Happy Birthday to Me - A short story

Mature for language and violence.

It was a Monday. That word itself served as a good enough explanation for Richard’s woes. He sat on a rock holding up a 20oz bottle of Summer Fountain Spring Water to the sun, watching its rays penetrate the plastic. It glistened and shined brighter than a jewel, even in all its tacky off-brand glory.

He began counting the specs and debris that the sunlight revealed as the cold, clear liquid pooled in bottle. What he really wanted to do was tear the plastic apart and shower it all over him. The more he saw it swish around in that plastic prison, the thirstier he grew. He couldn’t drink it, no matter how much he wanted it. Every few minutes when the bottle would sweat, he’d thirstily lap up the result, but that’s about as far as he got.

The reason was clenched and crumpled in his fist. He held a disgusting little piece of paper with a typed message on it, written in Times New Roman, 12-point font. It was formatted and titled appropriately, very professional. It was even adorned with cute little clipart pictures of a tent and a campfire. Truly, it was a ten-minute Microsoft Word masterpiece.

It read:

Survival Kit

Items Included:

Sewing Needle/Thread

Multi-tool pocketknife

6 Bottles of Water

Antiseptic bandages/cream

3 PowerBars – you need energy!

Note to traveler: do not drink the water. It contains Arsenic Trioxide, which is known to lead to dizziness, confusion, abdominal discomfort (which may include and is not limited to: bleeding, burning, nausea, diarrhea), and death. Oops! Must’ve been a bad batch, perhaps you should write the company when you get back? Have a nice hike.

That was a lovely little note, wasn’t it? He discovered it under his pillow this morning, with the listed items in a knapsack. His original hiking bag was not with him. Also included was a pamphlet titled, What You Need to Know: A Guide to Surviving the Wilderness. The first caution it detailed was the need of a sufficient supply of water. Well, he had water. Did it matter if it was flavored? What the fuck is “arsenic trioxide”? Arsenic with a little extra zing?

He cursed God, he cursed Satan, and he cursed his wife, his family, and his dog. He cursed the Colorado Rockies that he was wandering around in. George Ferguson and Mrs. George Ferguson were probably at the cabin now, sipping glasses of fancy wine. Richard’s wife and best friend Rob probably had just arrived, in time for a toast. We really showed him, didn’t we!

Rob was the one who packed everything for the trip. He severely doubted it was an accident that he was given tainted water. “Oh, oops, must’ve been a bad batch, perhaps you should write the company when you get back?”

Goddamn psychopath.

They left him here, all four of those bastards. They couldn’t have forgotten that he was asleep, his tent still pitched. Boy, was it a shocker when he poked his head out of it this morning! The campfire was still smoldering. Scraps of discarded breakfast littered the area around it, and the flattened ground where the Fergusons’ tent once lied mocked him.

Dana, lovely Dana, had crawled away from beside him and took her leave. For Rob? Richard didn’t give a shit anymore. He hated himself for falling for such an ill-conceived scheme – one that they’d probably get away with. Where was Scooby-Doo when you needed him, huh?

Oh God, that’s stupid, he thought, nature must be getting to me.

It was no mystery why they wanted him dead. A child can do this math. Mr. Rob Burnsman and Mrs. Dana Howley thought it would be an inconvenience that Richard still existed, because it made it a little harder to fuck each other when there was an obstacle. He didn’t mean to think such crude thoughts, but it was clear as day. This hike was maliciously planned to expel the waste Richard had become, he was sure of it.

That wasn’t the only reason he was bitter. Today was his birthday, and the end of his hike – the arrival at the cabin – was to be the celebration. Well, the rocks and trees and dirt could attend his party, he supposed. At least they didn’t want to kill him. The horrid summer heat would have to stay home though, along with the sun.

Richard coughed. His throat was so dry. He stayed a few more minutes on the rock he was resting on, and thought some more.

Rob really was a dumb fuck to leave him a note. If he got out of this alive, and even if he didn’t, this was sure proof that he didn’t “just get lost”. Maybe they planned to go looking for his body or something. Too bad the wilderness didn’t employ any species of wild photocopiers, he’d wrangle one and every tree would be marked with this evidence.

He was being stupid again. Oh well. Pushing his tired legs, he rose and began trekking onward, not totally sure if he was going towards civilization or not.

Was this fucking forest completely devoid of streams? Rivers? Why the hell is it so green then?

Richard had exited the mountains about three hours ago. He was beginning to lose his mind. There seemed to be no sources of water, nothing he could use to satiate his pain. He despised the weight that the tainted water added to the knapsack, which was growing bothersome to lug around.

To pass the time, he had been singing Happy Birthday to himself. It took his mind off of exhaustion, but kind of made him wish he’d hurry up and die faster at the same time. The tune had the same effect as that one where you clap if you’re happy and you know it. It would not leave.

