Harden
by Christian David Loeffler
“Do you ever wonder what the Earth would taste like at its rawest and most condensed?”
Sam and Dolm were sitting on the edge of the old mine quarry where they had hung out since elementary school. Sam was biting his fingernails as Dolm stared at his friend, a crest of pines in the mountainous distance.
“Raw and condensed? Like bedrock?” Dolm asked.
Sam’s legs dangled from the rustic quarry like they were heavy and not his own. He brushed his hair to the side in a gentle, but authoritative, stroke.
“Has he been at it again? The old man?”
Sam didn’t want Dolm to feel bad for him, but remembering the pain caused Sam to clench onto the purple of his arm. The boys stared down the ledge below until dusk.
Sam and Dolm were sitting on the edge of the old mine quarry where they had hung out since elementary school. Sam was biting his fingernails as Dolm stared at his friend, a crest of pines in the mountainous distance.
“Raw and condensed? Like bedrock?” Dolm asked.
Sam’s legs dangled from the rustic quarry like they were heavy and not his own. He brushed his hair to the side in a gentle, but authoritative, stroke.
“Has he been at it again? The old man?”
Sam didn’t want Dolm to feel bad for him, but remembering the pain caused Sam to clench onto the purple of his arm. The boys stared down the ledge below until dusk.
“Samuel Silton? Sam? Sam?”
Dolm stretched his neck over the aisle, alerting Sam with murmurs of desperation.
Sam was staring out the window, eyes fixed on the stone statue in the courtyard. The statue was of a man, one without distinguishable properties. His face was a chiseled sidewalk. His fingers had rounded with age. His legs merged together to form one solid ground with platform beneath. He was that of stone, and in that, he was special.
Sam thought of how unusual it was to have such a stone statue in the center of a school playground. He did not oppose, he just wondered why it had to be unusual. Why in a world where rocks were the foundation of existence were they forced to stay hidden? He wondered if his life would have been different if he grew up in the West, in a place where rocks no longer had to hide. His stomach rumbled at the thought.
“Since everyone is staring at you, I’m guessing you’re Samuel?”
Mr. Egler hunched over the front of Sam’s desk, just to make sure Sam had nowhere else to look. Sam gazed gravely at the new substitute teacher on the man’s first day of instruction and spat directly into his eye.
Dolm stretched his neck over the aisle, alerting Sam with murmurs of desperation.
Sam was staring out the window, eyes fixed on the stone statue in the courtyard. The statue was of a man, one without distinguishable properties. His face was a chiseled sidewalk. His fingers had rounded with age. His legs merged together to form one solid ground with platform beneath. He was that of stone, and in that, he was special.
Sam thought of how unusual it was to have such a stone statue in the center of a school playground. He did not oppose, he just wondered why it had to be unusual. Why in a world where rocks were the foundation of existence were they forced to stay hidden? He wondered if his life would have been different if he grew up in the West, in a place where rocks no longer had to hide. His stomach rumbled at the thought.
“Since everyone is staring at you, I’m guessing you’re Samuel?”
Mr. Egler hunched over the front of Sam’s desk, just to make sure Sam had nowhere else to look. Sam gazed gravely at the new substitute teacher on the man’s first day of instruction and spat directly into his eye.
That night, Dolm heard the screams of Sam from down the road. Even though Sam’s house was kilometers away and separated by a mass of pines, Dolm clenched when he heard the crack of a belt striking skin. He gripped his blanket when glassware was thrown against the wall or smashed into Sam’s head. The way Sam was treated was no secret. The trees only blocked the gasps of breath in between each strike.
Sam never came back to school that week.
Sam never came back to school that week.
When Dolm met Sam by the quarry the next weekend, he noticed something different. Sam’s hair began to look more ashen, his skin lined with silver.
“Where have you been, Sam? I thought they only suspended you for two days.”
Sam stared at the ground for some time, as if waiting for permission to speak.
“Was it the old man?” Dolm asked. “I heard stuff the other night. Sounded like he was real sore.”
Sam did not reply. Instead, he bent over and picked a handful of pebbles from the ground. He let them flow from one palm to the other, creating a stream of muted colors and chiming like a clattering chorus. All dirt and dust dissipated in the process. Then, with his left hand full, Sam tipped his hand back as if the pebbles were candy and lightly chewed them before swallowing.
