Everything I touch dies.
It didn't use to be like this.
I lived averagely with a carbon footprint cleaner than most Brits.
"Anslie, where are you headed today?" Mom asked as I loaded my hiking pack with supplies.
"Hadrian's Wall Path," I replied, stuffing the last of my food into my pack. I lifted the bag and the weight dragged on my arms. It seemed heavier than usual. I needed to keep the weight to around three stones.
THUMP. I dropped the hefty bag and then opened it, displacing my careful organization. I guess I could do without the ax. I tossed it aside. I would need to take more weight out than that. My hike would last several days, making the pack feel even heavier than it already did. Where was the extra sweater I had packed? I guess I could do without it.
Mom watched and rubbed her forehead. "I hate that you do these adventures on your own. You are barmy. What if something happened to you? How would we even know you need help?"
My hands felt the soft sweater and yanked it out. I had a baselining and hoped it would keep me warm. I rearranged my bag. ZIP. I closed it. The pack still pulled at my arms as I lifted it up. Yup, still heavy. Oh well, it will have to do. I couldn't part with anything else.
Mom hovered over me, and my muscles constricted. "I'll be fine." My tone came out more nark than I had meant.
She circled me, clicking her tongue. "That pack seems as big as you."
Couldn't she appreciate my tenacity? I could be dim and lounge on her couch all day without ambition.
Something sharp poked through the pack into my back. I can't hike with that shoving into my shoulder blades. Great, I have to open it again.
THUMP. I dropped my bag and once again opened it. I fished around until I found the pan that had pierced into me. I moved it to the other side of the bag and put my baselining in its place. I tried the pack on again, and this time it felt better, still heavy, though.
"What if someone tries to hurt you?"
"Good thing I know Jiu-Jitsu." My shoulders almost sang in relief as I removed the pack and set it on the couch. Stealthily, I went behind Mom and put her in a rear-naked choke. "I'll choke out any fool that messes with me." Mom's nails scraped at my arm. I let her go without putting on real pressure.
Cough. Mom rubbed her neck. "What about wild animals?"
I faced her. "Mom, seriously, stop waffling. I will be alright."
And I was. As I traveled Hadrian's Wall Path, the sense of adventure held promise for a phenomenal hike. I was a ledge. My spirit escaped my tense body, bonding with nature as I walked along the Antonine Wall. Various shades of green covered the rolling hills. I sighed, releasing months of suppressed tension. I needed more nature in my life. While others relied on drugs to find their Zen, my high came from hikes. Only at night did the chilly air penetrate my clothes, leaving me wishing I hadn't removed my sweater. I shivered in my bag, imagining one day leaving it all behind to spend the rest of my life hiking.
My Hadrian expedition ended too quickly, and sadly, I returned to work to save money for my next journey. I hated how brick and mortar suppressed my liveliness and trapped me in conformity. Seven agonizing months dragged on until I returned to God and country along the peninsula in Caithness, on the north coast of Scotland.
Dunnet Head took my breath away!
I could taste the salt as I took in deep breaths of the sea air. It seemed pure and cleansing. The humidity clung to my skin, leaving water droplets on my arm and facial hairs.
Why did I have to work? I could spend the rest of my life in nature.
As I explored the coastal clifftop, kittiwakes floated effortlessly in the breeze, chirping as if to say hello. The wind swept my hair into my eyes. I used the elastic from my wrist and tied the rogue hair back. Warmth from the sun radiated across my skin. It seemed extra warm for being so north.
I struggled to remove my bulky pack, its strap catching on my arm. It left my back soaking wet from sweat. Free from the weight, I felt like the wind would blow me off the cliff's edge. I almost let it, wanting to soar like the birds. I sat over the precipice and let my legs dangle above the vast Atlantic Ocean, watching the gulls disappear. Far below, the waves crashed against the rocks.
Across the Pentland Firth, I could barely see the Isle of Stroma. I would have loved to explore the cliffs and see Castle Mestag and the old Norsk presence now in ruins. My hands tingled when I saw two porpoises swimming below me. Their triangle dorsal fin sliced through the Atlantic. Maybe I could jump off the cliff, soar down to the porpoise, and ride them to the isle. -If only.
