Natural Causes

Natural Causes
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"Morning", he murmured without moving. There was no reply except for
the soft rustling of leaves. Tentatively he opened his eyes but quickly
shut them again when the morning sun pierced his vision unbearably.
Scrunching himself up into the foetal position he blew on his hands,
trying to fend off the deathly chill that comes from spending a night
in the open.
After a few minutes he felt able to move and rolled over, flat on his
back, making a weak groaning sound as he did so. "God, not another
day," he thought to himself miserably.
His bleary eyes began to focus on his surroundings. The trees of the
sub-Arctic forest careered up into the sky above him. The trunks seemed
immeasurably high, looming moodily around him like the pillars of some
archaic structure. A few pathetic looking branches hung limply off
them, but otherwise they were smooth most of the way up. Towards the
top there was an explosion of foliage where green fountained upwards
and outwards. These higher branches meshed together to form the canopy,
reaching out for each other like the arms of some adoring crowd.
Again, like every other morning, he wished it had all just been a bad
dream, but this didn't last long as the sharp acidic feeling in his
stomach quickly reminded him just how real the situation was. He
estimated it had been over three weeks since the small aircraft had
dropped from the heavens like a swatted fly. He had been the only
survivor, escaping miraculously with only a deep scratch on his left
leg. Stumbling from the wreckage drunk with shock he had made his way
into the forest in search of food and water. Since then, he had been
living on his wits, eating berries and even managing to snare the odd
small rodent, but he was no expert and the weight had fallen off him.
After the first two weeks he had lost all hope of rescue and his body
had begun to deteriorate rapidly, his matchstick frame becoming subject
to intense fits of dizziness and fatigue. When these struck he would
lie slumped and semiconscious under the protective shadow of the
nearest tree, sweat trickling down his sunken face, collecting in the
hollow pits of his eye sockets. His breathing would begin to quicken
before rapidly turning into a phlegmy drone as his withered lungs raked
the air for precious oxygen. These fits had become more frequent as
each day passed and he was increasingly exhausted.
"I'm dying", he had grudgingly admitted to himself in the midst of one
of these gruelling episodes. The acknowledgement of the desperateness
of his predicament had a dramatic effect. Ever since the crash he had
focused all his energies on staying alive. All his thoughts and actions
had been tainted by a burning desire to go home, his mind and body
stretched to an excruciating point by constant anxiousness and fear.
Now finally he had snapped.
Immediately after his admission he had felt a torrent of despair take
shape inside him. It began deep inside his chest before exploding
outwards, engulfing him. Like a tidal wave it spread across him, making
his body physically tremble with emotion. His brain shook with anger
and self-pity, why him? He mourned the lost life he would never see
again. Images flashed before him, each one intensifying the pain he
felt. All his regrets, things he had done, things he hadn't, came back
to haunt him. Feelings and memories he had locked away long ago broke
their cages and savaged him, hungry for acknowledgement after years of
denial. Mercifully, at the pinnacle of this ravaging fit, he had lost
consciousness and it was from this delirium-induced sleep he had just
awoken.
Mechanically, he licked the dew from the vegetation surrounding him, a
habit that had managed to sustain him with enough water to survive. As
he bent to savour a particularly moist looking plant a thought struck
him. "Why bother?" This statement rang out inside him like a cold bell.
He paused for a moment, waiting for some sort of internal rebuke for
his defeatist attitude, but none came. He settled down on his back
staring thoughtfully into the forest around him. He was right, by
continuing to drink he was only drawing out his death, dying from
starvation could take weeks but without water it would all be over in a
few days. Again he searched himself looking for a part of him that
disagreed with this new line of thinking, again he found nothing. In
fact the only emotion he could muster was a faint feeling of
contentment, maybe even joy. For a moment he lay staring, digesting the
new information, suddenly his mind clicked into action and understood
the reason for his new state of mind.
Yesterday's emotional earthquake had obliterated what was left of his
will to survive. Before he had been dead to the rest of the world, now
he was dead to himself as well. The finely woven threads of memories,
thoughts and feelings that made up the fabric of his being were gone.
He no longer had anything to preserve except for the empty shell of his
body which now looked and felt like little more then an animated
corpse. His joy came from the knowledge that he no longer had to
struggle; all the fight in him had suddenly and quite unexpectedly
left.
He was strangely exhilarated by this thought and sat up with a slight
smirk on his face. Closing his eyes he consciously sent this revelation
along all his internal communication systems, surely this amazing
abstraction of all he had ever known would provoke a reaction. There
was no response, an empty silence simmered inside him. His flame had
been extinguished and he no longer cared.
