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I am Isaac. I woke up today in the basement and I didn’t remember. That happens to me, sometimes, because I’m corrupt and strayed away from the will of God, just a lazy Isaac who doesn’t want to remember. Forgetting means I am bad Isaac.
There is one good thing in waking up and not remembering and that is, there were no dreams. Dreams are scary, and they leave me so sad; sometimes they make me remember things I didn’t even know happened, and still I know they are true. I don’t like dreams.
Sometimes, when I wake up in the basement, and don’t remember, I am there with nothing. I am naked, hunger twisting my gut, skin itching a little here and there. I own nothing, but I have my health; quite like God made me.
I had thought that children were weak. Well, in some ways, we are, our flesh failing and our skin only so tough, and my skull is very very thin compared to rock, and it makes unpleasant noises whenever I fall and hit my head. But we can run fast and for very long times. I can get very ill, so ill that other creatures can’t easily stand near me, but I won’t die. And my tears burn flesh.
Yes. All children are blessed, God’s little lambs. And the creatures of the night can’t stand the tears of the righteous. My tears will melt away the skin of any creature that wishes me ill, and his skin will wrinkle at the point where my tears touched him, and let out the blood underneath, and he will cry like it burns. And when it touches him again, he will die. I don’t wish for anyone to die. I can’t wish that. But I must cry, because I must keep going. Even when someone tries their hardest to stop me, I can’t do what they want me to do, because I need to keep going.
If I stop, Mom will surely find me.
I can cry so much. My tears never stop.
The Basement
The basement is small and smells dusty and a little like mushrooms. Sometimes, it smells like pee, because I have to pee and there’s nowhere to pee in the basement but the basement itself; or it can smell like poop, if I have eaten or if something else there has eaten. When I am very, very hungry and hurt, I nourish myself with it. I don’t like it, but sometimes it keeps me going, and I must always keep going. It is all there is.
First, I need to find the room with the golden door. Even when I don’t have to search through all of the rooms, I always want to find that door before continuing my way, because those are treasure rooms, but not ones with coins and diamonds and stuff like that. I don’t need jewerly. I am not greedy. Greed is a big sin. I need the treasure, because it will help me get past anyone who wants to stop me.
I go to one of the doors, because the best way to move in the basement without getting lost is going through a door and after that as far as it takes. The first room is almost empty. There is only a fly within. It’s angry and red, but it is all alone.
There are so many different kinds of flies. The Friend Fly, the Little Fly and the Angry Fly and the Spitting Horsefly and the Fat Spitting Horsefly, and then the Poop Fly, who is the happiest kind of fly. I never like to cry on the Poop Fly, because he is so happy because he has his poop and because he doesn’t bother anyone who stays away from his poop. I don’t like poop, but Poop Fly likes it very much, so he lives there and eats whatever he finds there. I think all flies are supposed to be Poop Flies, but not all flies can find a poop and that’s what makes them so angry.
This fly is angry and wants to eat pieces of me and drink my blood, too. I cry on him, careful that he can’t bite me. It is easy, because he is alone. The fly falls with a wet plop and drops a key.
I try to not look around me. I feel like someone is going to follow me through the golden door, but no one does. I listen carefully to any sounds coming from behind me, but that is a huge mistake. I fall. It feels like I am falling for ever, even if the floor is right there. And it feels like I can avoid the sharp rock in front of me, but I can not. Of course not, falling happens so fast. I hit my head with a terrible crash; more terrible than I remember happening before. It doesn't hurt, at first, not even when I blink my eyes and notice they are filling with warm, sticky goo. I touch it. It is blood. My blood. It is terribly scary, and I start, even when sitting there in the middle of the room. I sob in surprise, and then, all of a sudden I can't stop crying, desperately.
Powerful sobs hurt a little, when they squeeze the muscles in my face and shoulders tight. I draw breath from deep in my stomach, yell so that my voice breaks. Little fires hum and crackle in the corners of the room, and my tear hits one of the fires. Suddenly, the fire goes off.
I am so stumped I stop crying. Why did it come out so fast? Is it the rock?
I test with another fire. It's true. My tears have hardened like the rock I hit my head on. A little rock has been stuck in my head; I can feel it when I stroke my head, carefully because of all the blood. So that was the treasure of the room with the golden door. Thank you, I guess? I think of this for a moment, before pushing on through more rooms.
I am far away from where I woke up, now. It smells very much like poop in here. And it means that Larry must be somewhere. Silly Larry. Larry is two worms. I don’t know how someone with two heads and two bodies can only have one name. But that’s Larry for you. He is two very big worms who take up very much space in the cramped corridors of The Basement. Larry poops all the time, because he’s a glutton and he eats everything. That is good, because when I am very tired when I have to cry on him so much, I cry on that poop and find food. Then I can run and cry so much better again, and the bites I sometimes get from his teeth don’t bother me. Of course, I have to do it very quick, because otherwise Larry stumbles on me again.
I cry on Larry, until he gives up. I look around me. To my astonishment, I find a breakfast from a corner. Didn’t Larry really want this? Maybe he was saving this for later? Well, he doesn’t need it now. I gratefully sit down in front of the meal, and place it on a rock in front of me.
I breathe in, breathe out. Then I say my prayer.
“Dear God. I don’t know if you can hear my voice from deep in the basement. Oh, of course you can. You can hear everyone, from everywhere. Well, here I am, your chosen son, Isaac. Bless this breakfast and let it help me grow up big and strong. Amen.”
I try to not eat too fast. The milk tastes sweet, salty and sour. It is thick, with little bits in it. My stomach revolts against the bitter smell and taste, but I keep it down. It fills me right up. I suck the carton empty, tear it open and lick its walls. I fold the carton neatly down and, without a trash can to place it, lay it on top of the rock.
I look around again. A trapdoor is leading deeper into the Earth.
And I am moving towards my own death swift and unwavering, free of fear or love, my heart beating cold; there is nothing for me on this world to preserve, nor in the incoming to gain.
A humid draft makes me shiver.