The Fall

By Cory Lee Wilson

We are told that life is what you make it; that if you look fondly on all of your memories, good and bad, your life will be fulfilling to the end. But what if those memories were gone? What if you woke up one day and everything you knew had vanished without a trace? What life would you look back on?

Stranded under the desert sun with a broken arm and legs, Sam Benson has only a picture of a woman and his dreams to remind him of the life he cannot remember. Follow his physical and mental journey as he struggles against the elements and amnesia and finds comfort in the arms of a memory that may have never happened.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 25, 2008
• ISBN: 9780595628636

Cory Lee Wilson

Cory Wilson was born and grew up in Weirton, WV. He attended Bethany College in Bethany, WV. Cory graduated with a B.S. in Environmental Science in 2007. He is currently living in Huntington, WV, and attends Marshall University where he is pursuing a M.S. in Environmental Science.

Book preview

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

Chapter 10

CHAPTER 11

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

About the Author

For Papa

CHAPTER 1 

THE woRLD wAS uPSiDE down, and the sun greeted him from a new angle. Squinting, he slowly gazed upward and caught the sand in his sight. The few drops of sweat which had gathered on his cheeks streaked down to blur and burn his eyes. Blinking brought no refuge from the onslaught as the fresh path called more and more droplets to follow. Sharp pain filled his left arm when he tried to raise it to clear his vision. It was broken. This realization immediately replaced hot with cold while thousands upon thousands of tiny pinpricks shot up and down his body. He gingerly put his arm down. His right arm raised with much less effort, as it was undamaged, and he managed to rub out the sweat all the while focusing on the throbbing pain coming from his arm and lingering in his legs.

The desert floor resembled a dried, cracked mud puddle on an August day, which crumbled under his palm when he tried to right himself. Being ever so careful, he turned to mind his arm. The echo in his legs leapt to screaming pain and he fell heavily on his back. His legs were broken, too. Tilting his head forward, his assailant was identified. He lay at the foot of a massive hill, or rather a large pile of red-brown rock and ancient dirt that had baked in the high heat with a sheer overhang jutting out from the top and pointing toward the sun. He did not know it yet, but the rock was facing east. It was shortly after ten o’clock in the morning. Time would soon cease. The pain in his legs proved too much, and he passed out from exhaustion.

When he came to, the sun had been replaced by a crescent moon, and he was freezing. This time he was prepared for consciousness and did his best to mentally suppress the pain by concentrating on the millions of stars in the night sky. He scanned the sky for warmth and found it in Polaris, the North Star. He couldn’t remember how he knew it was the North Star or even how he knew its true name. All he knew is that it comforted him in his pain and loneliness. The wind had picked up with the onset of night and dried his cheeks. He was more awake than before and decided to give another go at righting himself.

He vowed not to be as hasty in this attempt as in the last. With considerable amount of discomfort he took his left arm in his right hand and tucked his left hand into his brown, leather belt. Contracting his abdominal muscles and pushing up from behind with his right arm on a broken fragment of stone with a rounded edge, he managed to lift his body. His legs were still covered with his khaki cargo pants, and they were the first things he noticed upon rising. However, their classic tan tinge was replaced with a wet stain in the dark from the knee up on the right leg and streaks to the toes on the left. He tightened his muscles further, bringing his torso as close as possible to his legs. In a swift, graceless movement he grabbed each pant leg at the knee simultaneously and swung himself to the right, just barely catching himself with his right hand as he pivoted. The pain sprung from his legs as they hit the sandy floor and resembled that of his previous trial, but he kept his consciousness. Lying back against the foot of the hill, he found Polaris and quietly listened to his pulse slow from racing to normal.

The star was bright tonight, brighter than he could ever remember. The wind had died down a bit, but he shivered. My what a state I’m in, he thought to himself, gazing up at the night sky. What have you got yourself into this time? This time? This new shock, which peaked his senses just as much as the moving of his broken limbs, threw his mind into a whirl. His eyes fell from the sky and furiously scanned the shadow filled landscape. He could see what looked to be remnants of a tree directly in front of him, halfway up a slight slope. He guessed the distance from the tree to himself to be about thirty yards, but he couldn’t be sure in the dark. A ditch ran between the tree and the hill he rested his back on. It curled around the hill from the north and then in front of him and to the right, where it disappeared in the distance. There was nothing else to be found in this barren wasteland of the dark, nothing but the tree, the sand, and the dried mud. There was no marker, no light or stone to find his bearing. He was lost, and he had no idea how he got there.