Yet something puzzled him, he was pretty certain that in some way he
was fundamentally still alive. For a while he struggled to define his
new condition but failed, however he was certain that he was not
completely dead. This left the question of why he remained in this
startling condition, why hadn't he simply died with the rest of himself
the day before. He found this thought threatened to deflate the feeling
of elation he was now experiencing and decided to forget about it for
the moment.
Opening his eyes and looking around the forest seemed to speak to him
in a new language. It was as if he had been let in on a closely guarded
secret and finally understood the significance of what was going on
around him. His surroundings buzzed like an organic factory, everything
was alive and busy. All the old stimuli were there, the musky smell of
vegetation and soil, the happy flickering of birdcalls across the
forest that he had once regarded as mocking, now took on a deeper
meaning. The man was experiencing the world in a new dimension; he
could actually feel the growth and regeneration going on around him.
The minute processes that sustained the ecosystem in which he now lay
had unravelled in front of him and he revelled in their intricate
beauty. Photosynthesis, pollination and transpiration all became
exquisite experiences, which buzzed in harmony with each other inside
his body.
During his time there he had always looked at the forest with a
feeling of resentment. Before it had been his prison and executioner
rolled into one, sadistically giving him hope and then snatching it
away from him again. Only in some of his more serene moments had he
noticed that the forest exhibited a kind of hypnotic beauty, a
mysterious charm that would entrance him for a few moments and distract
him from what he was doing. This new perception was nothing like the
mild day dreams he had experienced before, this was something far more
powerful. However, he was acutely aware he was only experiencing a
taste of the untapped oceans of ecstasy that lay around him. His
thoughts returned to the unanswered question of why he was in this
half-dead condition. Perhaps this had something to do with it; maybe it
was some sort of compensation for the suffering he had endured.
As he lay absorbing the sensations, which were now bombarding his body,
he realised what he must do. His unnatural frame of mind had shown him
a glimpse of what he could become part of, yet he was still an intruder
in this green temple. To become fully integrated into this forgotten
paradise he would pay with his life but this no longer bothered him.
Now that he understood the beauty of the system his death would help to
sustain, he no longer viewed his demise as a defeat, he felt part of an
unstoppable life force that would rage on for eternity, a force that he
would still be part of long after his body was gone. The gift he had
been given was a complete understanding of the mysterious cycles life
moved in, something he knew most people would never comprehend. The
earth where he lay was an altar and he was a sacrifice, a sacrifice to
the glory that surrounded him.
Crouching on all fours he began to dig, thrusting his hands as far as
he could into the moist mud that lay underneath him. He felt
invigorated with a sense of purpose, no longer restrained by the aches
of his dilapidated muscles. He dug for hours, concentrating completely
on his task, not noticing the passage of time around him. His hands
worked feverishly, scooping up great handfuls of mud before throwing
them over his shoulder. His face contorted into a snarl of impatience,
while his eyes sparkled with childish anticipation as he strove to
complete his vision.
By sunset his dream was a reality and he stood leaning over his morbid
creation, examining his handiwork. He cut a strange figure in the
orange half-lights that filtered through the forest as night
approached. A hunched, black silhouette staring intently at the ground
that lay at his feet, while the forest around him glowed with the dying
flames of the sun. The man surveyed the ground around the pit; piles of
soil lay strewn across the forest floor. He began sweeping them towards
the perimeter of the hole; there he shaped the excess mud into a small
wall that surrounded his excavation like a protective barricade. He
stood back pleased with this finishing touch, his burrow looked far
more ceremonial now and less like the efforts of a deranged
animal.
Wasting no more time, the man clambered over the edge of the pit and
lay with his cheek pressed to the ground. The cool earth sent
delightful shivers down his spine, which did something to soothe the
aching exhaustion that was finally catching up with him. He knew by
working all day without any water he had rapidly speeded up the death
process, he was now severely dehydrated and had lost the capacity to
sweat many hours ago. The deep chill of the earth refreshed his burning
skin and brought his body temperature down to a more satisfactory
level. Feeling sufficiently nourished, he stretched out flat on his
back filling the confined dimensions of the hole. He was impressed by
his own craftsmanship, the pit was both long enough and wide enough to
hold his fully extended body. Although it was only about two foot deep,
not quite the conventional depth of six foot, he felt it was deep
enough. At last satisfied he relaxed, unintentionally dropping off into
a peaceful doze, snug in his freshly dug grave.
He was awoken several hours later by the hooting of an owl somewhere
above him. His eyes snapped open and he began to scold himself for
falling asleep, he could have easily slipped away before he was ready.