GROWL. My stomach pulled me away from meditating. I found a mylar packet of tuna in my bag and opened it. The pungent odor smelt much like the place. -Fishy. When was the last time I had eaten anything? My dirty fingers scooped out wet, flaky fish, and I shoved them in my mouth. Within seconds I had finished the tuna. I licked the smooth wrapper, still hungry for more. That morsel of protein hadn't done anything to stop my appetite, in fact, my stomach clenched in pain, begging for more. I had to be careful with how I rationed my food. But I didn't care because I sat in one of the most serene places I had ever experienced. I would celebrate it with food. I pulled out a bag of dehydrated apricots and munched on them, loving the chewy sensation as their sweetness exploded in my mouth. This is living! I leaned against my pack and closed my eyes.
A large rumbling shook the cliff, and I quickly scooted away from the edge. A few pebbles tumbled down into the ocean, swallowed by the surf. Had anyone else felt that? I searched the ridgeline, but I saw no one. Had there just been an earthquake?
A loud roaring vibrated through my body as if a jet plane flew directly over me. I looked up and frightfully stumbled next to the edge. My heart pounded against my chest so hard I saw it ripple under my shirt.
A massive ball of light headed toward me. I scooted backward on my butt, too afraid to stand. The light's intensity forced my eyes closed, almost boiling them in their sockets. My eyelids seemed like a lousy shield to the irradiating furnace I felt rumbling closer to me. KABOOM! The light smacked into me. Everything burned, sizzling my skin. Instantly, the brightness that penetrated my eyelids stopped. I opened them. Everything had returned to normal, except my glowing yellow skin. It looked as if the flames lapped at every centimeter of me. I rolled away from the cliff's edge, trying to extinguish the fire. I bathed in the dirt until I realized I had no fire on me. Under a layer of dust, my skin still illuminated light as if I was a log in a firepit. I ran my hand over my quivering skin. It didn't feel particularly hot.
What had just happened? When the fireball hit me, if that's what it was, it felt as if the sun had torched my entire body, yet nothing appeared burnt. What should I do? Absentmindedly, I ran my hand along pink flowers on the heather shrub. After sitting in a stupor for almost two hours, I ate another pack of tuna. The glow from my skin had dissipated but still shone like a glow stick.
I stood up and noticed the entirety of the heather where I had sat had burnt to a crisp. Wait, hadn't there just been flowers?
The experience disrupted my tranquility, and with nothing left to do, I explored the lighthouse and military remains.
I walked about 12 kilometers toward Castletown and pitched my tent outside of the village. I tried to sleep, but it felt like I had a methenamine IV pump pulsing energy through my core. I tossed around and eventually turned to journaling. I didn't need my lantern, for my skin provided a low glow in the tent.
Morning brought the sounds of MOO! GRUNT. SHUFFLE. A considerable amount of activity happened outside. Light trickled into the tent from the rising sun. I unzipped the opening and found myself surrounded by a herd of Scottish Highland Cattle. I pinched my nose to their musky odor. The burnt orange bovine grazed way too close. I zipped myself back into the tent, not sure what to do. Maybe I'll wait it out. They have to leave sometime. But they didn't. After several hours, it became clear those little woolly mammoths weren't going anywhere. Cautiously I climbed out and packed up my gear, with my nerves on high alert. The coos casually watched me, for the most part, uninterested in the glowing human. It wouldn't take much for them to drive their thick horns into my abdomen.
With Everything strapped to my back, I continued to Castletown and walked by a group of kids. They stopped talking and stared at me.
"Look," a kid said, pointing to me. "It is Lugh-Mighty God of Light."
"Don't hurt us," another said.
The kids grabbed each other's hands, then ran toward the village.
I couldn't go into the village glowing. I dropped my pack and pulled out my jacket to hide my luminating arms. I wrapped a scarf around my face, leaving a small opening for my eyes. The heat overcame me, but I couldn't be seen as a radiated twit. I had planned to spend a few days in Castletown but thought better of it.
I tried to avoid areas of the population as I continued hiking. As I walked late into the evening, my mind tried to make sense of everything, when I heard clumping. I looked up in time to see a ravage black and white goat charging forward, with its curved horns aimed right at me.