“Where have you been, Sam? I thought they only suspended you for two days.”
Sam stared at the ground for some time, as if waiting for permission to speak.
“Was it the old man?” Dolm asked. “I heard stuff the other night. Sounded like he was real sore.”
Sam did not reply. Instead, he bent over and picked a handful of pebbles from the ground. He let them flow from one palm to the other, creating a stream of muted colors and chiming like a clattering chorus. All dirt and dust dissipated in the process. Then, with his left hand full, Sam tipped his hand back as if the pebbles were candy and lightly chewed them before swallowing.
Sam came back to school the next week. He began to wear a scarf. It was gray.
Dolm was surprised to see Sam already sitting in the classroom when he arrived, grounded as if he had been sitting there for millions of years. It was as if Sam had forgotten his absences, his behavior, the consequences lurking ahead. It was as if Sam lost all remorse.
This conduct extended throughout the day. Sam was acting a textbook normal, but not the sensitive and reserved Sam that Dolm had known. Sam was completing work. He was contributing. He wasn’t spitting in anybody’s eyes. Then there was the smirk.
Dolm had never seen Sam smirk, let alone smile. Sam had always only given half a grin when appropriate, almost as if to smile solely for the sake of those around him. In fact, the only time Dolm had seen Sam truly smile was the birthday before Sam’s mother had died. Sam wasn’t smiling because of the presents or the cake. In fact, Sam avoided most of the things that made a party a party. What made Sam smile happened after he blew out his candles, when everybody started spreading back out. His mother pulled him to the side.
“Now that you’re nine, you have to give me ten kisses!”
“Ten?”
“Yes! Ten! One to grow on!”
In that moment, his body was made of rubber. Sam giggled and squirmed as his mother smacked her lips along his cheeks, head, and neck.
“Mom, stop it! That’s my neck! Mom, ahahaha!”
Sam, still smirking, pulled his new scarf back up to his neck. Dolm wondered if the scarf was to bury the old man’s marks or to preserve the impressions left of the one person who could make him smile.
Dolm was surprised to see Sam already sitting in the classroom when he arrived, grounded as if he had been sitting there for millions of years. It was as if Sam had forgotten his absences, his behavior, the consequences lurking ahead. It was as if Sam lost all remorse.
This conduct extended throughout the day. Sam was acting a textbook normal, but not the sensitive and reserved Sam that Dolm had known. Sam was completing work. He was contributing. He wasn’t spitting in anybody’s eyes. Then there was the smirk.
Dolm had never seen Sam smirk, let alone smile. Sam had always only given half a grin when appropriate, almost as if to smile solely for the sake of those around him. In fact, the only time Dolm had seen Sam truly smile was the birthday before Sam’s mother had died. Sam wasn’t smiling because of the presents or the cake. In fact, Sam avoided most of the things that made a party a party. What made Sam smile happened after he blew out his candles, when everybody started spreading back out. His mother pulled him to the side.
“Now that you’re nine, you have to give me ten kisses!”
“Ten?”
“Yes! Ten! One to grow on!”
In that moment, his body was made of rubber. Sam giggled and squirmed as his mother smacked her lips along his cheeks, head, and neck.
“Mom, stop it! That’s my neck! Mom, ahahaha!”
Sam, still smirking, pulled his new scarf back up to his neck. Dolm wondered if the scarf was to bury the old man’s marks or to preserve the impressions left of the one person who could make him smile.
“What’s up with the scarf?”
It was recess. Dolm tried to pretend that he didn’t care that it was no big deal that Sam was changing. Dolm leaned his hand against the stone man on the playground. Sam stared at base of the statue where Dolm’s hand met the hip of the unidentifiable structure. He raised his lip in disgust.
“Why do you care, Dolmica?”
Sam never used Dolm’s full name.
It was recess. Dolm tried to pretend that he didn’t care that it was no big deal that Sam was changing. Dolm leaned his hand against the stone man on the playground. Sam stared at base of the statue where Dolm’s hand met the hip of the unidentifiable structure. He raised his lip in disgust.
“Why do you care, Dolmica?”
Sam never used Dolm’s full name.
Screams pierced the pine trees, leaving woodchips in their wake, splinters collecting moonlight. Like most nights, Dolm could hear these screams from kilometers away, but they were no longer Sam’s. The voices were deep, raspy, and pleading before they cut into abrupt silence.
