Calibration 74: Chapter Fifty-Two
By: William F. Aicher
Tags: Experimental Fiction, Fiction, Serial Fiction, Serial Novel, Novel

Photo by Isaac Quesada on Unsplash

Calibration 74 is a serial novel experiment, posted raw and unedited as it is written. It is recommended you start at the beginning.

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Chapter Fifty-Two

I should have written my name in the sand. I should have built an effigy of stones on the shore. I should have lit a signal fire. Stuck a message in the bottle and tossed it out to sea.

But the jungle has closed in around me. The simple foot path blocked by the birds beckons me onward, but the way back to shore is trapped in vines and man-eating plants. Great beasts rumble in the distance and howls scream down from the canopy above. The chittering of monkeys. The squeals of wild hogs.

The pitter-patter of my own bare feet as I venture inward, seeking the elusive center.

Hunger and strife. A trail of blood from my wounded soles, consumed by squirming larvae, fat and ripe for the picking.

The little cream-filled kind.

Night falls and the clouds roll in, deep crashes of thunder shaking the ground with every step.

Something has found me and if I do not continue, it will swallow me whole.

Steadily, I march forward to the beat of an angry god’s drum.

Duck livers and ancient brick walls. The yellowed shine of watching eyes, hidden in a luscious cover of green foliage, illuminated by heaven’s pyrotechnics.

And just as the thirst threatens to overtake me, the skies open and the toilets flush overhead. Shit and piss. Gray water. Paper towels and sanitary napkins. Hair and clothing plastered to my body, I tilt my head back and open my mouth wide.

Dance a little rain dance and swallow it all down.

Onward, onward, onward. Through the swamps and past the crocodiles, the gleam of their ivory-lined caves beckoning me to crawl inside. Maws of eternal respite.

I thought we had a deal. You and I. You and me. The two of us. The four of us the 7.8 billion of us. You go your way, I go mine, and though our paths may cross, never shall we meet. But we have met. Once upon a lemon drop. Twice upon a dream. Woven baskets and crocheted blankets of stars. Never holding water and never holding hands.

You go your way, I go mine.

This way is mine.

Which way is yours?

Shivers in shelter remain shivers all the same, and a house is not a home.

Built on an illusion, the waves and caves and spirit and body. I am me and you are you.

I will never be you and you will never be me.

We are in and of ourselves, and this path is my path and one you will never follow.

One you will never find.

A guiding light may draw you onward. A map may show you the way. But your journey remains your own. We all wear shoes of different sizes, and our gaits will never be the same.

The limp in your stride the eternal damnation of an injury long ago. An adjustment to your travels, decided many decades past, through the innocent stupidity of vainglorious youth.

And the rain rain rain came down down down.

I’m just a little black raincloud.

And that rumbly in my tumbly yearns for the sweetness of honey.

Lightning crashes, a new mother cries. And the jungle opens to reveal the overgrown remains of a mansion. Crumbling and alone, it beckons me onward.

I know this place and this place knows me.

It calls me by my name.

The door opens, and I step inside … as the rain turns to hail and the forest around disappears beneath the flood.

A moat of smiling crocodiles cry diamond tears in the night and wail you would have been safer here with us.

Continue to Chapter Fifty-Three.