Hearing that voice again...12 Kilos
You wanted to die? Wasn’t that what coming out here was really all about? Why worry now. Close those heavy eyes and see where you go from here.
That nasty little voice deep down inside, that ugly depository of personal damage gets going again and Garrett forgets himself for a moment. It’s a whisper but it still leaves his lips.
“Nowhere.”
Garrett steals a peek over at the old woman and assumes the whisper was low enough not to be noticed. He takes a sip of recycled water and feels a tide of nausea rise up. He’s in the process of finding a safe place to set the bottle down on the porch when she speaks.
“If my choice is listen to you make small talk or listen to you whisper to yourself, I’ll take the first one, stranger.”
“The names Garrett, for what it’s worth.”
The ancient nods and finishes chopping vegetables. She stands and tosses the tips and heads off the porch before collecting her board and her pot. ‘Well, if it’s listening to you make small talk or whisper nonsense, I’ll take the small talk, Garrett.”
The old woman doesn’t wait for a response as she collects her pot and board and walks into the shack.
Garrett sees her leaving and he sees the ramshackle slat door being closed behind her. The view sends a panic through him and he catches himself calling out. He shouldn’t be alone until the severity of the damage has been assessed. If the fracture is depressed, if there are bits of his skull pushed away or driven into the top fatty layer of his brain…
You die. Which is what you went out there to do. You failed, now you came to do it out here, remember.
Garrett ignores that nasty inner voice and tries to sit up, to free himself from his position stuck leaning against the ancient, light metal chair. Even that much movement has become painful, labored, nauseating.
Where are you going? Oh, go open that door she closed for a reason, I bet she’d shoot you dead right there.
“Shut up.”
Garrett doesn’t bother to whisper this time. He tries to sit up and manages to keep himself upright, but only barely.
Or what, you’ll make me? I’d like to see you try that.
Garrett tries to turn slowly, looking for that glass bottle. He doesn’t need more water, doesn’t even want any of it, the stuff was making him sick. Glass is a weapon though, a heavy glass bottle, that will make it shut up.
Hell yeah, find that green glass and crack yourself a good one. Aim for the left side, that’s where the fractures are, one good swing ought to shut me up for good.
Spurred on for a few insane moments Garrett strains and fumbles for the bottle, he turns just a bit too far to the left and loses his fragile balance, teetering and faltering until he slumps and collides with the porch railing. Hands run feebly along the old wooden rails, picking up splinters along the way as one final thought enters Garrett’s mind. Mind your head, stupid, you can’t risk it hitting anything else.