The sky above him had taken on a whole new set of colours, where there
had once been a gentle shade of blue there was now a great yawning
darkness, dusted with the faintest sprinkling of stars.
As he watched a strange rhythm sprung up in his ears, a regular double
beat which reverberated deep inside his head. He quickly recognised it
as his own heartbeat, an inner drum beating out the last moments of his
life. Suddenly a new noise filled his ears as the sky around him let
out a growl of thunder. The two noises blended together inside him
forming a musical accompaniment to this, his final drama. Shuddering
with pleasure a new instrument entered the orchestra. The soft
pattering of rain became a delicate staccato, entwining with the
rhythmic beating of his heart while the clouds above provided a
rumbling bass with each new collision.
At the focal point of this spectacular chaos lay the man, his arms
crossed over his chest in the traditional pose of the dead. He inhaled
deeply, drinking in the charged atmosphere around him, in his altered
state he began to place symbolic meanings on the events unfolding
around him. The wild storm that had tuned in so perfectly with his body
was his final send off, sent to wash away the boundaries that
restricted him from becoming one with the forest. He viewed the rain
that splashed onto his forehead and trickled down his face as a
baptism, preparing him for his entry into a new world. Although his
shattered body had no way of expressing it, he felt a sense of
euphoria, which he had never believed possible.
The shower around him swelled to a torrential downpour as lightning
illuminated the sky with erratic flashes. The mud wall lining the edge
of the grave softened and collapsed, the dislodged soil slid down the
sides of the hole and began to refill it. The man felt no sense of fear
or panic at the prospect of being buried alive, in fact the sensation
of being overwhelmed by a deluge of mud seemed wholly appropriate. The
forest was embracing him, taking his body to allow his soul to merge
entirely with it's own eternal essence.
Without warning the storm ceased around him, imploding into an
expectant silence. The man was somewhat surprised at this as he was not
yet fully buried, his legs and torso were now completely submerged, but
his neck and head were still exposed. A segment of displaced mud
balanced precariously above his face, but without the rain to push it
forward it held firm. Getting over his initial shock, he realised that
his unexpected situation did not pose too much of a problem, the heavy
weight pressing down on his chest was making breathing difficult and he
was weakening with each gasp. He decided to exploit the moment of calm
that had presented itself to him and take one last look at the world
around him. Staring at the infinite blackness above him, he was
overcome by the beauty of his surroundings, a beauty made all the more
sweeter by the knowledge that he was destined to become part of it
forever. Taking a deep breath he closed his eyes and let himself begin
to fade.
Moments later a low whirring sound began to shake the air around him.
Irritated by this interruption, the man dragged himself back from his
semiconscious state. There was something about the noise that seemed
familiar, for some reason the sound that now resonated around the
woodland had been important to him once. With great effort he opened
his eyes and stared with disbelief at the scene above him. It took him
a few seconds to comprehend what he was seeing, but the sights, smells
and sounds that greeted him quickly concentrated into one word, one
word that shook him to his core. Helicopter.
He watched helplessly as it hovered above him, its searchlight probing
the area around his makeshift grave, illuminating everything but him.
After finding nothing of significance it banked left disappearing out
of view, taking its noise and light show with it. Lying in the now
silent forest, the man felt a growing sense of horror as he began to
realise the full implications of what had just occurred. This feeling
was aroused further when he heard what appeared to be laughter
emanating from the forest above. The laughter grew into a chorus of
cackles and shrieks, which he now recognised as the squawking of
crows.
"A murder of crows", he whispered shakily to himself, remembering the
word used to describe a group of these sinister creatures. He felt a
slight breeze against his cheek as one swooped from the darkness and
hovered above his face. Their eyes met and in that moment as he stared
into the jet-black jewel of its eye, the spell was broken and he saw
the true nature of the forest. He saw how it had tricked him,
manipulating his sense of self-importance to convince him that giving
in was his best option. He saw how it had known that people were still
looking for him and how it had kept him alive just long enough to twist
the knife. He saw how it had toyed with him, prolonging his torture out
of sheer spite. Finally, he saw how he would never be a part of its
brutal nature and all it had to offer was cold, stark death.
As his mind swam with fear and confusion he noticed he had stopped
breathing and could no longer hear his heart beating. The crow above
him let out one last sneering screech before disappearing in a whirl of
feathers. Its sudden, frantic movement dislodged the heap of soil above
the man's head and sent it crashing down upon his face. As the soil
filled his nostrils and throat he felt his survival instinct return and
he struggled to free himself, but it was too late. Mother Nature had
him and she bit with all her teeth.