The Tree of Knowledge

A safe distance from the gate, I stop. Under the cover of darkness, I slip out of my skirt and change into the pants I bought. It feels wonderful, the petty little act of rebellion. I leave the pale pink skirt behind, along with my head scarf. I run my bicycle over them with a small whoop of triumph as I press on down the road.

I made it. They’ll never get to me here.

My feelings of victory are short lived as I ride my bike down the road in the dark.

Because it is so very dark.

Showing up in the dark was a seriously bad plan. I can’t see where I’m going. I should stop and get out the helmet light I bought for caving.

As I ponder the disadvantages of biking at night, right on cue, I hit a rock. The bike skids out from under me and I sprawl on to the pavement, ripping a hole in the knee of my brand new pants.

As I dust myself off, I hear voices. Voices coming out of the dark. Something shines a bright white flashlight beam into my eyes, destroying what little night vision I had.

“The gates open and fresh meat wanders in, Look at the lost little boy.”

“That’s not a boy. It’s a girl.”

“Even better.”

“Hey little girlie, don’t be scared.”

“Come here little girlie.”

I can’t see them. I can’t even tell how many of them there are. Four? Ten? The voices seem to come from all around me. Encircling me. Trapping me. Some of them giggle.

“Do you have a juicy little snatch girlie?”

“She’s got juicy meat on her ribs.”

“We’re so hungry.”

“Come here little girlie.”

They’re gonna eat her.

I don’t think he meant it as a metaphor.

I think it might be time to go now.

I get back on my bike and ride as fast as I can, but one of them sideswipes me and I tumble down again.

I can see them now. Not clearly, but their silhouettes, like shadows. Or ghosts with reaching, grasping fingers. Still catcalling, giggling, arguing over who gets my liver. The one who knocked me down is just a shadow with putrid breath. I push it away and run on foot, leaving the road and my bike, and charging across the desert. There’s a shape in the distance. Maybe a mountain. I sprint for it.

I can hear them chasing me, but I can’t tell if they’re gaining. I don’t dare look back to find out.

“Come back little girlie.”

I’m cursing myself, wondering why I didn’t get a holster or something for the gun. It’s way down in the bottom of my backpack, no way to get to it fast enough.

I keep sprinting towards that shape, heart racing. The details fill in as get closer and my eyes readjust to the dark. It’s a mountain…no, it’s a cliff!

“Stupid little girlie running into a dead end.”

That’s what they think.

I jump to a small ledge a foot from the ground, my hands scrambling to find anything to grab on to. I seize a root over my head winding its way up the cliff face, and not having time to consider whether or not it will support my weight, I pull myself up. A hand brushes my foot as one of them makes a grab for it, just as I pull it out of reach.

“I want the feet!” it screeches at me.

I crouch there on the narrow root. I have to get higher. It’s a good thing I’ve been working on my finger strength, because I can feel the rock face and find places to grab, but I can’t see where to put my feet for shit.

Very, very slowly, relying mostly on touch, I make it to the top and haul myself over the edge, gasping. The crazy cannibal people are still down there, calling up to me, telling me to come down. I pull the gun out of my bag and scoot to the edge of the cliff. I point it down at their shapes, ready to shoot if they try to follow me. I stay there like that until the sun comes up.