The snow outside was becoming a blizzard. Catherine could barely see the outside street from behind her windows. She had turned off her lights inside to conserve electricity, but knew that she could freeze with or without the heat. If only she had the money to keep all her home utilities then maybe she wouldn’t have to worry about whether or not she would make it to the end of the weekend.
Catherine took a seat in a leather chair by her front windows. There was a faint glow somewhere behind the snow that shone brighter than most of the homes in the area. She sat calmly in the dark, a glass of wine in hand, staring at the lights of the car, preparing to feel her heart drop and break when the car turned. It didn’t turn, however, and she was surprised. She was the last house on the street, but the car kept coming towards her.
Soon the lights became so immensely bright that she had to stand up and move to the front door. The sound of footsteps on her front porch made her nervous to open up her home to the stranger. When she did, though, she realized it was no stranger. It was Henry, her former lover who had disappeared several months prior.
“I couldn’t just leave you to freeze out here.” Henry said and invited himself in.
Catherine didn’t respond. She just smiled and realized that he was all the heat that she needed to survive.
(To read #1 - #54, check out my Pseudosis profile on NovelJoy, FictionPress, or Blogger)
2: #56 A War of MatrimonyWhen the crowd’s cheer erupted from the other side of the wall, Sir Nicholas knew that what he had done was good enough for them. His colleagues stood to his side, smirks and grins all around, and wanted to congratulate him on his success. They were friends, after all, but didn’t know how to say it. All of them thought that Nicholas would be the one to fail, but they were wrong.
“So, the king loves you. You’ve got that going for you.” Sir Bernard said.
“I guess.”
An eerie silence ensued with everyone looking to each other.
“I hate to be the one to ask this,” Sir Wendell spoke up, “But what was it like to be captured by rogues? I’ve heard they’re merciless and stuff. Did they beat you up?”
“Not really. I had to be quick with my words to make sure I wasn’t killed.”
Everyone nodded.
“It’s just great to be back is all.”
The door to the room burst open and a tall man with a shining crown stepped in. He smiled and glanced over at Sir Nicholas, his hand held out in greeting, “It’s good to see you again, sir. I’m sure the rogues didn’t treat you too kindly, did they?”
“They were alright.”
The king laughed and turned around, “That’s the spirit. The crowd wants to see you, so don’t keep them waiting too long, you hear?”
Nicholas nodded and closed the door behind the king, “Guys, I need to tell you something.”
The other knights laughed, “What? You don’t wanna serve that kind of king?”
“I’m getting married.”
Hours passed by and I could not shut my eyes. I did everything I could to keep my mind stimulated – I watched TV, I exercised, I walked around a bit, and that seemed to do the trick since I was up the entire eight hours that my parents soundly slept. I made sure to stay quiet since our rooms were adjacent, but that only limited what I could do to keep myself from sleeping. In actuality, I wanted to sleep. I was just stuck in the mindset that I didn’t want to since the morning would bring Christmas.
When the clock finally hit seven in the morning, I felt comfortable enough to step outside of my room. At 7:10 I began to make my way downstairs. At 7:25 I looked around the Christmas tree and realized that the majority of the presents were for my younger brother-in-law. In fact, I saw only one or two things that really belonged to me. This hurt me deeply. I sat down and looked around the room to see if there was anything hidden, but that was all the presents laid out.
There were footsteps. They were loud and heavy. I turned my head carefully to see if there was an intruder entering the room, but all I saw was camouflage.
In time, he thought, would he, the knight of olden days, arrive just prior to the siege. It was a well-known controversial event that was destined to happen by oracles. Everyone prepared for it by completely abandoning their homes and leaving their precious queen to fend for herself. The knight, known to many as Briar, but known to others as the Knight of Samuel’s Solace, was the man capable of potentially preventing the catastrophic events that were, at this point, unavoidable.
That’s an overwhelming assumption since Briar knew that his chance of blockading a siege, tearing their leader down, and sending them back to their homeland all by his lonesome would require great strategy. He thought this through beforehand (trust me on this one) and realized that he wouldn’t go alone – he would take his horse, Lightning, and move around the invaders quicker than before. He didn’t actually have a horse, however. Poor ol’ Lightning was just a show horse used by various talent agents to promote their brand which is why everyone is sick of seeing the horse with lightning bolt shaved onto its side. Briar cared not for a steed capable of serving him greatly was a horse that was good enough.
Standing overtop Grace’s Hill and looking down upon the kingdom that was so long abandoned, Briar prepared for battle.
Nina was just beginning to get her dress adjusted when she noticed that the dressing room door was open. She stood still and stared at the mirror in front of her, both idolizing the pink dress and looking to see if there was anything behind her. She was the only person who could unlock the door since the lock was on her side. She smiled and assumed that the dress was perfect despite her mother urging her to pick a different one.
“But I’ve wanted this one for years!” Nina complained.
Ever since learning to drive, she became incredibly intent on scoring that dress on discount and wearing it all around the house just to annoy her mother. The dress was only $55, which was the lowest it had ever been as far as Nina knew. She kept looking down at the price tag to make sure she wasn’t dreaming and that the dress wasn’t actually $70 again. She smiled even bigger every time. She emerged from the dressing room and looked around only to notice the store had gone dark.
No light shone from overhead. The only glimpse of radiance came from the very front of the store though such light was gradually fading with the time of day. Nina crossed her arms and looked around carefully, “What’s going on here?”
The quiet creaking of a crooked sign completely destroyed the silence. It came from somewhere in the home decoration section.
The zoo was silent except for the sound of a lion. It stood on the edge of its rock, watching over the gated land as the lone survivor of a mass disappearance. He did not completely understand what was going on, but felt it. He felt he was alone and found comfort in knowing that, through the emptiness of the zoo, he was still king.
A few exhibits over a pack of people walked along the stone path, running their hands along the cage bars to make an echoing sound. There was no sound – not even the birds that usually sung their songs for the guests. It did not feel like a zoo to them anymore. Now it felt like everywhere else. One of the people picked up a rock and threw it over the cage and into the area where koalas usually were displayed, “Ginger, ma’s not gonna be too happy that we’re taking this long.”
“She’ll have to get over it,” The red headed girl in the front said, “The man said that the lion was here. We heard his roar earlier, so we’re not far off.”
“But what about ma, huh? She’ll worry if we tell her we talked to that funny cloaked stranger.”
Another guy, shorter and bulkier, stepped in.
The strawberry field seemed to be never-ending yet Jesse knew that at some point she would reach the end of the dirt road and the beginning of the rushing river. She could hear its rapids from miles away. This path, which led her to her grandmother’s homestead, was formed by traders who used the Cambria River to do business. Jesse knew this all too well since her ancestors were highly profitable merchants thus giving her a good bit of credibility to the people who settled in the area.
