Anvil

I had been chasing him through the desert. I think it was around noon. Lunch time. When had I eaten last? I can't remember. It seems all I have ever known was the pang of hunger and the drip of my saliva onto the dry road beneath my gnarled, dusty feet. How long have I been at it? How many years have I nearly had him only to be brutalized by some sort of deus ex machina, divinely bent on extolling the virtue of my suffering.

That bird. That damned bird.

I don't believe in gods anymore. Only devils. The fanatic devotion that crawls within my skin. The graceless ineptitude that poisons my hand. Turns it against me. Forces me to pull the trigger when the barrel is bent backwards towards myself, yet I expect it to do no such thing as to harm me. Ever thus to zealots, I guess. Sic semper canis. Perhaps, upon reflection, the real devil lies within. No time for that right now.

I set it up perfectly. Never before has so exquisite a painting graced the sweeping escarpments of these incessant mesas as this one. It felt as though I could almost reach into it. That I could travel down; run into the infinite expanse, along that boundless road. Forever. I raise my hand. Solid rock. If only I could…

Just run. The road is right in front of me. I could go and never look back. Run away from this dry and dusty place. I raise my hand. Still solid rock.

Here he comes. That bird. That damned bird. The trap was set. All I had to do was chase him into it.

One hundred feet. Ninety feet. Eighty feet.

Hot sweat matted my fur. The aching thump of my heart, piercing through my body with every step I took toward that wretched creature, echoed indifferently off the apocryphal tunnel up ahead.

Fifty feet! Forty feet! Thirty feet!

The thrill of adrenaline, coursing through my veins had long since taken over. My bloodshot eyes stabbed at only but the epicenter of my woes. My feet, blistered and torn from the eons spent leading up to this very moment. Any second now! He's only five feet away!

He—

Wait a second. That tunnel wasn't supposed to be real. What's going o— CRACK!

I crumple to the ground, and my disembodied teeth follow suit. I sit, dazed, trying to discern what went wrong when I heard it: A long, descending whistling tone.

“What could that be,” I questioned. As the sound got louder and louder, and the whistling lower and lower, I suddenly remembered. “Oh no” I muttered, “The anvil.”

I scrambled to escape, but it was too late. 250 pounds of wrought iron landed upon my head. A metallic CLANG resounded through the desert air. My torso, unable to withstand the ferritic onslaught, crumpled.

When the dust cleared, my mangled body unfurled. Oscillating up and down to the hideous mockery of an accordion tone. I stared into the distance, shocked. Wondering how my captor was able to keep me trapped in this Sisyphean nightmare for so long.

That bird. That damned bird.

The treacherous “meep meep” that has wormed its way into the very core of my being. The winner. Inextricably tied to this sadist — this beast. Am I doomed to chase him for all of time? I can't even remember why I started at this point. All I know is that my life has no purpose outside of him.

These thoughts run through my head, but all I can do is stare, unblinking, into the horizon. Then the lump comes. That old familiar lump. That hideous red lump right from the top of my head. It stretches towards the sky with a “wOoooooOOOOUUP.” I can't remember if it was stars or birds. It must've been birds.

Birds. BIRDS. That damned bird!

Birds fly around my head, tweeting. Singing, whispering. Quietly showing me the truth. Promises of eternal salvation if I could just catch that roadrunner. YES. That's it! I just have to catch the bird! Try harder! All the stops! Full speed! Perhaps, in the finding — of the bird, that is — I can find it: the meaning! The meaning to my suffering, and— yes! Within it, the means to my salvation!

I writhe in my dazed enlightenment. Plotting, planning. Deciding exactly the right angle at which to strike. Strike the bird. The damned bird. Tweeting, I hear. Ringing. Rattling of bones within my head. Nonsensical ramblings. The fear that can only be felt within the mind of a madman. Pain — oh god, it's back. That pain. That unceasing pain is coming back. Where am I? Who have I been for so long? Am I still there? Them? What? D-Did I already ask that? What just happened? Who said that?

Then, like a lone rain drop from a cloudless sky, perhaps as hail from miles away, blown around, tumbling in the stratospheric turbulence up above, just to be melted and sent down to land upon a single grain of sand, evaporating into a memory, a single pebble falls, landing perfectly atop the bump protruding from my head. Then, blackness.