“I’m not clapping, you sonuvabitch,” He groaned to no one as he dragged his tired legs up the side of a hill.

It was a mild incline, really, but it felt like he was back in the mountains. The trees climbed it better than he did, and he wanted to glue his ass to another rock ASAP. If he had a dime for all of the times he stopped and rested, he’d be rich. Not that money did him much good out here. He doubted that he could pay that bear over there to spare him from being eaten alive.

Then, his brain registered the thought. There was a bear “over there”, as in, brushing against a tree not twenty feet from him. It could “eat him alive”. Now what?

He cycled through some soggy, old, and probably moldy bits of information that he’d obtained in Boy Scouts a million years ago. It was a black bear, are they the ones that are harmless? Just for kicks he tried to remember what he’d learned on Discovery Channel and Animal Planet. He could remember several mating rituals, but he thought they would be just a tad undesirable and not all that effective. Sure, his brain could recall the capital of Wisconsin –Madison, his dog’s name—, but not what to do when you’re in mauling distance of a ferocious wild animal.

He stood there like a deer in headlights, looking at the rippling black fur of the beast he encountered. He wanted someone to tell him he was uninformed and that black bears really are harmless, like his brain insisted.

It nibbled daintily on a bush, probably trying to extract the berries from it. Its large canines looked like they would be put to better use tearing through his pudgy American flesh, but maybe berries tasted better and somehow it knew this. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would do, though, if he snapped a horribly placed twig and distracted it.

Its massive head would swivel and its eyes would search for the source. Kind of like Terminator, it would see the source and exclaim “Target locked!” in its bear-brain. Not two seconds later, he could see himself in a fetal position bawling like a damned child as it clawed the shit out of his back. Oh joy.

But, like the day, the black bear peacefully made its leave, barely noticing him. The night breeze now brushed gently at his shoulders, and insects chattered away with the lack of the sun as their pass. Trees became less of a friendly green background and more of a frightening, hellish horror-scape. Their dark branches stuck out like clawed arms, and they towered, no, loomed over the stupid human as if to assure him that he did not belong. He was a bit irritated that the world didn’t stop and recognize the pain he was going through. Sympathy might have helped his situation.

“’Let’s go on a hike!’ She says. ‘We’ll get exercise and experience the beauty of nature!’ She says,” Richard was speaking aloud to himself. He doubted the bugs and nocturnal carnivores would give a shit.

Dana was so excited about this hike. He was negative about it, of course, like he is with anything that involved him moving his ass from the couch. Maybe he got what was coming to him. I’m a horrible husband, he suspected, should have paid more attention.

Ah well. Life goes on. Well, it rightfully should, at any rate. His body was severely protesting the lack of water, though. The E-Z Freeze Ice Pack – which, to Richard’s dismay, did not contain any water – didn’t do a whole lot of good melted. The poisoned water in his knapsack became warm a while ago, and did not sweat. He wondered briefly if he could boil the poison out, but where the hell would he find fire? Rob left out matches. Of course he did.

He wasn’t a major in chemistry either, so he couldn’t guarantee that the arsenic trioxide would boil away. So this is what Mr. Scherwood meant when he said the class would actually need anything he taught. Hey, maybe one day you’ll be left for dead with tainted water in the middle of Bumfuck, Colorado!

He sat again. There were no rocks to serve as a chair, so he plopped down on the cold underbrush. His mind wandered. Insects buzzed around him, some bit him, some were crawling on the bark he rested himself on. He wasn’t paying attention.

Before he left for the trip, he remembered Dana’s discussion about children. He blatantly said no and flipped the television from…football (the Packers were losing) to Lifetime. Man, was that channel ridden with drama and women. Somewhere between “but you could have a son!” and “we’ll go to his sports events and cheer him on and—“, he switched the channel to the news. Something happened in China again.

That couldn’t be the reason he was here. No way. He hadn’t even meant it when he said no. The idea of a son, or hell, even a daughter struck a hidden note inside of him. The little tyke would be his little tyke, to mold and form however he saw fit. Sure, they cost a lot, but…

He burst into a fit of neurotic sobbing. The chance of making it out alive was slim at best, and impossible at worst. He didn’t even know what poison ivy looked like! Rob mentioned it, but when things are just “mentioned” to Richard, they stuck like water on plastic. He cried loud, filling the silence and disturbing the order of things in the forest. His dignity was shot to hell, but his moans continued to rise in volume. His tears no doubt hastened his dehydration.

He was going to die out here, surely.

It was planned.

God was just about as useful as the water he carried.