Once she approached the stone bridge that crossed over the river, she sat down on a nearby stone bench and rested. It had been too long since her last stop in any town. She knew that it wasn’t too long until she would arrive at the homestead, but she was already feeling homesick. It always struck at the worst of times just as she was about to finish her trip. It happened all times before when she traveled and this time was no different. She rested on the bench and began to breath heavily, her vision becoming blurry with the passing moments.
“Ma’am, are you alright? Do you need help?” A man’s voice asked from the nearby path. Jesse tilted her head up slightly to see the man, who was most likely late twenties and well groomed. He traveled alongside a beautiful white horse that was carrying several bags of what appeared to be the man’s inventory. He smiled at her and stood his ground. She smiled back.
“I don’t need anything. Trust me, this happens all the time.” She replied.
When the shining spotlight completed surrounded me, I nearly fell. So many people stood and watched, their expressions changing in reaction to mine. They saw someone differently than who I really was. I stood in front of them and acted as a type of excitement to them, but they knew not who I was and probably will never know me. The chances of us meeting are nearly zero.
Sometimes when you’re in the kind of position that I was, you begin to realize just how sensitive you are to the simplest of things around you. Often times you’ll become completely caught up in the moment, but sometimes – and these are the rare times, I believe – you’ll see someone in particular watching. Sometimes you’ll see a particular object moving. Sometimes you’ll realize that all eyes are on you now and they will remain on you until you are gone.
How do you think it would feel? Writing this from a place that only certain people get to go, I think that no one quite understands this kind of lifestyle unless they get to experience it. Not just witnessing someone who is living it, but actually feeling an effect from it. Emotions react to certain events or experiences, and this is one where you’ll need the experience in order to relate.
With that said, I exit my cell.
For the fifteenth time Craig knew that he would be in the midst of something he didn’t quite understand. Foreign people would arrive bearing gifts for the hosts of something that he didn’t quite think his family was capable of. He sat down on the couch, looked around curiously at the crazed party goers, and tried to relax in such an uncomfortable situation.
“You their son?” A girl beside him asked.
Craig nodded.
“Do you talk much?”
Craig nodded.
“Why don’t you talk now? It’s your house.”
Craig didn’t move.
“Do you like football.”
“Not really.” He mumbled. He sort of looked over to the girl now and noticed that she had blond hair and light mascara applied.
“Who’s your favorite team?”
“Uh,” Craig looked at the television display and tried to make out what the numbers and words actually meant, “I guess the blue ones.”
“You mean the losing ones?”
Craig shook his head, “Never mind, not those.”
The girl laughed slightly and looked around at the other people as well, “I’ve come to most of my parents’ parties before. Usually it’s older people, but you look to be old enough. What’s your name?”
“Craig.”
“I’m Avery. Our parents are pretty good friends, I think.”
Craig nodded and looked over to his parents who were talking to other people.
Once the alarms sounded the three foot soldiers took their places in front of the door. They held their guns firmly and aimed at the entrance where their intruder would be entering in from at any moment. They knew not whether they would survive, but all the needed was enough time for their boss to get his job done without being interrupted.
Finally, the door kicked open. A tall man wearing a black suit, blond hair, and sunglasses stepped in and aimed his pistol in their direction. Before they could even speak they felt the pulse of the bullets enter through their chests numerous times. They fell over onto their backs, astounded by the anticlimactic confrontation. The man stepped over their bodies as if they were trash and continued right on through to the next door.
On the other side was a long and dark hallway. The man stood still and looked both ways, noticing a set of stairs to his right. He looked to his left and saw a glass door. Without another moment to spare the glass shattered and another crony stepped through with a gun. He didn’t get a chance to aim and speak without being forcefully knocked back against the wall without another bite of the lead. The intruder kept his gun firmly in hand and proceeded to the stairs on his right.
At the top he found a set of double doors which, as he had guessed by their intricate and ornate designs of fire and clouds, was where his opponent was waiting. He grabbed the handle and flung the door open. He stepped into the large room.
The overhanging tree seemed like a decent perch to view where Chuck could possibly make his next move. Where the other three were was no longer an issue since he was a pretty damn good way down the falls. It was already day two and he could assume that at the pace he was going he would make it to the bottom by the end of the week with plenty of time to spare before the others were to show up. He found that the trees around this part of the falls, such as the one he was sitting on, were much more sturdy and durable than most he had encountered. No other tree that he had sat upon could support him without completely collapsing under his weight.
Chuck reached into his pack and pulled out a pair of binoculars. He looked through the lenses and stared downward towards the bottom. Supposedly, as said by Jacquelyn, you could see the bottom when you were almost to the end. Well, that makes obvious sense, Chuck told himself, but he decided to continue keeping an eye to make sure he wasn’t too far off. With the waterfall to his right, he always wondered how many people had completely given up on the trek by just diving in and letting themselves go. Often times, Chuck had heard, when people felt the need to give up they would step into the rushing water and let the underlying rocks and debris completely suck them of all blood and life.
Two young girls, April and May, were running through the front yard when a tall man that they had not seen for quite some time stepped through the valley gates. He bore several spears, swords, and shields upon his burly back and wore a massive steel plate over his chest. His steps were such as stomps as he stepped through towards the two young girls, earthquakes of magnificent magnitude following him wherever he were to go.
“I am here to speak with Lord January. He wrote me a fortnight ago,” The man spoke up in a deep, criminal voice, “Speak now of his location so that I may pay him visit with my gifts.”
April and May looked to each other. The blond of the group, May, turned back to the large man, “He’s not speaking to any visitors now, sir. Maybe if you try again another time he’ll be more willing.”
It was obvious by the redness of the stranger’s face that he was not pleased with the response, “Both of you go to him this instant and let him know that Count August has arisen from obscurity in sole hope that we would speak. Should you deny my second request?”
May was about to speak out against August, but April’s hand sprung out and latched over her mouth, “Yes, we will, sir. Right away!”
The young ones stood up and began walking through the desert valley towards the manor of Lord January.
With the timer counting down, all confidence within Mia had depleted to absolutely nothing. She held the blue ball in her hand and proceeded to cross the vacant mall where most people often spent their afternoons on the weekend. Not this time, however, since it had been reported that a certain someone had illegally entered into the vicinity. No, it’s not Mia that we’re talking about – but someone impossibly close.
Mia could see almost everything that surrounded her. The upper level was filled with clothing stores that had been completely swamped by the onslaught of Black Friday buyers. She was not one of them – instead she was getting briefed for this particular mission. She turned her focus back to a large doorway towards the end of the mall where the biggest store – Miranda’s – was located. By the cryptic messages that were left on her answering machine, she knew that her target would be found within that store.
