Personal Narrative: South Florida

Time. 10:19 p.m. South Florida. The traffic light rests at red for an eternity, mocking me with its condescending gaze. I quickly turned my head both directions, not a car in sight for what it seemed to be miles. Is this some kind of joke? Looking into the rear view mirror, nothing there by me. James Montgomery. Glasses, brown hair, green sweater vest, and an untrimmed beard. Some people say I resemble a young Robin Williams from Good Will Hunting. I’ll take that as a compliment. A journalist of ten years at the same section in the local newspaper. The only thing I’ve done differently in the time span is learn Spanish. With being in a Hispanic community, I thought it would be beneficial. Besides, it’s not like I’m in a hurry to get to

It’s too dark to tell what could be at the bottom, or for how long it goes down. I look around to see Alex, but he is nowhere to be seen. Scanning the basement, I see beg dirt piles, like there were more holes before. I lean over to get a closer look, but feel the presence of something behind me. I turn around only for my face to be illuminated by an oncoming truck. As it approaches, as if it were going downhill, I brace my arms for the impact and my impeding death. At the last second, the truck vanishing and through a mirage comes a figure that pushes me into the hole. The fall wasn’t long, but the landing was rough. I could feel the pain of something jagged as well as hear the crunch of bones and metal. As I try to recover from my fall, I look to my right and see Alex’s class ring on the hand of a detached limb. Under it, dozens of rotting mutilated corpses.

“Jesus Christ!” I say as I fumble up to my feel to hug the wall of the hole.

I hear a laugh coming from above, the same laugh it had. I tilt my head up to catch a glimpse of it.

“Comfy?” it asked.

It looked like Alex, but it couldn’t be since Alex is down here along with the other chopped up humanity.

“You’re not Alex! What the hell are you?” I ask to the point of