Some things are not meant to make sense. We aren't always meant to know how things work, and often, our brains overlook it all fascination of the end result. This is why the term 'nonsense' exists. However, just because we can't explain it doesn't mean we should be any less worried about it.
Weird things never happen to me, and bumping into her on a busy street corner wasn't all too weird until I started talking to her. You see, I'm a college student. I was rushing home, barely paying attention, trying to dodge everyone that stood in my path. It wasn't until I passed by my local art gallery, the one I spend all too much time in, that a woman stumbled through the door and bumped into me before tumbling to the ground.
My body wanted to keep going without slowing down, yet every other part told me I needed to help her. I was the one that did this to her after all. Sure, I needed to get home and do some homework, but that could wait a few moments. I stopped, turned to her and helped her up, apologizing as I did so. Thankfully she wasn't bleeding.
"Are you okay, miss?" I asked, helping her to her feet.
"I'm scared, I don't know where I am." she replied, panicked.
In the back of my mind, I needed to get home, but I was intrigued by the situation. "Do you know your name?" I asked. It was a dumb question, but it was the only thing to enter my head at the moment.
She shook her head in response. "I'm scared, can you help me?"
I hesitated for a moment. Is she another one of these crazy drugged up people that wander the town? She didn't really look it. Her blonde hair was well kept and her skin was without flaw. She looked almost like she could have been a model. I knew I could get my homework done rather quickly if I needed to, what could it hurt to try and help her?
"What can I do?" I asked.
"I'm so hungry," she said, following a deep growling from her stomach.
"Come with me, I'll get you something to eat." I said. I lead her to the café not to far down the street from where we were. I held the door for her and we made our way to a booth nearest a window. This place was pretty cheap.
After we ordered and received our food, she finally spoke again. "What's your name?" she asked.
"I'm Todd," I replied.
"You're a really nice guy, Todd," she said before taking another bite.
"Thanks," I said. "What's the last thing you remember? I might be able to help you." I hated giving an empty promise, but it was what I needed to say for her to trust me.
"I remember being in this big, white hall," she explained. "There were all these paintings lining the walls. I got scared and confused as to how I got there, and I ran out of the building and bumped into you."
"So you came from the art gallery then?" I asked. I previously thought she looked a little familiar, but I chocked it up to her having one of those faces. I now recognized where I'd seen her before.
I waited for her to finish her food before paying and heading back toward the art gallery. We made our way inside and went to the water color section from the artist Frank DeMonte. He was one of my favorite artists because he blended so well the realistic and the surreal. One painting of his I rarely looked upon was called "Monika".
As we approached the painting, it looked incredibly odd. There was nothing but a background of trees. There was a large section in the painting where the colors were blended in an odd way. It was like the painting couldn't figure out what was behind the missing party, so it blended its background elements to fix it.
I turned to her. "This is where you're from," I said. "How did you get out?"
She looked shocked. She stayed silent but slowly approached the painting and reached out to touch it. She recognized it. "I don't know how I got here," she said slowly.
I was about to say something when I heard a guard charging toward us. We sped out of the art gallery. On the crooked doorknob at the entrance, my thumb snagged and it got cut open. We ran to the nearest dark alley in hopes that we escaped the guard.
We both leaned against the wall to catch our breath. "We gotta get you back in there," I said.
She looked terrified. "I don't want to go back," she said.
"If we don't put you back, you could die out here," I told her. "You aren't a real living human, you aren't made to exist out here."
Just then, I took out my hand and examined my bleeding thumb. I turned my gaze to her as she stared down hungrily at the blood. She had a look in her eye like a wild animal about to lunge toward its prey. I backed away slowly and she charged forward, stuffing my entire hand in her mouth. Incredible pain shot through my hand as she gnashed her teeth over my flesh. Blood seeped from her mouth as she chomped higher and higher up my arm. I now understood what she meant when she said she was hungry. Not for food, but for human flesh.
Weird things never happen to me, and bumping into her on a busy street corner wasn't all too weird until I started talking to her. You see, I'm a college student. I was rushing home, barely paying attention, trying to dodge everyone that stood in my path. It wasn't until I passed by my local art gallery, the one I spend all too much time in, that a woman stumbled through the door and bumped into me before tumbling to the ground.
My body wanted to keep going without slowing down, yet every other part told me I needed to help her. I was the one that did this to her after all. Sure, I needed to get home and do some homework, but that could wait a few moments. I stopped, turned to her and helped her up, apologizing as I did so. Thankfully she wasn't bleeding.
"Are you okay, miss?" I asked, helping her to her feet.
"I'm scared, I don't know where I am." she replied, panicked.
In the back of my mind, I needed to get home, but I was intrigued by the situation. "Do you know your name?" I asked. It was a dumb question, but it was the only thing to enter my head at the moment.
She shook her head in response. "I'm scared, can you help me?"
I hesitated for a moment. Is she another one of these crazy drugged up people that wander the town? She didn't really look it. Her blonde hair was well kept and her skin was without flaw. She looked almost like she could have been a model. I knew I could get my homework done rather quickly if I needed to, what could it hurt to try and help her?
"What can I do?" I asked.
"I'm so hungry," she said, following a deep growling from her stomach.
"Come with me, I'll get you something to eat." I said. I lead her to the café not to far down the street from where we were. I held the door for her and we made our way to a booth nearest a window. This place was pretty cheap.
After we ordered and received our food, she finally spoke again. "What's your name?" she asked.
"I'm Todd," I replied.
"You're a really nice guy, Todd," she said before taking another bite.
"Thanks," I said. "What's the last thing you remember? I might be able to help you." I hated giving an empty promise, but it was what I needed to say for her to trust me.
"I remember being in this big, white hall," she explained. "There were all these paintings lining the walls. I got scared and confused as to how I got there, and I ran out of the building and bumped into you."
"So you came from the art gallery then?" I asked. I previously thought she looked a little familiar, but I chocked it up to her having one of those faces. I now recognized where I'd seen her before.
I waited for her to finish her food before paying and heading back toward the art gallery. We made our way inside and went to the water color section from the artist Frank DeMonte. He was one of my favorite artists because he blended so well the realistic and the surreal. One painting of his I rarely looked upon was called "Monika".
As we approached the painting, it looked incredibly odd. There was nothing but a background of trees. There was a large section in the painting where the colors were blended in an odd way. It was like the painting couldn't figure out what was behind the missing party, so it blended its background elements to fix it.
I turned to her. "This is where you're from," I said. "How did you get out?"
She looked shocked. She stayed silent but slowly approached the painting and reached out to touch it. She recognized it. "I don't know how I got here," she said slowly.
I was about to say something when I heard a guard charging toward us. We sped out of the art gallery. On the crooked doorknob at the entrance, my thumb snagged and it got cut open. We ran to the nearest dark alley in hopes that we escaped the guard.
We both leaned against the wall to catch our breath. "We gotta get you back in there," I said.
She looked terrified. "I don't want to go back," she said.
"If we don't put you back, you could die out here," I told her. "You aren't a real living human, you aren't made to exist out here."
Just then, I took out my hand and examined my bleeding thumb. I turned my gaze to her as she stared down hungrily at the blood. She had a look in her eye like a wild animal about to lunge toward its prey. I backed away slowly and she charged forward, stuffing my entire hand in her mouth. Incredible pain shot through my hand as she gnashed her teeth over my flesh. Blood seeped from her mouth as she chomped higher and higher up my arm. I now understood what she meant when she said she was hungry. Not for food, but for human flesh.
Comments
Post a Comment