“Mia, what the hell is taking so long? We’re on ten minutes now.” The voice on the other end of her phone shouted.
“I’m taking my time. Rushing in… He would expect it.”
There was a loud grunt on the other end, “Please don’t mess this up. We still have other things to tend to and losing you to just a measly sibling would be a disappointing dent in our operations.”
“I’ll talk to you soon, Vic.”
Mia dropped the phone to the ground and smashed it with her foot, “It’s only me now.”
So there we were, naked and depressed. The rope that tied us together was slowly ripped away along the side of the boat. At this rate, we both must have thought, we would drown and never see each other again. We had this whole life planned out where we would buy a house, have a couple of kids, and die peacefully. This boat that we were dangling by the side of, however, was changing my focus and making me realize that I should have confessed my love far sooner.
Jesse was over across from me, freezing from the winds and the roaring waves beneath us. I was slightly embarrassed from being so bare in front of her, but that just went to show how unusually calm I was about the situation. For one thing, I couldn’t even remember why the hell I was on the side of this boat in the first place with the love of my life. That really makes it impossible for me to fear since I don’t know what I should fear.
Secondly, everything was happening so fast. I couldn’t quite comprehend the depth of the situation until I awoke in my bed, dripping with sweat down below. It was early in the morning – far earlier than I needed to be awake for work, anyway. I sat there, straight and tired, and began to recollect all of my thoughts that somehow invaded my dreams. What caused me to think of all that? It was bizarre since there was no reason. Most importantly, I began to realize as I became more awake, wasn’t Jesse a guy?
“Michael! Help me! I’m stuck!”
A slightly older boy than the one who was calling for help began sprinting through the heavily wooded park in hopes of finding the source of the problem. He slid down a hill littered with sharp leaves and looked to his left to see his younger brother, Jack, impaled straight through the stomach by an enormous tree branch. Blood was oozing from the wound and Michael knew not whether to get help and abandon his younger brother, or to try and pry him off the branch. He was too much in an internal frenzy to figure it out for himself.
“Jack, what the hell happened? Oh my god, hold on a second!” Michael was racing through his thoughts, determining what to do.
“Go get help, Michael. I’ll wait here.” Jack said seemingly calmly.
“You’re stabbed by a branch! No, let me get you off here!”
“Michael!
Michael let go of the branch and stepped back. He looked at his younger brother, completely emotionless as he stood against the tree, “What? Do you just want me to leave you here to die?”
“Go get help. I’ll survive. I know I can,” Jack said and wiggled around to get comfortable, “It’s happened before. If I ignore the pain, nothing happens.”
“What?”
On the television was a middle-aged woman holding a microphone in front of a massive building somewhere on the West Coast of the U.S. She was a popular anchor on the station, from what I could tell, but for some reason I could never remember her name. She wasn’t as beautiful as some of the other anchors, but she still pretty okay. The only reason I would ever look to this channel, and her in particular, was because they made a promise to just about everyone in the world.
When this promise was finally announced, the streets were filled to the brim with people carrying bodies – cryogenically frozen bodies – to train stations, bus stops, and taxi cabs. Some went to airports or boats or even hot air balloons. They all wanted to go to the West Coast because that building that the anchor was standing in front of held major potential for those people. The promise was made by a scientific group called New Age Initiative. They were some of the most popular people in the world those two weeks.
They announced that they had developed the technology to bring back to life anyone who was cryogenically frozen. The only problem is that they, as well as a majority of the planet, did not foresee so many people having at least one body in their freezer. It’s painful to know that we’re in the vast minority, though.
Astaroth jumped down from atop the stone building and landed in front of two other people in the streets of Kaste. He lowered his hood to show off his horned head to these strangers, who were more comforted by his off-putting features than nearly everyone surrounding them. Of course horned people existed in the world, but just not in Kaste.
“The deed is done. We have nothing more to worry about.” Astaroth said.
One of the other people, a thin man wearing a similar styled robe and black hair looking like a mountain’s summit, nodded gleefully and pulled a map from his belt, “Then we are further along then we needed to be. Camden, I feel like you should be next to execute the operation.”
“Me? Why me? What have you done?” The other person, sharing his thin physique with the map-holder, butted in and grabbed the map, “Barber, you’ve yet to actually prove yourself as a worthy leader of our cause. All you’ve done is tell us what we’re terrible at when we don’t know how to improve.”
Barber nodded solemnly as he always did instead of unleashing his anger.
Sitting by the couch with my plastic truck, the doorbell didn’t really catch my attention. It kept ringing and ringing and my mom was in the other room so I couldn’t answer it to make the ringing stop. I couldn’t open the door and let the person in. All I did was stick to my trucks, which was red, and keep minding my own business. I was playing my favorite game – it was called Super Fireman. He was somebody I made up, and he was my best friend.
My mom was making me lunch. She said that one of her friend’s son was coming over to play that afternoon, but I didn’t really care that much. I was really hungry and tired. I kept playing with the trucks until my mom walked in, gave this really bug huff like she was tired too, and went to the door. She opened it and gave this big laugh, saying stuff like, “I was making lunch! I’m so sorry, please come in!” I was still playing with my trucks.
I didn’t really like talking to people, so I kept my head down. Soon this kid came up to me and began jumping up and down like a crazy person. I looked up at his crazy person smile and then over to my mom who was talking to these two women. They all came and sat down on the couch and began talking like they were friends or something.
“Hi, I’m Matt.” The crazy person kid said.
“Hi.”
He ran off with one of my trucks, but I didn’t feel like running so Super Fireman would have to wait. I looked over at my mom and tucked and her dress, “Who are they?”
“These are Matt’s parents.”
“Where’s his dad?”
With another second passing, Luke could feel his head lifting off his shoulders. He would roll back in his bed, his eyes closed and arms straight. After a while everyone would notice his strange stillness and have a moment of silence for their loss before breaking down into weeping. Every time he felt his eyes flutter close and his body grow weightless he thought about the next few moments and how he was ready to die. It was time, and it was calming.
Then his eyes opened up. He continued laying in bed, alive and aware of those who were talking all around him. It was his birthday that day, and he had come to accept that it was definitely his last as he had no intention of leaving that particular hospital bed again. It was damn comfy, too, so he felt like he won big. The only problem was that he just wouldn’t die yet!
A young female, early twenties, came up and sat down in the chair beside Luke, her massive eyes blue and piercing his retina, “It’s great to see you enjoying the party!”
“Me? Enjoying? I can barely move.” Luke said.
She laughed and looked out over the room with him. They shared a moment of silence even though Luke lacked any understanding of who the hell this woman was. He shared one last look out over the room before feeling it again – that lifting feeling.
