blurring his vision. His chest felt heavy and his lungs clinging onto his unstable breathing.
Hudsons head rolled off his arm and was now laid dipped in the snow.
He glared up at the grey sky with a blurred vision.
Blood pooled the ground below him while the cold was now to his shoulders, biting through his uniform as it began to stab through his skin. Before numbing it.
The world slowly grew dark in Hudson's half-lidded eyes. The pilot's breathing grew shallow and slow.
He coughed, tasting blood and bitter soot.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped, water streamed down his bloodied and soot tainted face.
“I tried. I really did.”
“But I can’t get up.”
Blood, soot, cold, glass, smoke and screams.
Oh such wonderful things.
I let out a hiss as the tip of my pencil let out.
Snap.
I threw it to the side, the thin object rolling away and falling off my desk. Resting in my almost full trash can.
Serves it right.
My back hurts as I straighten my composure, my chair letting out a creak as I did.
I glance up at all the yellow pieces of paper I and my director stuck on my bulletin board.
Fix Grammar to proper American Grammar.
Talk to Bill and stay overtime to finish the script.
Deadline this MONDAY.
Lawyer up. Full meeting with Thomas Conner, Joey Drew and Trevor Covens (asshole) on January 15th.
Reminder to self: stop stealing Wally's keys. Stop stealing Norman's projector and stop getting into fights (unless you want a mouth full of broken teeth, pal).
I looked at the last one, picking up the note and staring at it. The words at the very bottom are faint and small, but I can make them out:
And stop stealing my heart! <3 Bill
I quickly stuffed that note in my drawer, where Bill's other notes and drawings stayed safe. Safe so I can reread them sometimes.
I glance at the note on my right. In a couple weeks, I'll have to meet up with my boss, the head of Gent...and an ass-hole who expects me to pay up because I broke his nose. Lovely.
I turn off my desk lamp, my typewriter now belonging to the shadows. I stand up and stretch my back, a dull pain shooting up my spine.
Fights will be fights. Broken noses, broken backs...the usual.
I grab my briefcase and jacket, slinging my jacket over my shoulder. Adjusting my grip on my briefcase, I head out of the quiet department. Everyone else has already gone home.
I walk through the halls, passing cheerful posters and hissing pipes above. The lights above hum and flicker, unease churning in my stomach.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I swing my head around, my eyes darting around wildly. My grip on my briefcase is tighter, making my knuckles turn pure white. I stare at the end of the hallway, squinting my eyes.
No one.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
I spin around to the other side of the hallway, but nothing greets me there. Nothing but ridiculous posters, smiling cutouts and the glaring pipes. The tapping, whatever it is, isn't stopping though. It's rhythmic, but somewhat loud. It's loud, but somewhat distant.
I strain my ears, desperate to make sense of where it's coming from.
Tap.
I narrow my eyes before walking over to a wall, pressing an ear.
Tap. Tap.
The sound moves.
It's coming from the walls.
I run after it, shrugging on my jacket and fumbling with my briefcase.
I'm not sure why, but I can't let it run off without me. Whatever it is.
I turn around the corner, almost colliding into a Bendy cutout and smacking right into a pipe. I couldn't care less.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap-!
Suddenly, I hit something, making me fall back to the ground.
I hit the floor, my briefcase landing on the ground with a thud as I glared up at the figure. "Watch it, pal!" I grumbled, already getting my briefcase.
I forgot how easy it was for me to get knocked down.
Weakling.
"Hudson? Whatcha doin' here? Aren't ya supposed to be already gone?" A familiar voice asked.
I straightened my jacket and glanced up, more intently.
Jack.
"Uh, just finishing up a script. Nothing else really."
The sound's getting away...
Jack stares at me, worried probably. He fixes his vest, smoothing out the wrinkles and shifting his hat. "Lemme guess, another dead end?" He asked softly, his eyes gentle and warm.
He pities me.
I cough, trying to clear my throat, "Uh, sort of. I got some notes done..."
Liar. You just threw them in the trash.