With his head pointed to the starry sky, he tried to gather himself. Funny how it should be so clear and perfect, the moon keeping everything moderately illuminated. Not a single cloud. He stayed there for a while, a long while, in silence. Nothing bothered him, which was nice. He began to notice things about his environment, the place he was going to spend his last days in. It was elegant how the plants cushioned the ground that the trees poked out of, giving habitat to countless creatures whose lives were probably more interesting that his was.

His tears dried on his cheeks in the time he sat there, and his face became sticky and uncomfortable.

I’ve heard of people drinking their own piss and living… I don’t know, he pondered. Birds, no, bats probably, were flitting about in the sky above as his eyes scanned the treetops. Vines hung everywhere, swaying with the leaves in the timid night breeze.

He took the survival guide from his knapsack and leafed through it. The moon provided enough light to make out the text. It was a handy little guide. It said which berries were edible and which ones weren’t. It suggested that he avoid hunting and stick with trapping instead, since hunting took a lot of energy. That was common sense. What else? How to Find Water. Bingo!

A topography map would be a great tool to use apparently, but luckily it told him what to do just in case, maybe, he didn’t plan on being out here like this. Look for signs from nature. Thinning trees may indicate a shoreline. Pay attention to lush vegetation; that is a major indicator of a water source. Watch animals, they always know where water is.

Most of what he read was, again, common sense. Still, it renewed some determination in him. This forest didn’t get green on its own, there had to be something for him to drink. So, he rose. Good God, he rose. His legs felt like giving out, but he was on them again at least. Time to stop being a sniveling baby, he needed to live. He needed to get his revenge, as cliché as that sounded.

To his delight, the trees started to thin not an hour after he started moving. Adrenaline streaked through his body, giving strength to the muscles in his legs for once. He felt like he was finally getting somewhere, finally getting view of the light at the end of this hellish, overgrown tunnel. A cool breeze was already stroking his face with its welcoming hands. So damn close.

“Janet! Janet, oh God, someone help!”

He broke his pace. That was unmistakably George Ferguson’s voice, piercing through the trees, loud and panicked. It had a sort of high-pitched, prepubescent whine to it, so he was certain it was George. The man was in his forties and he still sounded like a kid, it was creepy.

And from the sound of it, Janet – Mrs. Ferguson – must have gotten hurt. His first thought was to rush towards it, but what if this was a trap? If it really was a call for help, why should he even bother? They were the reason he was out here, after all. He didn’t much care to be a Good Samaritan; fuck society right now.

As he neared the clearing enough to get a good glimpse of it, his heart sank. It was a cliff, steep and treacherous, not a lake like the brochure proclaimed. What kind of joke was this? He wanted to cry again, but it looked like someone had already been two steps ahead of him in that area. George hadn’t noticed as Richard approached him – he had his face in his hands and he was choking with sobs.

“George,” Richard said.

The man looked up, and his face transformed from anguish to delight. He looked relieved.

“Oh God, Rich! Rich, you-“

Richard struck him in that face with his clenched fist. The whole of him was flushed with anger. The man clutched his face with his hand and looked at him in bewilderment.

“You fucking left me out there to die,” Richard seethed.

“What? N-no, buddy, no, we—“

Flesh hit flesh again, but this time George’s gut took the blow with Richard’s foot. He crumpled to the ground and moaned loudly.

“Janet’s dead! She’s fucking dead, man!” He cried.

Richard spat on the ground, his anger not yet satisfied. A quick look over the edge of the precipice revealed Janet’s broken body, all smashed up against the rocks maybe a hundred feet below. He didn’t care. It scared him that he didn’t care, but his animalistic fury pushed that thought to the back of his brain as he picked up a large rock, heavy enough to have to carry with both hands.

“My water has fucking arsenic in it. I was meant to die out here. You and everyone else…you planned this!”

“You don’t understand, Rich, you don’t understand.”

He didn’t need to. There was nothing to understand. The rock weighted his arms enough for a good swing, and he brought it around to collide right into the side of George’s balding head. He could feel the skull cave in under the sheer impact. Blood scattered, splashing him in the face. He felt a kind of inhuman thrill wash over him.

It didn’t matter than one strike was enough to kill the man. He brought the rock down again and again, plowing a deep crater into George’s face. The once familiar countenance was nothing but a pile of shattered bone, flesh, and bits of brain. Still, he kept at it. He kept at it until the rock struck the ground where George’s head used to be, and further until he couldn’t take another swing.

His arms stopped functioning and his lungs were on fire. It wasn’t long before he found himself lying next to the man he had so brutally, so excitedly robbed of life.

Author's Shit

Yeah, a random short story I'm working on, originally a present for a friend that turned into a little project for me. I'm quite enjoying it.

Oh and I'm fully aware that my summary is full of cheese.