The Belly of the Beast

A bear swallowed me today. I wandered off the trail to find a Wi-Fi signal, discovered this big rock to sit on—major Thoreau energy—and type my daily 1,000 words. The big bastard snuck up from behind.

I still get three bars in the belly of the beast.

“All was gnash and fury; all was stink and heat!” That’s how I began the story I’m writing about it from here in the monster’s esophagus. It swallowed my laptop, too, thank Christ. I deleted that opening sentence because the first of my last words on Earth should be something relatable, but whimsical, and still profound. Quotable. Something an MFA instructor might stride into class, exclaim, and inspire the shit out of ten twenty-somethings who think they won’t end up in the gut of a grizzly.

“Why not email for help?” you’re doubtless asking, Kaylee, but think about it, babe: aside from some clickbaits, or, best case scenario, national headlines, those emails would disappear into the ether. Maybe show up misquoted on my Wikipedia page. Instead, I’m writing one last story. Let this be my legacy. (I’ve worried about my legacy for as long as I can remember. I blame my parents for encouraging me to dream big.)

I always work best against deadlines, and I figure there are a few minutes before I tumble into the acid bath of the monster’s stomach, sizzling me (and my laptop) to soup. When I feel the final squeeze of throat muscles, I’ll email you the draft. 

Have Matt turn it into a screenplay. I’d do it myself, but I don’t know the formatting. Or the names of camera angles. Push him, Kaylee. I’m sure he’ll mope and slug around with grief for a few days, but tell him, as my twin brother, it’s his duty to honor my wishes. He should be working hard and fast. We’re not getting any younger. Dad told me once he thought Matt was the talented one. That he thought Matt would be famous by now. (Dad was drunk. It hurt my feelings super bad, but I agreed.) To be honest, I always thought I’d piggyback off Matt’s success.

Okay, I’ve written 1560 words. Matt will need a special effects budget. Tell him he doesn’t need CGI for the time travel stuff. He can do a Primer-type thing and just do it with editing. Like, they touch the time crystals (you’ll get it when you read it), and then the next scene it’s the future. No portals or lightning, etc. I do want the aliens to be five-dimensional. And made of sound. Five-dimensional sound. That’s the hook. And maybe the title. Do not make the things look like bugs.

I love you Kaylee. That’s what the story’s about. The space garden is how I imagined our wedding—gorgeous, flamboyant, unique. The black hole scene is that fight we had in Detroit, how it left me terrified, empty. The Ancient Greece stuff is our first date—historic, pristine, etc.

Here we go. Hitting send.