Two men came together at a deserted crossroads thousands of miles from civilization. One man, tall and bruised, carried black coffin bearing several crosses crudely tied with thick rope. The opposing man was slightly shorter than the coffin-bearer, but wore a suit and hair tossed to the side. On his back bore a large clock, slowly ticking out of time with the rest of the spinning world. They stopped at each other’s presence and nodded.
Time-bearer took out a cigar from his pocket and held it out to the stranger, “You look desperate.”
“I don’t smoke,” Coffin-bearer spoke in a deep, subdued voice, “It’s a bad thing. Brings you closer to the Reaper.”
“Oh, I know. I don’t smoke either. Too much time left to waste it on such dangerous things. I’m merely attempting to free myself of carrying it. It fills my pockets.” Time-bearer tossed the cigar to the side of the road and smothered it in dirt, “I guess there’s no avoiding that some things are just plain ol’ unnecessary, right? I was going to put it to use somehow, but I guess not anymore.”
Coffin-bearer stared at the remains of the once collective of tobacco, “You didn’t need to do that.”
“You weren’t gonna smoke it and I wasn’t gonna smoke it. What else was there to do?”
“I could’ve carried it.”
Across from me sat my foe, a man admirable enough to use a “family deck” against me even though he knew that I was a fairly decent competitor in these games, but he did not look me in the eyes once in the beginning. He was already balding for a high school student. The blue hat that he usually wore protected us from that fact. Surprisingly enough he had decided to leave that at home. Perhaps it was for our game? We had planned this a week ago, but never got the chance to truly begin our match.
As for me, I used my trusty “friend pack.” Ten cards, all displaying the names and images of ten friends of my choosing, were in my hand. Whichever one should I use wasn’t a strikingly complex conundrum as my opponent, who called himself Bobby, seemed incompetent in making his own decision. For our first drawing he switched between three different cards before finally keeping one face down.
“Are you sure?” I asked him, “You’re not going to switch again, right?”
He wasn’t sure of himself, but nodded.
I turned over my card first. To start off the match I had chosen Andrew Svarsen, a 10th grade buddy of mine. He was particularly good at math, so that made him stronger in his cards intellect.
To neither my friend, a companion at most,
They foresee that my thoughts would bear
Untruth and secrecy for heresy at best
They saw, they came, and they couldn’t care
Alas, my friend, for you stand here lone
Devising a demise so daring to boast
To most a toast would suppose a fine tune
For your last breath shall come all the more soon
Tell me, again, what you hope to accomplish
When you can’t deny that you’ve lost your accomplice
And days and days pass by until you will see
Night is for the dead as day is for disease
So here we stand, the moon rises high
Alone, but together, bodies soon to lay side by side
Forebode, my friend, but no longer I’ll name
Come together with me, through tide and flame
My face, the last you shall ever speak to,
Is but a mask to the one you have wanted to meet
The others have failed where you have exceeded
Surprise, you’ve not, and that is where your deceit is
Your excellence comes from the darkness at the bottom
Everything is but a light that is turned off
Talk to me and tell me that you are still human
Before we clash and we fall and we keep falling like autumn
From above the stage looked like an ant hill with the actors and actresses completely running frantically. They were supposed to do this – it was all part of their script. Not my script, but theirs. They thought it was all normal, and that was no good. They needed to at least know that something was amiss. “What could I utilize?” I pondered.
There were ropes nearby my box seat. They must have had some control over the curtain on the stage based on their similarity to the ropes that they had back stage. Just before the show’s beginning I was given a quick tour and took a look at everything that could lead to catastrophe. The rope, little did I realize at the time, would be the ideal method of attack.
I put my right foot up on the edge of the box when a white bang nearly forced me over the edge and to my death in the aisles below. Everyone in the audience froze, including me. I stepped back, rubbed my eyes, and looked back down at the stage only to see it caked in smoke. The billows were climbing higher, coming from some sort of terrorist device.
“Antoine, let’s go. We’re no longer needed here.” LaSalle said to me.
I turned to her with concern, “What’s going on here? What is the meaning of this?”
“We’re not alone, sir. We were never alone.” LaSalle gave me a smile, showing me that she knew more than she let on. I had no choice but to follow her out through the back before I suffocated on the intoxicating smoke inside.
The day was cloudy.
It was pretty cold outside, but my jacket was still in the wash. Mom said that if we had time we could get me another one. She was always so busy trying to figure out where to go next that it was clear I would have to bear with the dropping temperatures. We left much later than we usually did – it was around 8:30 when we went out the front door to the car. She started it half an hour before so that it would be warm when we got in.
That morning was the second time in a row that we got a sandwich from the gas station. They were better than the ones we got from that weird fast food restaurant down the street from our neighborhood. I ate about half of mine before we arrived at this brick building. She threw out all our trash and told me to “wait until she got back.” I did that, though it was the most boring thing I had done that week. It was not the first time she had told me to wait.
An hour passed, and I continued staring out the window. I had left my game at home, which made me really mad. It sucked for me when I left it at home because there was nothing for me to do and it was my fault. The car was off so there was no radio; she took her phone with her, so I couldn’t play on it; I was seated in my uncomfortable car seat for so long that I thought I’d die from cramping.
She came back eventually and we went home for a little bit. Whatever this place was for I didn’t know since she never said.
It seemed like a decent idea at the time, but when I was enacting my thought the realization that I was so emotionally depraved hit me harder than the realization that I was walking through my own dreams. I stood up from my bed within my own thoughts and looked out the window to see a completely dark yet sunny day. It was gray with a few tornados here and there, but it seemed completely normal for a dream. I knew where I was, too; I was fully aware of the fact that I wasn’t in reality.
My bedroom door flies open and a man with five legs walks in. He’s carrying a baseball bat and no clothes. Surely I would’ve looked away, but I kept on staring. This guy quickly changed into a girl – my mother, actually – and said to me in a garbled sound, “You’re gonna be late for the party.”
Realistically, this party would be out of the question since I’m never invited to parties. While everyone is out drinking and laughing it up, I’m sitting at home, lucid dreaming the life that is too good to be real. Realistically, I would have looked away from my mother and crawled back into bed, but this was a dream – nothing is strange in your dreams. I simply walked past her and went to go shower when, almost instantly, I was no longer in my own home. I was now standing in a field, dead friends surrounding me, and a tornado hurtling towards me.
“You’re gonna be late for the party.” My mother said again despite being nowhere near me or the field. I began walking towards the whirlwinds and held my arms out, hoping to be grappled into the hellish storm that seemed to completely normal.
The Locust King, known to his pilgrims as Kveltar, rose from his grave and stood over us surveying students, his staff in hand glowing with red brightness. He remained hidden by a white design of lines and gems on his mask. He said nothing for nothing needed to be said. He was Kveltar, the Locust King, and his presence meant death.
