THE BEAST REPRESSED NO MORE

Startled awake by a violent clap of thunder overhead, panic fills Henry’s mind as his body shivers uncontrollably from the cold.  Glancing back and forth, he tries to get his bearings while looking for the imminent danger that is sure to be close by.  Pulling his arms tight across his chest to try and retain some warmth and also control the shaking, he notices that his arms are bare.  Swiping back his rain soaked hair from his eyes, he looks down to see that he’s only wearing a severely stained white tee shirt and dress pants that are held up with dark colored suspenders.  Continuing down, he sees that he is only wearing a shoe on his right foot with his left wearing a dirty and partially torn sock.

He is leaning against a brick wall in what appears to be a dark alleyway.  He listens for sounds of pursuers, but only hears the constant drumming of rain along with more of the thunderous booms from the storm passing above.  Pushing himself off the wall, his legs are exhausted for some reason and he guesses that he was been running.  He asks himself “running from what?” as he looks up and down the alleyway for any signs of movement.  As he continues to gain his bearings, he notices a strong coppery taste in his mouth and assumes he must have bit his tongue or lip during his flight from danger.

Walking to the end of the alleyway, he looks up and down the street, hoping to see some landmark that will help him remember where he’s at in the large city.  Glancing back, the alley behind him is completely submerged in darkness and doesn’t appear to offer an alternate exit.  He is filled with anxiety as he will have to expose himself when he walks out onto the street.  As he scans the street, he catches sight of the large Catholic Church that he attends on Sunday mornings and instantly knows where he’s located.  Not far from the Delaware River, but still over two miles from his home, he begins walking down the street that’s lined with warehouses, obviously closed after hours.

After walking a few blocks, while his mind is beginning to clear, he realizes that he has lost control once again.  Plagued by these reoccurring episodes since his adolescence, he has no memory of the events of the evening, yet based on his level of anxiety, he knows something is definitely wrong.  As he continues in front of the warehouses, he plays the events of yesterday prior to his episode over and over in his mind, looking for some type of trigger.  As his mind drifts, he doesn’t notice that he has left the industrial part of town and passing through a restaurant district before crossing the Ben Franklin Bridge over the Delaware River.  While most of the restaurants were closed for the night, a local pub appears to still be open as light fills the street in front of the business and a large sign in front highlights the name “Shorty’s”.

With thoughts only of getting home to safety and out of the cold, he walks in front of the window, allowing the light from inside to illuminate his figure.  He is startled to see his shirt is stained in a crimson color and as he looks into the glass window to see his reflection, he sees that the area around his mouth is covered in blood.  In a panic, he begins to run, putting as much distance as he can between the pub and himself, unsure if anyone saw him from within the business.

Running, he quickly covered the distance up to the Ben Franklin Bridge.  Even know the bridge was highlighted with street lights, he didn’t stop as he continued to run with his only thoughts being getting to the safety of his home.  He felt lucky that the streets had very little vehicular traffic at this time of the night as he made it across town.   With his lungs burning from the heavy exertion, he turned a corner and onto the street where his home was located.  A few minutes later, he cut through his lawn and around to the back of his home were his car was still parked from the previous day.  Glancing up, all the windows in his house were dark, except for a light coming from the back door that allowed entry directly into the kitchen.  Stopping at the foot of the stairs, he took several deep breathes before walking up the stairs and opening the door.  The door was unlocked as it had remained since he purchased it.  The neighborhood had always felt so safe and secure, yet now he had possibly destroyed that tranquility.

Quickly turning off the light so he wouldn’t be seen from the outside, he made his way through the single story house and into the bathroom.  Once he had closed the door, he felt around until he found the light switch, but hesitated before turning it on.  What he had seen in his reflection at the pub had terrified him.   After several long seconds, he steeled himself with a deep breath and flipped the switch.

His eyes first fell on his stained shirt.  The rain had washed out most of the blood, but there was still a very apparent light crimson outline surrounding his neck area.  As his eyes moved up, he could see traces of blood under his chin that had not been rinsed away during the storm.  Finally, he looked into his own eyes, eyes filled with the terror of not knowing what had really occurred that night.  Caked blood surrounded one of his nostrils and an area under his nose.  As he reached up to wipe the blood from his face, he noticed that blood had dried in the cuticles of his finger nails on several of his fingers.

“What have you done Henry?” was the question that he asked himself over and over.