It'd been eight long months since Carol died, and Herold was finally getting used to her absence, in a sense. A man can only be so accustomed to his wife's state of death. He can only be so accustomed to waking up in the morning and looking over to where she used to sleep only to remember she's gone. He can only be so accustomed to not having anyone to wait on while sitting in the car, late for whatever he and his wife were on their way to. A man can only be so accustomed to loosing the woman he loved and saw himself spending eternity with; Nobody simply moves on entirely.
Still, Herold Mettru was starting to cope with the fact that she was gone. His daughter Kate, a young adult now herself, was trying to make sure that he did things to keep himself busy. He was more active now, too. Carol's death was something he couldn't let get to him. He couldn't waste days withering in a pile, mourning her without respect. It wouldn't be what she'd want. Instead, he'd mourn her in his own way and respect both her and himself by living life.
So, why was he dangling from the side of this cold mountain in who-knows-where, South America, on the verge of death? Why was it that he was in some other country's cold temperatures, brushed in snow, about to fall to his death? Why was it that he was here in a place that put fear in every fiber of his being? He was between life and death here, and he didn't know why. All he wanted was to go home.
Herold took a deep breath in. Upon doing so, a sharp, numbing pain filled his being, and he quickly exhaled the breath. The cold air was like needles piercing his mouth, throat, lungs, and anything in between. Yeah, he was in pretty deep. When it was painful to breath, Herold knew that he was in some serious trouble and needed help. Help which he knew only one way of getting with the current situation, even if it did mean inhaling
needles.
Once more, Herold opened his mouth. In came gusts of air which began to sting as soon as the air met the back of his throat. The pain was so intense that it almost caused his hand to loose its grasp on what little ground he held onto, which would cause him to plummet miles below to his death among the forest of Viziichi, far remote from any known,
civilized people that he or anyone else in this country knew of. The air continued down his throat and reached his lungs, at which point he gave out a great yell, followed by cries asking for help.
"It won't do you any good," a deep, male voice said from above before busting into laughter.
"What do you want from me?" Herold spat out in response to the man's comment.
That man was pure evil. Herold would be on a cruise boat bound for some region in the Caribbean right now if it wasn't for that man. What did that man even want with Herold, anyway? What had Herold done to him? Surely nothing deserving of being gagged, stuffed in a car, and brought to the remote parts of this South American country to be dropped from a mountain. Of course, Herold was sure that nobody deserved that, even if it was as a punishment. It was cruel and unusual. Very unusual.
"What do you want with me!?" demanded Herold.
"Revenge," replied the man above, who Herold had not gotten a good luck at in the time that they had been in proximity of each other.
"What did I ever do to you!?" demanded Herold.
"You stole my love."
What was this guy talking about? The only girl who Herold had really ever loved was Carol, and she was gone now. Was this guy an ex or something? Was a bad relationship really enough for someone to go out on a limb and kill the new lover of the lost love? This guy was crazy.
Carol had never mentioned any romance before Herold that had been too serious. A couple of summer romances and high school crushes, sure. Nothing to the degree of love, really. Herold was a man she had loved unlike any other, Herold was sure of that.
Well, maybe.. Herold did remember, though, one relationship in particular which had been really serious. Carol and some guy Herold had never met (was his name Jim? James?) had been in pretty deep, and he proposed to her. Carol wasn't ready, and it ultimately ended their relationship. The ex must have been dealt a pretty hard blow at that.
Still, that had been years ago. Was this man really her ex? Of course not! If it was her ex, he wouldn't have waited years to go about killing Herold. That situation would be ignorant to the fact that no reasonable man would kill the one thing that makes -- made -- his love happy.
Or would they? As Herold continued to think about it, he got more and more worried. If this man was really Carol's ex-lover, he would have a particular grudge with Herold. The fact that he went on a cruise and waited till he was a continent away from home before he brought Herold to the middle of nowhere reassured the fact that he was seriously going to do everything he could to kill Herold. Herold had to get out of there now!
Maybe he could take the man. If he could pull himself off the side of the mountain, anyway. Years had passed. If this man was really Carol's ex, he would probably be around the same age as Herold, and that would possibly put Herold on an even playing field with this man. As Herold began to pull himself up, he stopped at the sound of the man's voice.
"I bet you didn't think it would go down like this. When I get done with you, I'm going to put on a show for Carol. I'm going to make her think that you were the one hovering over me, gloating. I'll make her think you tried to kill me, and justify your death my making you look like a criminal. Then, I'm going to be there for her in her time of grief. In her time of sadness, she'll grow closer to me and eventually take me back when she's ready to love again."