Every student in the graveyard looked to each other. Samuel leaned over to Bethany and whispered, “Are we about to die?”
“Shut up,” She whipped back, “It’s just an act. The teachers are worried we’re getting too involved with ‘spirituality’ and ‘witchcraft’ when we aren’t involved with it at all.”
“This is their way of solving their conspiracy?” Sam asked.
Bethany shrugged, “It’s more traumatizing than they might think. Just look at Caleb over there.” She pointed to a small boy towards the front of the group, blond and skinny but reasonably well built for a seventh grader. He was trembling at his knees as his eyes made a gaze of awe towards the towering monster before them.
When the group of middle school students finally fell silent, the king spoke, his drawl echoing all around the kids, “Who shall die first?”
The air was beginning to drop in temperature. The smell of garbage all around me didn’t exactly help, but it was comforting. To me, standing out in the open in the dead of night when it’s below freezing and you have nothing to smell makes you feel alone and dying. When I’m waiting for her to leave the airport, it’s best not to think that I’m dying, though it’s impossible to ignore that fact that I am.
Every ten minutes or so I would go around the corner and check to see if she was at the place that I told her we’d meet at. She wasn’t there, though. It was just a bunch of drunken asses standing around, tossing a soccer ball. They must have come from Europe on the same flight as her. That means she would be out at any moment. I returned to my hiding place beside the trash cans and cuddled myself for warmth. Several small animals scavenging for food passed by me a couple of times, but didn’t come near the dumpsters because of the rather large organism that looked like a potential threat with the black beanie, oversized green jacket, and unshaven face.
“Tony?”
The calling of my name made me looked up. There was no one, but I was absolutely certain, not only that I heard my name, that it was her that said it. I stood up slowly and approached the corner. She stood out front, back against the wall, hands in her parka pockets, her blond hair in a ponytail.
“You’ve come back, Jen.”
“Where are they now?” She asked in a hushed voice as a group of tourists came out of the airport, “The scientists?”
Tony felt uncomfortable speaking about it, but pressed on anyway.
We all sat around at the back of the classroom like we usually did around this time of the year. It would only be two months until we were out of school for good! No more waking up early for these pointless classes; no more listening to rambling teachers who knew nothing about our generation; no more having to deal with stupid old Maynard High. I wasn’t going to college, so I wouldn’t have to deal with any of that B.S like most of my friends would.
One of the girls in the back with us, Melissa, was chewing on some gum, “Did you guys hear about the valedictorian?”
“Yeah, what’s up with that?” I asked, “It took them so long to reveal who it was.”
“Nah, it turns out, get this,” Thomas, Melissa’s boyfriend, spoke up, “They knew who the valedictorian was long ago, but we didn’t know! It’s some guy named Quentin.”
I had never heard of a person named Quentin, “Who the hell is that?”
“Beats us. He’s been the valedictorian for a while now, so someone must know him somehow or some way.” Melissa stood up and walked to the front of the classroom to spit out her gum.
Thomas grabbed his backpack and set it on his desk. There were only a few more minutes left in the class, “I feel sorta bad for the guy. Imagine being this big, important member of your graduating class, but no one knows or likes you.”
“I mean, you can’t exactly be liked if no one knows you’re there.” I said.
“That’s what I was getting at.”
Melissa returned to her seat, “We should go find this Quentin guy.”
Thomas felt it. He pressed his hand to the wall and let it seep into the living organism that completely covered it. “Is this what is inside of me?” He thought as he continued down the dimly lit passage way. Most of what he saw was hidden behind a haze of crimson and was barely visible, but he could make out a doorway. He just needed to keep moving and not let himself realize that he was inside someone.
“Damn it!” He shouted and threw up. He hung over like a willow tree, taking in the fact that what he did here could possibly hurt the person that he was within. He took a breath, straightened up, and pressed on, hoping not to let anything else get to him.
Soon enough, he was proven correct in believing that he saw a door. This door, covered in innards and meat, had apparently no handle to use to open it. Thomas looked around some more, desiring not to stick his hand through the pile of what looked to be organs. He stepped back and looked at the entire door as a whole. There was only one way to get through.
He held his breath as to not vomit and stuck his hand through, grasping for a handle of any kind.
“I swear I saw him!” I begged my wife to listen. Doing so had become irrationally difficult as of recent because of speculation that she may be pregnant again. It’s not that she didn’t want another child, though we didn’t exactly plan on expanding our family any more, but she couldn’t handle the possibility of losing another life under her supervision. When we watched our son fall off the dock years ago she felt as if she were to blame when that was not the case at all – all of us were the blame.
She just sat in her chair, smoking and reading and drinking and staring, “That’s a tall tale if I ever heard one, Joey.”
“You must understand that that is the case! I saw Tyler! He led me into the forest and down the path until he,” I said and looked down at my hand, which held a necklace, “Just disappeared. I fell too far behind. He got away.”
“Or maybe you were just hallucinating, Joey. Did the doctor take you off your meds, Joey?”
I nodded.
“Then there we go. Ring up the doctor and tell him that your mind is screwing with you.”
Perhaps my wife was right, I thought. Then I realized that never once since Tyler’s drowning was she right. She was only different. She felt that being different would change herself and make herself more reliable when it didn’t help at all – it only made her wrong. I put the necklace in my jeans pocket and went to use the phone in the kitchen.
Just to add to the unexpected horrors of that day, the monster wouldn’t fall even after I blasted it with fire. I had to run and read through the tome, hoping to find something that could be more effective even though I thought fire could very well burn the ogre’s skin off. It just kept running, stomping left and right. The interesting thing about its behavior, however, was that it seemed intent on capturing me and only me. No one else in the school became targets. They were all safe. It just wanted me, and that terrified me more than anything.
I turned left into another hall and ran up the stairs since, I’d imagine, the sheer size of the monstrosity would cause the staircase to collapse, making it impossible to follow me any further. At the top I looked over the railing and watched as the few students in the upper hall saw me and laughed on the inside. My exaggerated facial expression apparently was the source of much humor to them, but their faces completely froze in a similar fear to mine when the stomping and screaming of the ogre became louder and closer. It echoed all the way up to us and made them realize what I feared before they ran off.
Back to my tome, I sped through the pages, trying to see if anything in particular seemed powerful enough for me to cast. I had tried fire already, so maybe something on the opposite side of the spectrum would prove better?
Yes, it had begun! I was certain that we were ready now to embark across the bridge. Why no one had done so before was beyond my understanding. It looked feeble, yes, but absolutely was it still sturdy enough to support thirty or so tourists willing to risk their lives in order to see the foot of Mt. Medina! Oh, I didn’t tell you that before? Let me reiterate – I am the last person in the world that could be capable of taking thirty or so people, especially mindless tourists, to a deadly mountain that is mysterious for the disappearances of numerous people. Sure, I’m incapable of doing so, but I’m still doing it. Why? Because I said so.