His breathing jumped and his heart fell into his stomach when a pebble ran down the slope behind him. He snapped his head around from left to right just in time to focus on the tumbling rock as it came to rest in the ditch. Following its invisible path as best he could, he estimated the location from which it came using what he had heard as it traveled down the hill. He half hoped to spy a person, maybe a person who could help, and half dreaded to find something terrible stalking the fresh blood in the air. A long stare and a strained neck convinced him he was still quite alone. So, turning his head back around, he fell back to thinking.

It was not his intention, but he began to think aloud.

Where am I? What have you gotten yourself into?

On and on he questioned himself and after a long deliberation yielding no results, he settled on examining the state of his legs and arm. Even under what little light the moonlight cast, he could plainly see that his left arm had broken midway between his wrist and elbow. There was no protrusion of bone, but the outside of the arm looked as if the tip of an egg were trying to push through. Being covered with the cargo pants, his legs remained a mystery. Pulling each pant leg up proved to be too painful. He would need to cut the fabric to expose the wound. But how? He wondered. He certainly could not tear each leg apart at the seams with one arm. Although, there were plenty of tears to grip. He resorted to searching his person with his good hand. The right side was considerably easier to fumble through the various pockets, but what he found was not in his pocket at all. Attached to his leather belt on the right hip was a knife. The sheath looked brand new minus a laceration torn from corner to corner crossing through the middle of the letters: B U C K. He decided the cut probably resulted from the fall. After he unclasped the button which held it tight in its place, he pulled the long, sharp, curved blade out. The moonlight caught the steel and the knife glimmered in the dark.

The pant legs split with hardly any trouble against the polished steel. The blade was new, and an accidental prick with its tip on his left ankle was the only thing to keep the process from flawlessness. His left leg mirrored the state of his arm. It, too, appeared to possess an egg, but an egg of a much larger species of bird. The egg had hatched from his right leg and bone, blood, and marrow all mixed on and between the surrounding skin. Taking a white handkerchief he found in his right back pocket during his second search and cutting the loose leg flap from under his right knee, he fashioned a makeshift bandage over the compound fracture. He bit the handle of the knife, as he pulled tight on the two ends of fabric, securing the handkerchief in place.

Morning was approaching, but the night was relentless, strengthening its grip with the cool winds preceding the rising sun. Tired from the night’s tasks, he fell asleep just as the horizon caught a tinge of red beyond the hill. But his mind was in shadow, and to him the night was still quite fresh.

Samuel, my dear. Samuel. He heard her soft sweet voice and felt her fingertips run down his cheek and across his chest.

Wake up, my love.

The comfort they shared beneath the white cotton sheets begged him back to sleep, but the path of her fingers held his attention fully, and without opening his eyes, he followed them intently. The unexpected meeting of her lips to his forced the world to take shape. She pulled back, and he saw her there, kneeling on the bed, looking down on him, with golden lines across her ivory skin from the wooden blinds facing east. Shifting his gaze slightly, he could see the reflection of her backside in the large oval mirror of the dark oak vanity littered with all the trivial things a woman of her beauty had no need of but possessed anyway.

Hello. He rose and kissed her, and she returned the favor. The room was already warm in the early morning so the two were content to sit without the sheets, holding each other in the fresh air that snuck in through the cracked window and between the white roses on the table beneath it.

How did you sleep, my dear? she asked, never loosing her eyes from his.

Horribly, he replied. My dreams were filled with loneliness. I prayed for sunrise so I may see you, and my prayers have been answered.

Do you mean it? She blushed, but never broke gaze, even though her chin tilted slightly down and to the left.

Absolutely.

I love you. Her long brown hair snuck across her forehead as she turned back to him and they kissed, but not before he brushed the hair back with his right hand away from her hazel eyes and cupped the back of her neck with his left.

Their lips parted, but he kept his gentle hold on her, and said I love you, too.

The comfortable warmth of the room quickly rose in temperature as the two laid on the bed to continue kissing, and they soon found themselves exploring what the new morning, and each other, had to offer.

It was midday, and the church bells of the grand catholic cathedral at the end of the alley rang in celebration of a new wedding. The rust flaked off the large inverted cups and rained down the belfry as the roosting doves flew out to keep their plumage clean. The new couple exited the archway where those dearest to them awaited in a sea of bubbles that caught and distorted the light in their spheres and carried it off in the wind.

