Every night just outside my window, a battle is fought. I’m not exactly sure of the nature of this fight, but night after night of involuntary research has led me to believe that it is a hellbeast, a sign of the coming apocalypse, venturing up from its unholy den to hunt. The hour of this battle is variable, but it is inevitably timed to happen only moments before I drift off to sleep--a nightly trial of the soul. To the thing outside my window, this is probably a bonus.
The first sign is a faint, ominous snarl, life the rumblings of thunder from a distant storm. As it crescendos into a grumbling roar, my body involuntarily tenses and I grind my teeth in anticipation of the coming trial. After it reaches its peak, the roar subsides into a thoughtful purr as the two sides ready for battle. Here the approaching beast usually lets out its battle cry, a shrill, repeated scream that sends my head burrowing into the pillow. The idle growling swells back to a roar as the beast charges. It meets its prey in an unholy crash, the crack of doom aurally silhouetted by the grinding screech of the attacker, a sound like the screams of the damned—not those placid souls resigned to their fate, but the ones who are royally Pissed Off about the way things are going for them. Every night I pray for a swift victory, for though the beast always wins in the end, its opposition puts up a hell of a fight sometimes. Some nights the scuffle is mercifully quick. Other nights the cacophony of bangs and crashes, rumblings and shrieks goes on for ages, echoing off the walls of buildings and the inside of my skull.
Finally, the beast, satiated at last, throws the carcass of its prey to the ground, where it lands with a hollow crash. It trumpets its cry again, this time in smug victory. It is an arrogant, ostentatious thing, this beast. With one last, contented roar, the thing rumbles laboriously off, its belly full, and I allow myself a small shudder of relief. It is only after all of this that I am able to attempt again my quest for sleep.
Oh, wait, I believe I hear the beast approaching now. I’m afraid I have to go; I have front-row seats for tonight’s apocalypse.
i like, except for the overuse of beast, growl(ing) and words over four syllables long.
ReplyDeletesorry, i sometimes long for those days way back when, when i could read something without internally editing everything. such is the cost of the expensive english degree.
i rebel against the massive dollar amount by not capitalizing anything i write casually.
i like your tone though--making something routine bigger than most people see it.
Yeah, I kinda went for "overblown"... late-night writing may have contributed to that choice, I think. And please, edit away; I think it will be quite a while before I'm able to kick my internal editor fully awake.
ReplyDelete