Let me rephrase that – I’m not doing it since I already did it. This happened a while ago, perhaps several years though it’s rather difficult for me to completely remember, so it already occurred and, of course, I’m alive as I’m telling you my account of our arrival at the foot of Mt. Medina. Woops, spoiled it. Not that big of a deal since that’s not where the whole spark of interest for me ignited. It was on the way there at a particular bridge across a gaping waterfall. Many had died on the rapids, and I had the intention of not adding to that number. However, I could only remark to the tourists, only the ones who were listening, that it was very likely that at least one person would die, and that person would be the least missed of the group since everyone would realize just how incapable they would be in reaching Mt. Medina.
The white sky was dim and darkened by the fact that the week was uncertain of having a normal end. By that it is meant that there was so much snow covering the hills of Sonderbury that the population were pessimistic in whether they would even survive the sudden apocalypse of frozen precipitation. The kids, though joyous at the lack of school and sun, were just as afraid of the onslaught of snow as their parents, who were the most pessimistic of the bunch.
At the Reiner household, up in a bedroom at the end of the hall slept Adrian. He was curled up in his blankets, windows closed and drapes drawn to block any possible light from entering his den. He had slept pleasant dreams, but the realization that he was awake and that those dreams were over had broken him immensely. He had dreamed of those he had know for only a short since his arrival in Sonderbury several weeks prior. They were people he wanted to get to know, but knew that he was far too different for that to happen. In such a rural community as Sonderbury, the city folk such as the Reiner family seemed unwelcomed.
“Adrian, get up.” The Reiner father, Alexander, called from the other side of the door.
“It’s my day off. Let me sleep.”
“We’re going to shovel the snow.”
Adrian sat up and kicked off his blankets, “You know how much I hate that.”
“Oh, you hate it? Think about how everyone in the whole world feels about it, huh? You’re not the only one who wants to kick back and relax, Adrian. Everyone hates it, and the further falling snow isn’t exactly helping us, now is it?”
My pleasant dreams were rudely interrupted by the sound of my owners arriving. Each morning, at least I presumed they were mornings since I was a massive shut-in who didn’t get to see much, both my owners would either come out themselves or send their stupid little child to take care of me. That means putting me on my leash and walking me around the block a few times. Then it would be back into my little home where I would wait for the cycle to repeat. It just goes to show how special I am to them, right? They were the ones who bought me! Why neglect the person that you spent money on?
Their footsteps indicated that it was only one person, but they were also heavy enough to show that it was an adult. I lay still on my hay bed and waited for sunlight to peak through and shine upon my master’s face. When it did, his wet nose stroked my leg. He sniffed a few times before reaching his paw in to grab me, “Come on, Sheffer. You need a walk.”
Yes I did, but I did not want to be abused by them. From what I saw, most other humans were treated pretty well by their masters considering our situation as slaves. My masters, known as the Farmers, were these massive German Shepherds so you know that they had to be at least a bit rough, no pun intended.
The port was lively though a bit ravaged emotionally by the storms of yesterday. Admiral Stevenson was scheduled to meet up with our ship the moment we docked in Huey’s Court, but according to the sheriff he was off on business outside of town, meaning we had yet another setback to our grand scheme of things. With how clueless the townsfolk were about the admiral’s location, it could take much longer than desired to get going.
“Yuri, a moment.” My shipmate, Sanch, called me over on the dock. We were supposed to be helping the others carry our trading supplies off the ship to offer to the villagers, but that wasn’t exactly my kind of gig. Sanch wasn’t much for helping out either, so we stood off and pretended to be deciphering the situation in the absence of Gunner, our captain, who had gone off to learn more about wherever Stevenson had gone.
“What is it?” I asked.
Sanch pulled out a badge from his pocket – a badge that only the worst kind of sea-dwellers carried, “I don’t feel comfortable operating under the guise that we’re upright citizens. Once they find out we’re pirates, they’ll hang us and blame us for the Royal Affair.”
“That’s why you need to keep your cool and shut it. The only way they’ll find out is if you keep waving that thing around.”
“Don’t lose me, Ken!” She kept crying, but he wouldn’t respond.
The doctors surrounding the bed all attempted to gather around a solid idea of what they could do since, at that point, Ken was confirmed to be dead. The lead doctor, Blanco, turned to Leah and grabbed her hand, “I’m sorry, but we can no longer make any promises.”
“You’re a doctor! That’s your entire damn job!”
Everyone turned to Leah’s brash reactions. Why had they even let her into the room when things looked so grim?
“Listen to me!” Blanco was not content with Leah’s attitude, “I’m sorry if things aren’t turning out the way you had expected. Things don’t usually do, after all, but the best thing you can do is shut your damn mouth and let us do our job which isn’t to make you any promises! Our job is to save this man’s life, and I don’t see you doing anything to help except throwing insults at us. Don’t tell us when we’re doing our job or not since you don’t seem to be doing anything either.”
Leah didn’t respond. She stormed out of the room, never to return.
Blanco turned back to Ken in the bed. He put his hand over the patient’s head, “He seems to be doing fine temperature wise. Why won’t he wake up?”
“It’s strange,” One of the other doctors spoke up, “He seems different today than he did yesterday.”
Could you imagine how difficult it was to comprehend that I was facing my own child from the future? He looked positive and healthy and full of life as opposed to who I really am. With a beautiful wife, several incredible children, and a well-paying job, it seemed impossible that he was my own son since I am nowhere near as successful. When I approached him on his lawn, wearing my black robe, he would have never expected a relationship between us either.
His children were running around in the yard, but froze when they saw me. His wife initially threatened to alert the police, but I said one thing and one thing only: “The crest has been broken.”
The light in my son’s head went on that instant. He knew something was up. Within our family’s clan, the crest was the tie between each generation. If it were to break, then the family’s future would be thrown into chaos. We all knew this, and thank goodness he did too. He approached me after calming his family and spoke quiet words, “Who are you of my family?”
“We must speak elsewhere. This is not the setting that I require.”
“And what setting would be sufficient for you, sir? I’m trying to take care of my family here.”
I looked around at the empty, silent suburbs, “Anywhere but here. I have no recollection of living in this type of community. We should head downtown.”
“Downtown? Why downtown?”
I wanted to lower my hood and reveal myself, but it was too soon.
Rosario stood up from the remains of his biker and stared at the monstrous serpent ascending in the horizon. It bore the Red Cyst – a sign that it was already confronted by the Mikhail Arcadia. That meant that he was now on their radar on his quest to retrieve the only one he has ever cared about. He reached for his handle at his right side, but kept his eyes on the monster. He needed to determine the opponent’s weak spot.
