The night the Rhymer went whack

26

A tiger’s roar is said to be able to freeze its prey dead in its track. Remember, it’s not the roar, it’s the frequency.

Finally, near the end of the tunnel, they approached the exit. They had been escaping for what seemed like hours through twists and turns with Straffe leading the way. While mazing through, all of Sharissa’s thoughts were focused on one question: Would she ever see Dashet again?

Straffe’s silence busied her mind as she had given up on asking questions about a dozen turns back so just the squeaks of their sneakers and huffs and puffs was all that she heard. She did think of the compound, but still mostly Dashet, and the people she had met and the wonderful dogs too. She heard them yelping as they first went underground, causing her to think the worst.

She decided to memorialize all her new found friends, now wiping away a few tears, as each one had set upon a place in her heart. Like the painter who had a candy stash and provided her with an endless stash of Reese’s peanut butter cups and the violinist who braided her hair. How can being in the wrong place at the wrong time turn into the right place at the right time, she thought. The world’s most fortunate rape, she smirked, as Straffe guided her. Flowers and dirt kept running through her thoughts though. More alert now, she kept thinking, how could Reshod attack her as such? If I ever smell another rose, its beauty will forever be lost in that one violent act.

She continued sniffling and glancing and focusing on Straffe as he remained determined and stone-faced as he bellowed on. Where’s his emotion? she questioned, after all, he lost the most of all, his Sound Factory, his people, his dogs, his creation—his utopia. Still no tears, but his expression revealed all of that to be the past. Just that quick, he had let go, now driven to whatever lay ahead.

A loud bang, distant, but more powerful than the previous, froze Straffe dead in his tracks. He turned around facing whence it came and his eyes became emotional. That blast shook his core as he cuffed his trembling lips and dabbed his moistening eyes as if the finality of the explosion solidified there was no turning back. His life, his work—gone. He knew, and, briefly for whatever reason, savored the moment. Their pace slowed to leisurely, no anxiety, no worry and no commitment, and for the rest of the walk, they’re existence was in limbo from the known toward the unknown.