my foot started to hang loose like the front door on its one hinge. The rat darted back away from me but not too far. Not far enough to convince me that he wouldn’t be back for more too. And I swear that as I looked at him, his chops collapsed into this deathly grin. His bared teeth were covered in my blood.
Then I decided that I’d probably seen enough to warrant a scream. Then I decided that it didn’t matter if I screamed so loud that I made my head explode. Mine was the scream of a victim, of somebody that is constantly and consistently tortured until they cannot bear it any more. Mine was the scream of somebody that has been bullied to within an inch of their life.
‘Kill me!’ I screamed. ‘Or let me die!’
This time when the corrugated iron creaked in response, I knew that it was Tommy’s laughter, Tommy’s revenge. All I could think about was his not-quite-all-there gap-toothed grin; his freckly face and pathetic floppy ears. I felt the anger starting to creep up within me. Suddenly, I wanted to smash his face in. Suddenly, I wanted to inflict great pain.
I used the anger to crawl over to the bed. It wasn’t easy, not with one leg trailing behind me like a piece of heavy wood, but I made it through gritted-teeth- perseverance and anger. I smashed one hand down onto the bed head and tried to pull myself up with it. In the corner of my eye, I saw rats streaming through the crack in the wall. Some rats were even plucking up the courage to follow my trail of blood, and once they had that taste, courage became secondary. Blood-lust was all for them.
Sweat pissed down my forehead. My arm threatened to give up the ghost entirely, but somehow, I managed to drag myself upright. I loomed over the rats and sneered. Some started to back away from me, but when they saw my near-collapse when I tried to put weight on my mangled foot, when they saw the spray of blood that erupted from within me, they came back at me.
And then I saw it; the piece of metal that Tommy had been using as a cane was leaning against the wall by the door. If I could just make it to the cane, I could somehow limp my way out of there.
Slowly, I started to move. I longed for a weapon with which I could hold back this accumulating black tide of rats; a flame-thrower perhaps, or a carefully-flighted grenade. Goddamn it, I would have taken an A-Bomb right then, if it meant that those fucking rats would get a taste of their own medicine. In my final moments, I would have seen their paws and furry limbs being ripped to shreds as well as my own.
The tidal wave of my own anger was the thing that carried me through those terrible moments. It numbed me against the pain in my foot. It allowed me to finally gain the door and to grab at the metal cane. Sure, it made me linger longer than I should have done at the door as I beat the cane down onto the heads of the nearest rats, but eventually it dragged me out of there and into the open air.
I was surprised to see that it had become light during my time back in our building. It was as though, upon seeing myself being eaten alive, I’d automatically assumed that I’d never see sunlight again. But anger had seen me through, and it continued to be my friend as I crossed the centre of the courtyard and made directly for the gate.
Only after I’d thrown off the tarpaulin and gunned the engine of the Red Cross jeep did I allow that little whimper to escape from the knot of sustained terror which gripped my heart. Only then did I understand that Tommy’s revenge was not some terrible practical joke, but was actually something which looked a lot like hell on earth.
Chapter Five
“ Can you teach me how to dance real slow?”
Dr. Montaffian told me, in that typically forthright manner of his, that when they found me they virtually had to peel what was left of my ruined foot off the accelerator pedal of the Red Cross jeep. Apparently, I’d driven straight into the barrier at the
Then I decided that I’d probably seen enough to warrant a scream. Then I decided that it didn’t matter if I screamed so loud that I made my head explode. Mine was the scream of a victim, of somebody that is constantly and consistently tortured until they cannot bear it any more. Mine was the scream of somebody that has been bullied to within an inch of their life.
‘Kill me!’ I screamed. ‘Or let me die!’
This time when the corrugated iron creaked in response, I knew that it was Tommy’s laughter, Tommy’s revenge. All I could think about was his not-quite-all-there gap-toothed grin; his freckly face and pathetic floppy ears. I felt the anger starting to creep up within me. Suddenly, I wanted to smash his face in. Suddenly, I wanted to inflict great pain.
I used the anger to crawl over to the bed. It wasn’t easy, not with one leg trailing behind me like a piece of heavy wood, but I made it through gritted-teeth- perseverance and anger. I smashed one hand down onto the bed head and tried to pull myself up with it. In the corner of my eye, I saw rats streaming through the crack in the wall. Some rats were even plucking up the courage to follow my trail of blood, and once they had that taste, courage became secondary. Blood-lust was all for them.
Sweat pissed down my forehead. My arm threatened to give up the ghost entirely, but somehow, I managed to drag myself upright. I loomed over the rats and sneered. Some started to back away from me, but when they saw my near-collapse when I tried to put weight on my mangled foot, when they saw the spray of blood that erupted from within me, they came back at me.
And then I saw it; the piece of metal that Tommy had been using as a cane was leaning against the wall by the door. If I could just make it to the cane, I could somehow limp my way out of there.
Slowly, I started to move. I longed for a weapon with which I could hold back this accumulating black tide of rats; a flame-thrower perhaps, or a carefully-flighted grenade. Goddamn it, I would have taken an A-Bomb right then, if it meant that those fucking rats would get a taste of their own medicine. In my final moments, I would have seen their paws and furry limbs being ripped to shreds as well as my own.
The tidal wave of my own anger was the thing that carried me through those terrible moments. It numbed me against the pain in my foot. It allowed me to finally gain the door and to grab at the metal cane. Sure, it made me linger longer than I should have done at the door as I beat the cane down onto the heads of the nearest rats, but eventually it dragged me out of there and into the open air.
I was surprised to see that it had become light during my time back in our building. It was as though, upon seeing myself being eaten alive, I’d automatically assumed that I’d never see sunlight again. But anger had seen me through, and it continued to be my friend as I crossed the centre of the courtyard and made directly for the gate.
Only after I’d thrown off the tarpaulin and gunned the engine of the Red Cross jeep did I allow that little whimper to escape from the knot of sustained terror which gripped my heart. Only then did I understand that Tommy’s revenge was not some terrible practical joke, but was actually something which looked a lot like hell on earth.
Chapter Five
“ Can you teach me how to dance real slow?”
Dr. Montaffian told me, in that typically forthright manner of his, that when they found me they virtually had to peel what was left of my ruined foot off the accelerator pedal of the Red Cross jeep. Apparently, I’d driven straight into the barrier at the
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