I shouldn't feel so agitated. I shouldn't feel annoyed.
It's Jack. Kind, warm and has done nothing, but save my ass.
So why am I getting annoyed?
Jack raises a brow, but I can see he's holding his tongue. He shakes his head instead. "Right....well, I heard about the meetin' in two weeks. Ya ready for that?" He asked, tilting his head.
Two weeks? I thought it was a couple.
I bit my lip, swallowing. I glanced desperately at the wall.
The tapping's getting away! I just know it...
“Oh please…I’ll…be ready,” I mutter, not looking at him. I bite my bruised lip, a dull pain beginning to throb.
Jack raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. He leaned back on the wall, arms folding. “Really? Because ya still look like a trainwreck from last week.”
I grit my teeth, well aware of how bruised I look. Pretty much in between my eyes and right face is swollen and looks like I got kicked to the curb.
My fingers curl into my palms, tensing. “I’m still on my feet, aren’t I?” I snap, defensive.
Jack sighed, shaking his head slightly. His eyebrows knitted together tightly as he dragged a hand down his face. “Hudson, ya can’t keep doin’ this. I know yer goin’ away in a month, but can’t you leave without getting punched in the face?”
Tap.
I snap my head towards the wall, hearing the disappointed snort from Jack. I step closer to the wall, narrowing my eyes. My other hand presses up against the wood, my eyes squinting in focus.
“Hudson, if you could just listen to me…!” Jack huffed.
“I swear I can hear something scratching in the walls…” I muttered, pressing my ear closer.
Jack puts a hand firmly on my shoulder, forcing me to face him.
“Hudson. Stop. There’s nothin’ in the walls, ya need to get rest,” Jack said tightly, the corners of his lips tugging downwards. “Look, I don’t know what’s goin’ on in that department of yours, but clearly, yer not well. How about we just-”
I cut him off, “No! It’s right in there. I know there’s something in there!” My voice raises in volume and I’m right in his face. Something inside is desperately trying to crawl out.
Anger.
It’s red and spikey and I can imagine it poking at my rib cage from inside. Wanting to see how long it can keep poking.
I glance away, turning my head. My hand is gripping my briefcase way too tightly as if it’s valuable. It’s not.
I won’t punch him. I can’t.
Poke.
I blink, trying to simmer down and focus on something else.
But he won’t let me.
“Kid, talk to me, dammit!” Jack yells, frustration creeping in his tone. He grabs my shoulder a little more firmly. His dark eyes are conflicted and I can see the storm brewing inside of them.
I shrug out of his grip, giving him a glare. “Why should I? You just keep dismissing me as crazy.”
Jack scowls, before angrily shaking his head.
“BECAUSE YA ARE, HUDSON. YOU KEEP GETTING INTO BULLSHIT WHEREVER YOU GO. WHY DO YA THINK FOLKS ARE UNEASY TO WORK WITH YA?! WHY DO YOU THINK FOLKS SCOWL AT YOU IN THE HALLWAYS?! BECAUSE ALL YOU’VE BEEN LATELY IS A TROUBLESOME KID THROWING HIS SHIT BECAUSE HE CAN’T KEEP IT TOGETHER!” He yelled, shadow creeping over his face as the light flickered above.
SIlence.
Jack’s eyes widened as he covered his mouth with a hand. He shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t…kid…” He began, staring down at his feet.
I can imagine something else wiggling in my ribcage. It’s just above anger.
It’s grey, almost static and wheezes a lot. It’s slow and heavy, settling around my heart and gives a little flicker and wheeze.
Hurt.
I stay frozen in place, blanking.
I hardly notice Jack wrapping his arms around me and apologizing. His eyes were regretful.
I push him off of me, eyes glistening. My throat is heavy and I drop my briefcase.
I turn around, leaving him. I can hear him yelling after me, but I don’t answer.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I follow the sound, my heart still heavy.
He isn’t wrong though.
After all,
Trouble always meets a sticky end, right?
Tap. Tap. Tap.
(For @thelocalmoth because why not, they're awesome.)