Hell or High Water (© Alex Zimmerle)
Page 1 Dante always found
something satisfying about finishing a jigsaw puzzle. There was just an
accomplished feeling about fitting in that last piece. Maybe it was the sound
of the subtle click, something similar to the feeling of bursting the first
bubble in a sheet of bubble wrap. Whatever it was the feeling
was long gone. The satisfaction had exhausted itself about three months ago
after he had finished his 293rd puzzle. Now as he struggled with the
same trial and error it seemed more like a chore rather than an escape. With
no electricity and no more tweets to follow for the past five months, he had
turned to the carved up pictures to occupy the abundance of free time that had
been forced upon him. He had tried crosswords, but without the crutch of the
internet to cheat with he always ended tossing the damn things out the window. So he was left sitting at
his table in the upstairs room with only the flickering illumination of his
hurricane lamp, night in and night out putting the cardboard pieces together. Tonight was no different. He sat at his table with a
brandy glass sipping whisky, already a little intoxicated, fumbling with the
50,000 piece jigsaw puzzle of San Antonio’s Alamo. He was about ¾ths way done
as midnight was beginning to approach. He reached to dim his lamp and concede
to fatigue, spilling his glass over the puzzle. The pieces soaked it up and
began to fuse together. The remaining pieces were drenched as well and became
useless. Dante stared at the
destroyed puzzle and the spilt glass. He couldn’t decide what he was more upset
over the fact that he had spent all of yesterday and today working on that
puzzle or the fact that the last of his whisky was spilt over the Alamo. He looked at the puzzle and
instantly thought of her. How just a year ago they
had been there, taking a day trip from Houston to San Antonio to see the Spurs
play and walk along the river. Drinking margaritas and listening to Mariachi
music while taking the tour of the river via boat. How he had brought her to
meet his parents the first time. He remembered fumbling with his iPhone trying
to get a picture of both of them in front of the Alamo. He looked at the puzzle
again. "Its too bad it doesn’t
look like that anymore." He said with slurred words. He picked up one of the
pieces still soaked with whiskey and waived it over the flame of his lamp, it
lit instantly. He looked at it letting it burn his fingers for a second then
dropped it on the incomplete puzzle. It set the puzzle on fire. Dante smiled as
he looked at the burning portrait. "That’s better." Dante said
chuckling. His laughter covered his
anger, as in one motion he shoved the flaming puzzle out the window and watched
it land in the flood waters outside. It was the only light in the city as far
as he could tell and slowly it faded away as it sunk into the murky water.
Dante pulled his head back inside and fell back into his chair. With a forced
smirk on his face he grabbed one of the remaining soaked puzzle pieces and
placed it in his mouth. He sucked the whiskey residue from the corner piece and
flicked it out the window as well. He continued this until the table was
clear. Fully feeling the effects
of whiskey on an empty stomach, he slammed the window shut and stumbled to his
bedroom. He carried the dieing lamp with him and set it on his nightstand. The
light waved at him a few times before settling in as well. He threw his sleeveless
shirt off and removed his gym shorts and tried to get comfortable in bed. The
window just a few feet away was open and the noises of the nights carried
themselves in. The breeze whipping its way through the abandoned city streets,
rustling the trees and moving his neighbor’s wind chimes. The sound of the
flood water crashing against the buildings as if the ocean itself was right
outside. And the moans of the dead. Their sporadic, but endless
howl that often drowned out the wind chimes. A symphony of the night that he
wished would retire. Night in and night out they thrashed in the water
scratching at his door, slamming their disfigured limbs in hopes of getting to
him. At first it was unbearable, the constant noise plaguing him and keeping
him deprived of sleep. He had tried picking them off with his rifle but he
found the gunfire just attracted more of them. He even tried crushing them with
cinderblocks but yet again in vain he failed, finding out his aim wasn’t as
good as he thought it was. [ Continue to page 2 ] |