It couldn’t be the Red Cyst, he thought. On all the monsters he had confronted in the past, the Red Cyst was more of a shield than a weak point. That meant that this monster couldn’t be any different. He pulled out his handle and unleashed his standard saber, unsure of whether he would even make a mark since he has learned not to underestimate any future monsters.
As he ran toward the serpent, it’s size growing with every step he took, a buzzing began to sound from his left side. Rosario stopped and reached for his radio, “Is there someone on the other end? Hello?”
The buzzing stopped.
“Of course. I knew that I would be the only survivor.” He said and continued running as the monster became more rambunctious.
“Sooth your ego, Ross.” The radio spoke.
Rosario didn’t stop this time as the serpent revealed its dozen of tentacles on its side, slamming and quaking the planet completely. He held the radio close to his face, “Is that Sheldon? Sheldon, where are you? I thought all the bikes crashed.”
“You underestimate everybody, I see.”
I grabbed the guitar and pressed down two strings, the B and the Low E. When strumming them both it seemed to hurt my ears so I pressed down on the High E and the A. I got some good sounds out of it, but then I realized that there had to be something else to this whole song writing business. I had to produce something worthwhile, and as I’m writing this, I’m wondering the potential that this entire project contains.
Oh, didn’t expect that twist of events, did you now? Ninety-three entries in and the tables have turned as I, the writer, am speaking directly to you. To think that these stories have sparked interested in a small minority of the online writing community is amazing, but the ability that it has to influence others has become a bit of a wonder to me. To those who have read, and could even be potentially viewing this entry, what is wrong with this collection?
Don’t say nothing. Well, let me rephrase that since Microsoft Word is being obnoxious and grammatically underlining my mistakes. There is always something to fix, and as I’m nearing the one hundredth entry in Five Minutes I’m curious as to what could be altered in the process of continuing my ever expanding writing practice. Time is passing, and I’m extremely interested in the possibility of expanding what this simple exercise if capable of.
Based on the numbers that I have viewed in regards to the amount of people who have read these stories and comparing that to the number of reviews, it is understandable that not many may see this.
“Dad, I’m your son, remember?” David stood by the bedside, holding his aging father’s hand in his own, his hair a mess from having yet another sleepless night – the tenth in a row since his father was admitted to hospice care. He had tried to get into contact with his girlfriend, who should be watching their pets at the moment, but she wouldn’t answer her phone. This only made him fear waking up the next day to more horrific news than he could bear.
His father remained in bed, his eyes glaring up at his son, barely blinking and cold and empty. He licked his dry lips repeatedly while a nurse stood on the other side of the room, arms crossed and ready to weep at the status of the patient. David could see her watering eyes from the corner of his eyes. His father turned his head to her and asked, “I don’t have a son.”
“He is your son, Mr. Wilco. David is his name.” The nurse responded.
“But I don’t have a son.”
David gripped his father’s hand and nearly broke down completely, “Dad, please don’t forget about me! Don’t forget me! I beg you, don’t forget me!”
“You…” His father said.
There was a strange, extended silence. David released his father’s hand and looked around the room, watching as it faded from the white, holy-like hospice room to his own apartment building several miles away. He was standing by the window as the heavy rain drowned the city’s sorrows. He held a picture in his hand –a picture his father gave him when he moved out.
“Will you forget me when it happens, dad?”
Thomas stepped onto the edge of the crater. The small puddle at the center of it seemed to have his attention, but other things were on his mind. He had photos in his suit’s pocket – photos that were the last things he’d look at if something were to go awry on his mission. He slid down the hill and stepped over to the puddle.
Bubbles were coming out onto the surface. He kneeled down and looked closely to see how clear the water was, but it was completely dense. No, the water was not solid, but rather looked as such. It had this solid blue color. Thomas gave a look to his gloved right hand before sticking it in to find the bottom. He felt a small hole underneath the shallow puddle. He pulled his hand back out and looked at the water on his hand.
There was no water on his hand.
“Call to base,” Thomas spoke through the received built into his helmet, “The substance is currently being examined and may not ultimately be water. From my experimentation with the puddle, there seems to be something with its structure that makes it impossible to attach to submerged objects. For example, my hand was inside the puddle, but was dry when it came out.
There was no response, as usual.
Thomas stood up and looked back to the hill of the crater. It was one of the largest on the moon that had been discovered and the sudden appearance of this blue substance, immediately “confirmed” by authorities to be water, made people start jumping to irrational conclusions about the habitability of the environment. Thomas began to make his way back to his buggy as there was nothing else he could do until authorities responded to his report.
Mrs. Tribley was the most beautiful woman I could ever have hoped to have as my teacher. She was blond, busty, and completely dazzling in whatever wardrobe she donned each school day. I tried my hardest in class since I never wanted her to forget my face and, although my affection should have ceased to be at the revelation that she is married, I attempted to get her to adore me in the same way she was adored by not only me, but countless other students. She was the one person keeping kids in school, whether for the right or all the wrong reasons.
We all sat down in her class on a rainy Wednesday morning sometime in April. She walked in, wearing this strange, black business attire that she had never worn before. At this point I had assumed I had seen her wear pretty much everything in her wardrobe. She stood in the front of the classroom, a suitcase in hand, her blond hair tied in a bun, and her makeup non-existent. She was showing off a new side of herself today.
“Today, ladies and gentlemen, is the day that I tell you of the horrific discovery that was made just a night ago,” She said and pulled a couple of pictures out of her suitcase, “These pictures are from the Observationist’s Desk, a magazine handling numerous conspiracy theories throughout the world and, although most of their investigations have come up with nothing, this is different.”
She handed the pictures to me in the front row. They were black and white and showing a waterfall – a massive one.
The skin on the back of James’ neck crawled in the everlasting darkness of his own room. He couldn’t turn on his light – the electricity was blown. He couldn’t open his curtains and look outside – there was to be no light for an extended amount of time. Instead he just grabbed his laptop, hid under his covers, and opened up to his “instant messaging” buddies.
Most of them were online at the moment since they had nothing else to do. It had only been a day since the ash from Yellowstone’s caldera had completely blotted out the sky’s color. Most, if not everyone, stayed inside, fearing for their own lives which, if something wasn’t done soon, would be over shortly. James looked at his friends and considered chatting with numerous of them, but he couldn’t even think of bothering anymore after seeing “her” not online.
James closed the laptop and laid his back down on his mattress. She had been the longest transfixion he ever had with a girl and it made him realize that his feelings were true. The sadness of the situation caught up to him in realization that he would probably never get to see her again, or at least admit his feelings to her, the girl he always dreamed of, on his last day of life, running to her house and telling her everything.
