The Monk Chase

October 22, 2017
By gcrochiere BRONZE, Wilbraham, Massachusetts
gcrochiere BRONZE, Wilbraham, Massachusetts
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Blackness.  It’s all I can see.  I feel like a blind bat.  I have minimal sense of direction.  I can’t see where I’m  going.  I think I’m moving forward.  My body is moving faster than my feet. Knee-deep in the sewer water, I run as fast as I can, trying to make up for lost time falling.  My white t shirt is soggy and drips with a mixture of sweat, sewage, and stink that resembles business of a toilet.  The knee deep puree is weighing me down.  My legs are getting heavier every step I take.  My thigh muscles ache, are on fire, and are strained from running for so long.  How much longer? I think impatiently.  As I trudge through the water, splashes come up and find their way into my mouth.  A droplet makes contact with my tongue and the taste is vile, sour, and foul. I spit it out and hope I remember to keep my lips sealed for the remainder of the time I’m going to be down here.  A stench crawls up my nose and I’m not breathing right.  Since my lips are sealed, this means I breathe through my nose and the torrent of aromas floating through the air make me want to barf.  But vomit is just the start of the stench.  There is a mixture of scents filling my nose as I breathe in and out trying to steady my breath.  First of all, I’m in a sewer so the smells are not sweet and tangy like a nectarine.  The smells are vile, like animals decaying, punctuating my senses and making me dizzy and lightheaded. 
Following me is the monk.  Of course he has a real name but I do not know it.  I was never in a situation to know this gangly man.  He could be thirty maybe forty years older than me, yet he pursues me with focus which frightens me.  He is about six foot two with broad shoulders and long arms.  He wears a long black robe from head to toe and a short cape runs from the top of his head down touching the bottom of his back.  He does not know I know this but I can tell by my keen sense of hearing even through the splashing of feet, that he is slowing down.  His breaths are getting shorter and quicker and he is receiving less oxygen supply to his legs.  He is tired.  He will be done pretty soon. 
She is a speedy one.  Doris is her name.  She is just under 5’6’’ and about 130 pounds.  I have most information about her but facts do not tell you how well people work under pressure.  As she runs away from me her legs bulge with muscles.  Starting from the hamstrings down to the calfs, her muscles are stringy, contracting and stretching, kind of like thick string cheese except much stronger.  Doris had a look of pure fury on her face when we made eye contact in the middle of the street.  Her forehead had a few too many wrinkles for her age of 18 and her brows were furrowed, thick like a fox's tail.  Her eyes, are a hazel in the middle and yellowed on the outside.  I’m chasing her down here because I greedily pulled her down here.  The streets of New York City have many street drains.  I, the wild creature many people think of me to be, live in one of the street drains.  Something about being underground comforts me.  So, when Doris walked above my home, I simply reached up, yanked her lanky legs, and pulled her down to me.  The little brat struggled herself free and is now trying to escape but she won’t have any luck.  Just wait.
I’ve been running for a while and it seems that there is no way out.  Minutes tick by and it seems as if I’m going in circles.  As I look up I see a small stream of light coming from above, just a few yards in front of me.  This is my escape I think.  Little do I know, this is just the beginning.  My first thought is that this is the light you see when you are dying but I quickly come back to reality when I trip on something and carefully catch myself, not wanting to fall into the mess.  I glide to the light above as fast as I can.  When I am directly under the light, I realize a ladder leads upward.  This is my chance, I think.  I take a deep breath through the nose and quickly regret it with the rancid aroma, as I trudge up the ladder.  Rung by rung.  Right hand, left foot, left hand, right foot.  My shoulders burn and I feel heavy as bricks, each rung a struggle.  I can no longer hear the Monk’s intense breathing behind me so I think I have lost him.  Almost there.  I’m eye level with the ground, above the sewer.
Doris has no idea how close I am to her.  This girl is not as smart as she thinks she is.  She has fallen into my trap.  I’m so close to success I can almost taste it as much as I taste this grimy water.  As she scales up the ladder I pounce into place.  I start at the bottom of the ladder and follow her.  She thinks she has made it to safety but no she has not.  As she yells in delight and relief I take my right hand with my lanky fingers and pull her right back down.  She collapses.  This is just the beginning.

The author's comments:

This was a nightmare I had when I was younger and I remember it really clearly

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