The blunt impact propelled me onto my back, cushioned by the hiking pack. The goat backed up and came at me again as its horns smashed into my side, causing ricocheting pain. As my adrenalin spiked, I grabbed the goat's horns and shook its head back and forth. Its powerful body struggled for freedom. What do I do? If I let him go, he would continue ramming me. As he struggled, the freakiest thing happened. His horns turned black, and the darkness spread to his head, neck, and entire body. Within minutes, he looked as if he had been roasted on a spit. Life exited him, and he dropped dead. I released his horns and stumbled to my knees. My breath came out in quickened bursts. Had the goat been possessed? They use goats in satanic rituals. My mouth became the Dungeness Desert as my muscles tightened.
I stood up and awkwardly ran, my pack slowing my pace. I could smell the sweet aroma of cooked goat. I stopped and looked back at it; afraid its zombie body would chase me. It remained where it had died. My stomach growled, reminding me I had only eaten grub for the last two weeks. I had never tried goat, but I knew that people ate it.
"Are you kidding yourself? If you eat that demonic goat, you will surely suffer horrific food poisoning," my shoulder angel warned.
"Yeah, you are right."
I turned my back to the goat, but the smell lured me in. It smelled much like broiled mutton, which I adored. I don't know why the goat died, but it shouldn't die in vain.
I found my knife and worked out a chunk of juicy flesh. I had struggled more than I thought I would as I tore through its hide. The tender meat almost melted in my mouth. I couldn't control my ravenous appetite and consumed probably a kilogram of savory delight.
With a painfully full stomach, I stretched in the long grass and took a kip.
A deep voice woke me. "What do we got here?"
I looked up at a large man towering above me. My heart raced.
"It's just a dead goat," I replied. "It tried to kill me."
The man didn't look at the goat, staring down at me. His eyes conveyed something wicked, foul.
"What's a cute lass doing out here by herself."
I had to think quickly. "I am not alone. My dad is just over there, somewhere. So, you can, you can just bugger off." I pointed behind me. I didn't trick him. He knew I was alone. I looked to the ground for my knife. It was stuck in the side of the goat.
The man straddled me and rubbed my cheek. My blood set to concrete, my body too stiff to move. His hot, putrid lips planted on mine. They felt like acid. "My little trollop," he cooed. "You must be an angel the way you glow. An angel sent to rescue me." He kissed me again, bringing his bowski body closer to mine.
What do I do? What do I do? My mind fog cleared. I had been secretly waiting for a day like this. For the past five years, I had studied Jiu-Jitsu and was a purple belt. No one ever wants to be in a situation where they have to use it to defend their life, yet we Jiu-Jitsu competitors always fantasize that one day we will use it to save our life. The man was probably double my weight, but that didn't matter. As long as he wasn’t a brown belt in Jiu-Jitsu, I knew I could save myself.
I framed his body, shrimped out, and then in one swooping motion, I stuffed his right arm between us, pulled his left arm to my side, and wrapped my legs around his head. I pulled his body into me as my thighs compressed around his neck. Within seconds I choked him out.
I had always wondered what I would do in a situation like this. Would I choke my assailant to unconsciousness and then flee, or would I kill the SOB? A rapist didn't deserve mercy. As I continued to apply pressure and debate ending the rapist's life, the decision was removed from me. Just like the goat, blackness moved across the man. And probably quicker than I could kill him, his whole body blackened, and he died.
I pushed his incinerated body off mine and scooted away. The aromatic smell of grilled meat hit me, smelling like a Sunday BBQ. I rolled onto my knees and violently puked.
I wrapped my arms around my knees and sobbed. I had just killed a man. I mean, I think I had killed him. I hadn't ended his life by strangulation, but somehow, just like the goat, I had turned him into a burnt corpse. It gutted me. I wiped the leftover smear of puke from my chin. I looked around and noticed everywhere I had sat appeared as if a ground fire had occurred.
When my fit of hysteria ended, I gathered my gear and walked back to Castletown. My adventure had ended. I needed Mom. I would secure a passage home.
All the events since the sunburst played through my head. The glowing skin, the burnt heather, the incinerated goat, and the charred man. Was I infused with radiation that killed any living thing that touched me? I tested the grass and watched it blacken, wither, and die under my touch. I experimented on plants, trees, and a field mouse. All died.
I am a freak!
I couldn't return home. What if Mom touched me? She would touch me. I would try to avoid it, but eventually, it would happen, and mom would burn to crisp like the rapist.
I could never be around people again. So, in a way, I guess I got what I always wanted. I became a skint vagabond, leaving brick and mortar to wander the highlands of Scottland forever.
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Illuminated
by Stephanie Daich