Sam quit responding to Dolm. And he no longer showed up to school. He no longer agreed to meet up with Dolm at the quarry mines on Saturdays. Dolm was hurt, but he knew his friend. Sam would never give up going to the quarry altogether. The only way to reach Sam was by going to the quarry outside of their regular hours, to catch Sam at night alone.
It had been two weeks since Dolm had seen his friend. Dolm crouched behind a large rock several yards back from the abandoned mine tunnel, staring at the spot where both once sat and reveled in life. The tunnel looked menacing from the ground.
In minutes, a dark figure lurched out of the cave, its body in rugged flux, its feet clacking against the rocky terrain. Dolm crept forward, breathing heavy, the dark life form in view before him. Still human in shape, the figure’s hands hung low, as if the tips had been weighed down. Its eyes glowed with the red of rhodonite, and its scarf dangled in the breeze until the figure whipped it off, revealing a neck hardened and gray as stone. With every movement, its body cracked loudly.
The figure walked over to the pile of stones that the boys had once compiled for a rock fort, and it fed. It chewed on rocks the size of potatoes, its teeth cracking and bleeding as it devoured its fill. The creature cried out in pain, but it continued to eat. Tears dribbled over its hardened face.
“WAHGGGHH!”
As blood spewed onto the dusty rock beneath the creature’s feet, its mouth supplanted its old teeth with new. The teeth protruded directly through its gums, forming fresh crimson puddles with each regeneration. It gripped its stomach and screamed at the skies while its jaw dislocated itself and fresh stone incisors appeared.
Dolm could no longer see its resemblance to a human.
The creature gasped and inhaled the night’s air, its teeth an unnaturally white stone, unstained, its cold gray face rivaled by its eyes, now glowing with utter lunacy, and its spine, lumpy and misshapen, permanently hunched, as a thin silver skeletal system emerged from its skull, mimicking fishbone hair. The enraged stone figure reveled in its new appearance, its mild smirk transforming into a devilish grin that reached up to the sickly sacks under its eyes.
As the bedeviled spirit of stone laughed and howled before him, Dolm ached for his friend who once dreamed above the quarry.
It had been two weeks since Dolm had seen his friend. Dolm crouched behind a large rock several yards back from the abandoned mine tunnel, staring at the spot where both once sat and reveled in life. The tunnel looked menacing from the ground.
In minutes, a dark figure lurched out of the cave, its body in rugged flux, its feet clacking against the rocky terrain. Dolm crept forward, breathing heavy, the dark life form in view before him. Still human in shape, the figure’s hands hung low, as if the tips had been weighed down. Its eyes glowed with the red of rhodonite, and its scarf dangled in the breeze until the figure whipped it off, revealing a neck hardened and gray as stone. With every movement, its body cracked loudly.
The figure walked over to the pile of stones that the boys had once compiled for a rock fort, and it fed. It chewed on rocks the size of potatoes, its teeth cracking and bleeding as it devoured its fill. The creature cried out in pain, but it continued to eat. Tears dribbled over its hardened face.
“WAHGGGHH!”
As blood spewed onto the dusty rock beneath the creature’s feet, its mouth supplanted its old teeth with new. The teeth protruded directly through its gums, forming fresh crimson puddles with each regeneration. It gripped its stomach and screamed at the skies while its jaw dislocated itself and fresh stone incisors appeared.
Dolm could no longer see its resemblance to a human.
The creature gasped and inhaled the night’s air, its teeth an unnaturally white stone, unstained, its cold gray face rivaled by its eyes, now glowing with utter lunacy, and its spine, lumpy and misshapen, permanently hunched, as a thin silver skeletal system emerged from its skull, mimicking fishbone hair. The enraged stone figure reveled in its new appearance, its mild smirk transforming into a devilish grin that reached up to the sickly sacks under its eyes.
As the bedeviled spirit of stone laughed and howled before him, Dolm ached for his friend who once dreamed above the quarry.
Christian David Loeffler is a fiction writer and teacher; he is also an editor for Curious Curls Publishing. Loeffler’s work is heavily influenced by interests ranging from science, literature, and philosophy to video games and anime. His favorite book is J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye, and he will not stop talking about it.