Valley of the Rock Monsters

A cold wind blows over an eerie ocean at midnight cutting deep into the all but deserted seaside city once teaming with the excitement of summer a few months before. The off-season is hard on most of the local addicts who wander the streets desperately searching for a means to a fix. Their hopeless laughter echoes through the alleys as they pretend to befriend the unsuspecting. Persuaded by substances they distribute the pain of their addiction among the innocent. It's hard to feel sorry for these character acting con artists even though they only exist to free themselves of the pain. They'll do anything to feed their horrific cravings for crack.

Skyler Todd, other locals just called him Frog, seemed to epitomize the plight of these soles. He was tall and skinny with an undernourished look. He had long dirty blond hair and a scraggily beard that barley concealed the deep scar that ran down the side of his face. He had a gift for convincing strangers into believing his wild tales of destitute. He always came across as the honest guy downtrodden by luck and in need of just a few dollars for a bus ticket home. The strangers always believed him and why wouldn't they. His desperation was real enough. But it had nothing to do with going home. He only lived a few blocks away in cardboard box nestled under the boardwalk, obscured by sand dunes and completely unnoticed by anyone who'd care. As soon as he could gather his meager daily collection he would head for the crack house and buy a new stash.

His only ambition was getting a fix for the day. But in the dead of winter he had no one to con. So he resorted to stealing things he could pawn or trade for crack. Late one night as he prowled the back alleys of the cold empty town, he found him self wandering around in what the locals called the valley of the rock monsters, an old dilapidated neighborhood rich with crack and the gangs that controlled the streets. He walked slowly through the shadows crouching down, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his tattered wool coat as he hid behind a dumpster anxiously watching a decrepit old crack house across the street. He thought if he could only get in while they were asleep he could get away with enough of their stash to feel well for a while.

Torn between fear and the agony of his need for a fix, he scurried up closer to the side of the house. His heart was pounding in fear and frustration. He could see the mist from each heavy breath as he sat with his back to the wall, paralyzed with panic. All he could think of was getting his hands on just one rock. His incorrigible need out shadowed his fear as he stood up to take a look in the window just above. As he cupped his hands around his eyes to see past the glare of the surrounding light a huge dog jump up barking inches away from his face!

He fell back crashing into two metal cans and it suddenly seemed as though every light in the neighborhood came on at once. He leaped to his feet at ran away in terror as Gunshots abruptly blasted from inside the house. He could hear Bullets whizzing by his head as he ran. His vision blurred by the fog and the wind and the tears that ran cold across his face. He could barely make out the dumpster ahead as he ran across the street. Desperate for some place to hide he dove inside and just laid there covered in muck and the stench of rotten food, gagging in agony with nothing to heave because he hadn't eaten in days. Somewhere in the back of his mind he could hear his own voice screaming how much worse can this get!

The entire neighborhood was alive with activity. People were yelling, dogs were barking and more gunshots and screams felled the night. It wasn't long before police sirens were wailing in the distance. Frog just curled up in the corner holding his knees and trying hard not to panic. When He finally pulled himself up to see what was going on through the flickering lights of emergency vehicles he could see the shadow of a cop walking his way with a flashlight. In a panic he fell back into the muck and berried himself in the vile waste, violently shaking with depurative trimmers and fear. He could hear the officer getting closer as he finally fell into despondency feeling the sting of his own cold sweat trickling from every pore.

Through a small opening in the trash he could see the inner walls of the dumpster light up with the narrow beam of a flashlight. "Who's in there!" a voice echoed through the nasty green walls. Frog just laid there silently as the flashlight's beam move back and forth. Part of him wanted to stand up and announce he needed help but uncertainty and fear kept him frozen to the cold metal floor of the dumpster.

When the officer finally walked away Frog felt a warm relief as his panic subsided and he began to re-focus on his addiction. He was barely able to think as he fell out of consciousness, that if he could only hold out a wile longer he could emerge from this curse that so shackled him to this pathetic excuse for a life.

A few hours later he woke up to the sound of seagulls screeching and fluttering around the dumpster. He pushed away the garbage bags and emerged from the muck. He was barely able to get to his feet when he felt the earth moving beneath him. The familiar sound of a garbage truck as it lifted him into the air sent him into a whole new level of panic. He knew he had to find a way out and fast. He lunged at the side door of the container grabbing hold as the trash began to slide over him and down into back of the truck. He was holding on for his life as the dumpster bounced up and down causing the heavy metal door to slide down and crush his hands causing him to loose his grip and fall screaming into the back of the truck deep into blackness and trash. He knew if he didn't get out fast that this is where his life would end.

For a moment he almost felt relieved to be free of the life he was loosing. No more pain, sadness or humility. Suddenly in a blinding flash of divine vision he saw a glimpse of the life he'd dreamed of as a child and he was overwhelmed with an unyielding feeling of wanting to survive. With one mighty thrust he leaped up from the trash and grabbed the opening on the side of the truck that was beginning to close. He screamed as he climbed in a panic to get out of the opening growing smaller every second.

He was half way out when he felt the heavy metal compressor begin to crush his legs. All he could do was scream "stop!" and to his grateful surprise it did. He could see a man at the back of the truck pulling a lever and opening his only way out. Frog jumped down and just walked away. As the truck drove by the two men riding on the back threw rotten lettuce and tomatoes at him as they laughed, "Stay out of the dumpsters you bum!"

Frog just kept walking until he found himself standing in front of the ocean, wondering what happened to his pride. He could still hear the belittling laughter of the garbage men as he walked out into the waves. As the cold water rushed around him he howled with enthusiasm feeling more and more alive with every wave. He could feel the water washing away the stench of the trash and the series of broken dreams that led him to this point. It had been a long time since he felt grateful about anything. Now he just felt happy about being alive.

He spent the rest of the day and most of the night wandering along the waters edge, thinking about the childhood dreams that saved his life. He could feel the grip of his addition getting weaker and his will growing stronger as he walked. So he just kept walking up the coast for days until the pain and the cravings were gone.

He later went on to achieve some of those childhood dreams and now lives in a tastefully decorated condo overlooking the boardwalk that was once his home. He pulled himself up from a rock bottom life and moved on, never to return to the valley of the rock monsters.

By R. Anderson