This man was truly crazy. He had obviously spent much time thinking out this elaborate plan. He was blinded by hate and rage in such furious measures that he could not see all the things wrong with that plan. Herold wasn't even going to inform him of Carol's death, in fear that it would be shooting himself in an already seemingly bloody foot.
Once more, Herold took to pulling himself up. He was sure to be discrete in his actions, but he knew he'd eventually have to swiftly pull himself up. He wasn't sure if his body could handle that. He had to face this man one way or another, and it wasn't going to be in submission and death, giving him one plan he thought worthy of trying with a chance of success.
"Tell me of your love for my wife," pleaded Herold.
The man, taken off guard at this, replied hesitantly, "What? Uh.. Well, we were in love. She.. She loved me! Absolutely loved me, and was obsessed with me! And.. And, uh.. Well, I loved her too! We were the perfect couple! And you ruined everything! I remember our first date! She and I went out to eat and then to see a movie at the drive in.. We had.. such a good time.. She loved the tie I was wearing."
By now, the man was breaking into tears as he explained his love for Herold's dead wife. Herold smiled at the success of his questioning. With his enemy caught off guard and in a state of emotional confusion and despair, Herold managed to completely pull his body up onto the ground of the mountain, lying flat on the ground. The man noticed Herold's place among the mountain and immediately stopped grieving, realizing he'd been fooled. This only fueled his anger.
"Now you've done it!" roared the man, kicking Herold's skull while he was down.
A great wave of pain filled Herold's head. First, it was one kick. Then, there was a second and third kick. The pain was outrageous. Was this really what it was like to be beaten up!? Was this what the abused and mobbed heroes in Hollywood movies felt at the climax of their stories? Herold wouldn't ever wish this pain on anybody.
As he fought through the pain, Herold reached up and grabbed a hold of the man's leg as it came closer to him in the motion of a kick. With the man's leg in hold, Herold reached up and did the only thing he could think to do in this pain.. He bit the man's leg. He bit down as hard as he possibly could, resulting in the man letting out a great yell before attempting to further kick Herold.
With this man in pain, Herold took the opportunity to rise off the ground and blow the man a punch in the stomach.
"Sorry, James," Herold said, taking a wild guess at this man's name based on what little he could remember from Carol, "But Carol's dead."
Before the man even had time to react, he met Herold's kick. Herold's leg began to cramp, and he was sure he would feel that tomorrow. But it was well worth it, as James bended over in pain. In his state of bending, he lost his balance and fell backwards, off the side of the mountain.. Herold's ears met the sound of James' yelling as he fell to his death, resulting in a slight cloud of guilt filling the heart of Herold.
Herold began to panic. Here he was atop of a cliff in the middle of nowhere. He'd just killed a guy who had tried to kill him, and he had done it quite by accident. He didn't know how to get to the nearest city, or even how far away it might be. He wasn't even entirely sure of what country he was in.
These thoughts were suddenly pushed aside by a subtle voice calling out to him from a ways down the mountain path he was sitting on. He turned his head to see a man dressed in black snow gear labeled, "Polico," climbing through the wind and snow towards Herold.
"Que son tu hizo aqui?" the officer asked in Spanish.
Herold, honestly, didn't know Spanish. He'd taken a class or two back when he was young. He could only remember a few phrases. The phrases that came to mind, in fact, when said to this police officer, would probably earn him a place in a South American jail.
"I'm sorry," stuttered Herold, obviously confused at the words of the cop, who now raised an eyebrow at Herold. "Do you speak English?"
After a few seconds of processing Herold's words, the cop's face lit up as he responded, "Oh, si! Uh.. I m- mean, yes. I speak English. What are you doing here? I have been getting calls all of today about a man yelling in this area."
Herold was relieved. Help had arrived. As Herold began to think of how to reply to this man, he realized that there were people around somewhere, according to this cop. This led him to realize something.. Where was he? And how long had it been since he had been taken by that puddle of a man he had just killed?
"Hey wait a minute," the cop stated, glaring at Herold thoroughly as if he recognized something of Herold's features. "You're the man who went missing a few days ago, aren't you? What are you doing up here!? The press has been having a.. uh.. 'field day' I believe they say. Come on, let's get you cleaned up. We're going to have a lot of questions to ask you."
Herold gave a sigh of relief. He was in safe hands now. He had just been through something truly devastating and was freezing cold, but he was safe. He was going home with his life tonight. Only, as he walked down the mountain trail, picking his feet up high over the pure white snow, he had a lingering thought in the back of his mind which haunted him.. He had just killed a man.
OOC/Post Info:
Words: 2172
Mused by the delightful sounds of the 1812 Overture.
Comments: I had something going there. 
I like it. My Spanish translation may be a bit off, though. 
