Last Flight of the Rabid Bat

Prompt Day #206: Describe an attack from the perspective of a rabid animal.

This is not a story. Just the narrative of the thoughts of a rabid bat. Just what the prompt says. I didn’t exactly zero in on the attack as much as that final frenzied mindless flight. Sad really. But sorry, if I had tried to make a story of this, it would have ended up a poor redux of Cujo.

Flight of the Rabid Bat

 

He couldn’t sleep. He felt restless and there were too many others in the cave with him. He needed to get out, find some fresh air. He was claustrophobic and his hindquarters were throbbing still from where that damn raccoon had bit him. The problem was, his head felt clogged. It hurt a little to send out his whistles and when the echoes came back, they were warped and the edges of the image in his head were fuzzy. He bumped into the wall of the cave on his way out.

He flew as fast as he could. He felt as if he had a surge of energy and needed to work it out. He flew and flew, and then just as quickly as the energy surged, it plummeted. He felt exhausted. He needed to rest. Somewhere safe and quiet. He sent out his high pitched signals and a shimmery opening came back, beyond it, he suspected, was a quiet cave. He flew on and inside.

He imagined a nice, cool cave like this probably housed many of his kind so he sent out more yips and glided around. Suddenly echoes came back. Large, monstrous things writhing around him. Colors came back too. Rolling into his brain like colorful worms, wrapping themselves around his brain stem and nesting there. The Monsters were swarming him now, melting in and out of his cerebral cortex. He was surrounded.

His energy returned. He was in survival mode and he would have to fight. If he had a human’s experiences to relate himself to, he would have likened his flight path to that of a pinball in an arcade game. His echo location was off considerably and he frequently bumped into things. He couldn’t tell anymore if those things were inanimate or the monsters. So he bit anything he bumped into. Sometimes he tasted blood, sometimes not. When the monsters started to move in a frenzy that mirrored his own, he became more agitated. He no longer knew which direction he flew until he hit the floor, bounced off the church ceiling or sunk his teeth into a leg or head of a parishioner.

Oh he was tired, he couldn’t stay airborne much longer, but the chaos of echoes frightened him. He didn’t know how to get away anymore. Nothing was working. He found a surface to land on. He would crawl like the lower animals. Like the raccoon who had left such a pain on his thigh. He would crawl slowly to safety, to someplace dark and cool where he could rest.

And then the darkness came suddenly. He did not hear the thud of the hymnal when it came down on him. He did not have to suffer through the euthanasia at animal control as those he bit would suffer through the vaccination series. His hindquarters no longer pained him from the rabid bite of the crazed raccoon. He was at peace.

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