How to Make Life: Chapter Five

A tilt of the head followed by the small, clawing of stubby, bloody paws at the musty air signaled that the rat was now mobile. It slowly rose to dismembered legs, wobbling slightly for lack of feet. It turned its sightless, eyeless face towards me and, agonizingly sluggish, it advanced towards me. I watched curiously as its muscles quivered in a mechanical, grossly inorganic way, and it walked in jerky motions not unlike a broken machine. It occasionally made odd grunting noises as though it were gasping for air. If it spoke any words, I noted disappointedly, I could not make them out.

I was used to regret, but I could not help it as the dissatisfaction began to grow when the rat suddenly dove towards the end of the table and fell into the black carnage below. It dropped onto the floor, and the sickening crunch of recently-mended bones filled my ears. I quickly fell to my knees to examine my beautiful creation’s injuries, and my legs began to shake as its convulsions melted into stillness.

I went to pick it up. As my fingers brushed the rat’s bloody, mangy fur, it suddenly let out a feral shriek. It was the darkest sound of hell, the tortured scream of those being stirred into the fiery depths by nightmarish demons. I stared, not in the least bit affected compassion for the misery in front of me. I was used to it. This cry lasted for a few seconds, and then the rat was motionless and silent as death.

I clutched my fingers into a fist and rolled back onto the floor after a few moments. I let the bones and clumping dust reach into my back, and I began to realize just how uncomfortable I was like this. I closed my eyes and began to weep, tears rolling down my dirty, pale cheeks.

“Damn it!” I sobbed, hitting the ground. “Damn it all! It was supposed to work! God damn it!” Wet tears melded with the dark crimson blood below, letting off a salty, metallic smell that seemed to have seeped into every pore of the small shack.

I grasped blindly through watery eyes at the papers that lay disheveled on the table above me. I flipped through them with a horrid fervor, tears meshing with blood and ink. Trembling fingers  finally rested on a single sheet titled “Motherhood.”

You are a mother, and you have all the qualities of a mother. Your daughter is Mikeita Hope Chayyim. Protect your daughter. Be there for her. No matter what, she will always be your first priority. You love her. You feel this emotion course through every vein of your body. Protect and love. You will protect your daughter with your life if you must. Always make sure she is safe, and always make sure that her needs come first.

            I stared at this sheet for what felt like overlapping eternities, and finally I slammed it down and drew a tired hand over my face.

            “This should’ve worked,” I mumbled softly. I then gazed up at the dim light and watched as it swung side to side in captivation. “Maybe if it were human. . . .”

            My voice trailed off, and once I realized what exactly I had muttered, I beat the ground and shook my head in terrible antagonism.

“Kei, Kei, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I keep failing you,” I wept. “I just keep failing. That’s what I am: a failure. Failure. Failure. Failure.

            “Failure.”

            With clenched muscles, I let out a booming cry. Anger surged through my body, red and toxic and cold. I picked up the rat that was lying discarded and worthless on the floor, and I threw it across the room with a heavy heart and helpless rage. I sat breathing heavily for a few moments, but then my wrath suddenly dissipated and was replaced by burning terror.

            The body of the rat had hit another cage, a small, rusted thing that was perched precariously atop of a shelf. It wobbled slightly, and then it fell to the ground with a sound that resonated through my very soul, shaking me and causing me to leap to my feet. The metal bars of the cage flew in haphazard formations through the air. What was inside the cage, upon realizing that it was free, darted quickly towards the door.

            I reached for the figure, but as my fingers closed around it, it emitted a sound chillingly similar to that of the one I had heard babies make as they were used for target practice by the red soldiers. It then brought its jagged teeth down on my exposed flesh, and I yelped with pain. My grip loosened as my blood splattered the floor (I thought I would later find that ironic), and the figure ran to the propped-open door and into the light of the walled city.

            I dashed after it, fear overriding the pain in my finger. In just a few, long leaps, I was at the door, and I threw it ajar and dove at the figure which was staring transfixed at the clear blue sky above. I kicked at the figure with all my might, and it soared ungracefully through the air. It hit an opposing, stone wall and fell in a heap and tangle of limbs. I ran up to it and watched with abating dismay as its movements began to slow. In fact, I began to grow slightly curious.

            For the thing was a miniscule replica of a female human. It was made of clay and dressed in a horribly-made dress with patterns of daisies, a mockery of all things resembling the human race. Its limbs were disproportional, and it twitched them with sickening, mechanical irregularity, much like the rat. Its hands were missing as were its eyes, and its mouth, tongue-less, was stretched open in a silent, gaping scream. It rocked back and forth slightly, and, fearing I would be discovered, I squashed my imperfect creation with my foot. The golem, to my relief, merely whimpered and dissolved into a pile of sand.

            I squatted down and ran my bloody finger through the pile. It began to throb. “Fascinating,” I remarked. “That it should try to escape might imply that it was seeking freedom. It even bit me to make its getaway. If that is true, then that insinuates that it had feelings. It wanted something. It might’ve, for just this brief moment, even been alive.”

            I chuckled after a few moments, and then this erupted into peals of unrestrained, billowing laughter. I shook my head and refused to let my smile drop at the same time.

            “Well, I guess we’ll never know. Back to the drawing board I go.” I laughed again, and I pocketed my pencil along with a small pinch of the remains of the golem. I then made sure that the door to his hideaway was propped gently open, for I had not that one precious necessity needed for concealment: a key. With a careful glimpse at my surroundings to make sure I was not watched, I hurried off without a backwards glance at the underground horrors that always seemed to rest on his back. Even after all the excitement which followed my discovery, I knew I had more important matters to attend to.

So, leaving the darkness and death behind, I made my way home.