Do you remember our wedding? She asked him. They lay side by side on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Of course I do. How could I not remember? he replied and held her hand in his.

I know you remember, she said softly and rolled onto him, propping herself with her elbows and once again looking down, lovingly, upon him.

But do you remember all of it? I can remember every last detail of that day from the moment I awoke in my old bedroom in my parents’ house. I remember brushing my teeth. I remember the toast my mother made me eat, the half glass of water I washed it down with, and the anticipation. I remember the feel of my grandmother’s dress and thinking, as I looked into the long mirror on the back of my parents’ door, that someday my daughter would wear this dress. And I remember you and how handsome you were as I walked down the aisle between our friends and family. My father would have been so proud if he could have been there, but I know he was watching. He would have loved you.

I would have treated him as my own.

Do you remember?

I do.

What?

Everything, he said and kissed her shoulder. I remember not getting a wink of sleep all night and only thinking of you. I watched the sunrise from the balcony and thought about how many moments like this we would soon share, and I remember how beautiful you were when you said ‘I do.

What else?

The kiss.

What about it? She kissed him, trying to relive the moment.

I remember how natural it was. I had always been so shy the whole of my life, and in that moment everyone in the church disappeared, and I thought only of you.

She laid her head on his shoulder and took the pressure off of her elbows and displaced it over him. Be with me, always. It was not a question.

I will, he answered.

After a shower, he walked over to the dresser and pulled out a pair of black pants which he pulled over the boxers he had rescued from the foot of the bed. While fastening the button, he watched her get out of bed and make her way to the shower for her turn. He watched her legs move as one foot in front of the other traveled across the faded, wooden floor. He was truly lucky to have found a woman like her. He had known and heard of so many, many of whom were his friends, who had married for looks or for a substantial dowry. And now look at them. Suddenly the feet stopped and turned. He was caught and met with a smile. He smiled back as the door to the shower closed, expelling a cloud of steam into the room which the sun cut to pieces as the rays had moved now from the bed to the wall adjacent to the bathroom door. He let the pants back down to the floor and made his way to the bathroom door.

Breakfast was short and late at the café on the corner. They ate on the terrace surrounded by businessmen and women discussing their dealings and tragedies of the day while barely making time to sip on the cups of cold coffee in front of them. Samuel, or Sam as he was affectionately called by everyone but Margaret, his wife, had two poached eggs and a slice of toast. Margaret had the same but only one egg. They were on vacation, and she wanted to watch her weight. Sam couldn’t, for the life of him, determine why she would feel the need to watch her weight. She was five foot seven and roughly one hundred and fifteen pounds. He had to guess on the exact weight, because she would never give him an exact answer and always limited the view of the scale to herself when checking it. The two of them shared a glass of fresh orange juice, which Margaret mostly drank. Sam had a cup of Earl Grey to himself, sweetened with honey and a splash of milk. The aroma of the tea bordered on too heavy for such a hot and muggy day, but Sam prided himself as being a world traveler, taking up all the local customs. He had a When in Rome attitude when on adventures, as he liked to call the many vacations he had grown accustomed to taking.

The day was hot, but the terrace was bearable as a cool breeze swept its way through the leaves of the trees in the park, across the street, and under the green and white umbrellas that shaded each table from the sun.

What a lovely day it is, Margaret exclaimed.

It is.

What shall we do today?

The museum. He offered and signaled to the waiter for the check.

That sounds wonderful, but which one?

The Imperial War museum?

Oh, not war. I haven’t the heart for it today. It is such a beautiful day. I don’t want to be brought down with remorse.

The art museum?

Let’s spend the day in the park, she suggested and looked across the street past the trees and on to the fountain, which glistened in the sunlight. Children had removed their shoes and, having entered the shallow pool, splashed each other and laughed while their parents remained at arms length on the low stone wall, immersed in conversation, yet poised for action if anything were to happen to their babies.

Okay, he said.

Are you sure?

Yes.

I’ll go to the museum if you want. she apologized.

No, he leaned across the table and kissed her. The park is fine, but let’s go to the deli and fix a lunch. I am already hungry.

But you just ate.

I know, he smiled, But I have had an exhausting morning, and I’ll need my strength for later.

She blushed just as the waiter came over with the check, but he paid her little notice. He was worried about the state of a freshly opened bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and the whereabouts of the patron who ordered it. His eyes never even dropped as he put the check down. Instead, they searched the café, urgently. Sam paid the bill, leaving the waiter a generous tip, not because the waiter particularly deserved it, but because he was