The Priest

Formerly known as Bob (part 67)

The Priest does some pondering.

Fuck, this hurts. There is no way to really know how much it hurts to get shot until you’ve been shot. I used to watch a lot of TV and every time someone got shot they would make faces and say how much it hurts, but being a witness to that and actually having it happen are so far apart. It’s kind of like the pictures of the apocalypse that we all had in our heads and the real apocalypse. Worlds apart.

I’m wondering if getting shot is a problem or a predicament. I guess if the outcome is that you die then it’s a predicament, but if you don’t die then it’s a problem. Maybe it’s both, which would make it a paradox, I think. Or maybe it’s like Schrödinger’s bullet wound. At any given time the future is you’re dead, which makes it a predicament, or you’re alive, which makes it a problem, so if I die then nothing else matters, and if I don’t die then there are a lot of other factors involved. Why do I even care.

“Fuck you Kurtz.” I screamed into the dark, and I thought I heard a chuckle in the distance.

Sound is weird. It’s changed. There are no reference points. A noise either gets swallowed up by the emptiness or echoes for a long time. It’s like my thoughts. Sometimes they get swallowed up and sometimes they echo.

Fuck, this hurts, but only when I think about it. Pain is like that. I had an abscessed tooth once and all I could think about was the pain. Nothing else mattered.

Looking down at my leg, I saw a lot of blood. I hoped that the femoral artery hadn’t been hit, but if it was, I’d probably be dead by now and, as far as I knew, I wasn’t, but how would I know? I hadn’t ever died before or even had one of those death experiences that I heard about, no reference points.

I hoped Tiki, Por, and Stuffy got away.

Are they thinking about me or just thinking about themselves and staying alive?

Kurtz is getting his wish about leaving us alone and in pain, and screaming into the dark. Which sucks because I don’t want Kurtz to get his wish.

I could think about what I’m going to do to him if I come out of this, but that seems unlikely.

All things considered, I really don’t want to die, but I don’t know why. There’s not a whole lot to live for, no future, no reason to harbor any kind of hope, and no career path that interests me. It’s biological then. The organism just wants to continue for as long as possible and doesn’t really care about what the brain makes up.

Another noise. Kurtz coming back? No, it’s something else, something crawling through the underbrush. Are there any animals left alive? Have they smelled the blood? Are they going to eat me? If they are going to eat me, I can understand Tiki’s fears. It’s not a pleasant thought to have, being on the menu. I wonder if animals used to think that when we ate them. I think they did. I’m surprised they didn’t take a stronger position about that and start to turn the tables on us when they had the chance.

I thought I heard the word, fuck. Who would be saying fuck?

“Fuck.”

There it is again.

I turned toward the sound and saw the shadowy figures of Tiki, Por, and Stuffy coming out of the trees.

I guess they were thinking about me. Bless their little hearts.

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