Depression is a realization that some things really have no meaning. Some things are just there and don’t mind it, but you do. It’s the fact that time will move on without you, not giving you time to pick up the pace, refusing to allow you the ability to catch up when everyone has already decided to keep on going ahead. It is when the odds begin to flow against you and your legs become weak and it seems that they will prevail.
I would fall to my knees. That is when the river would absorb my presence and add me to its graveyard of those akin to me who failed to find their footing. These rocks at the bottom of the bed refuse to pierce me – they simply press against my skin and prod me carefully. I am not in pain, but in a state of relief that I don’t have to struggle to fight when the fight is over. I have submitted to cruel reality and am resting at the bottom of the river bed, my time passing and those who would be better off without me doing so.
Then there are the hands that pull me up. They are the very same hands who have seen that I am incapable of swimming in these conditions and that if I simply asked, they would help carry me to shore. They wouldn’t drag me through the rapids to catch up, but they would help me to make it to the side where I could try again. Very few hands reach underneath and help me to shore, but those that do think that they understand what the odds look like when all they see is water.
I asked my friend whether he believed in God the other day and he said no. That scared me since, as an avid Christian and son of a preacher, I did not want him to go to hell. He told me was scared of no hell since he didn’t believe in one in the first place. While that logic did seem sound to me, I couldn’t even bear to think that he was actually an atheist. We were so close, and then this happens and I can feel our friendship die tragically.
That was four years ago. One day I was at my father’s funeral; the day before I watched my mother denounce her faith as simply an act to protect herself from my father’s anger and judgment; and my friends have abandoned me in my time of need now. Instead of simply shutting myself in and trying to conceal my fear, I realized that this point in time had the potential to make me realize, for myself, what I really thought.
So I shut myself in and anguished over my father’s sudden demise. He always spoke fondly of the Lord and the Holy Text so it seemed righteous to completely ignore its values. How can people possibly bash it when it is meant for the greater good? There is no feasible reason other than to simply serve the Devil and all his wickedness.
That was five years ago, and today I believe no more.
With each passing hour another star overhead disappeared. The writer counted them carefully over the silent night up in his tower. He sat at his desk, lamp still glowing greatly, and the sound of rain pelting against his window sill as such silence began to come to an end. He leaned back, placed his pen back on his papers, and rang a bell hanging from the wall.
Moments later a woman opened the door, red head and dressed in her night gown. She carried a candle, freshly lit, and looked ill from sleeplessness, “Sir, what is it? It’s nearly four in the morning.”
“I cannot sleep, darling. It seems that something has kept me writing.”
The woman entered into the room and examined the writer’s creations, fifty more than she had counted before. She was in awe at the dedication he held, but was also surprised at how many had been written in such a short span of time. She set the candle down and helped the old man to his feet, “You need rest. I can’t let you get sick on me. Whatever is bothering you can be dealt with later.”
The writer resisted the woman and remained seated, picking up his pen for another tale to craft, “That’s the problem, my dear. This problem within me can’t be dealt with later when it is what is keeping me awake for so long. I have not slept a wink in days because of this thought and fear and it’s impossible to completely comprehend a cure for such a natural daydream.”
“What is it that you fear, sir?”
He held the pen in his shaking hand and spoke, “That one day this will be for nothing.”
The road was surprisingly barren and desperate for gas to cover its freshly paved asphalt. Over the years the stripes had worn away and cracks had broken through on all sides, but the community decided to finally change that. We, the high school students that have to drive this road every day, have decided to completely alter our normal routine of pressing the gas and passing over the corrections made. Today, we decided to take a closer look at this road.
Honestly, it wasn’t even my idea. Clarissa said that it would be cool to do, and a bunch of the kids who were near us at the time agreed to it unanimously. We grabbed our belongings, locked our cars, and began our trek down the road.
Eighteen miles – that’s how far our homes were from the school. It would be an impressive walk to make, and hopefully no one would get shot along the way for stopping, but I was slightly worried because of the forecast that was made. Supposedly a storm would be blowing through the area over the weekend. Imagine getting caught in the middle of nowhere with the rain and the wind beating down on your back.
Clarissa seemed brave enough to handle this task. She didn’t have any second thoughts and appointed herself as the leader though we didn’t even need a leader for this. To start we walked down this path near the football field that would take us to this more open field where we could begin walking alongside the road. There were forest paths left and right, and we had to fight the urge to take a detour down them every time.
A hundred years ago I accepted to being the subject in a most controversial experiment that only the most insane dogs of the government could decide to go through for all the wrong reasons. They told me that I would be hooked up to a machine for one hundred years and put into a coma. If the experiment had failed at any point in those years then I would be dead and wouldn’t know it. However, if it had succeeded than I would be awoken and removed from the machine, looking and feeling exactly as I had a century ago,
Unfortunately, it was a success.
The reason they chose me was simple: I was a failure. No one liked me, I hadn’t a successful job, my parents neglected me, and I was on the brink of suicide. If I had nothing to lose, then why would I turn down the offer to be a part of an aging revolution? Though I don’t know how they even performed this experiment, I didn’t really try to look into what happened those years since I didn’t care.
The sad thing is that there were letters stockpiled in a large bin beside the vault where I was stored for a century. These letters were written from the unlikeliest of people – old schoolmates, family members, and co-workers. Some admitted their love for me; others apologized for their actions; all I could do was realize that I could only be considered a failure now after going through with it.
Maria was still several rooms away and, though she was younger and more inexperience than I, she was capable of meeting back up with me. John and I had stayed on the couch much longer than we needed to. The stairs were so close yet so far at the same time! There were a couple of book shelves that we could climb, but there was the major risk of knocking them over and that would get us grounded – which could be considered a worse punishment than falling in the lava.
Instead we opted for the coffee table and balancing on the small desks that held a lot of files. If the files fell over, who would care that badly? If the shelves fell over, we could get really hurt. John led the way over the coffee table while I stayed back a bit and kept an eye and ear out for Maria should she catch up to us. At this point, if she was going at the pace she was when we started in the kitchen, she should be in the dining room. Hopefully she could reach us before we made it to the stairs.
“Mike, I just realized something bad,” John said to me before crossing from the table to the desk, “What happens at the stairs? There’s nothing there to shield us from the lava.”
I never thought of that. We could try to wear some shoes, but those probably weren’t strong enough against the floor. We needed something better – something more efficient. I don’t know what it was. We kept on going, deciding to worry about it when we got to the stairs.
The front door finally opened, and in through walked an older woman with blond hair and groceries. She stopped, stared sternly at us, and said, “Are you guys playing ‘The Floor is Lava’ again?”
John and I nodded.
“For Pete’s sake, Mike, you’re twenty-three years old! Get off the couch!”
Across the hall was the room where practically every participant in the “challenge” were eagerly waiting to get their chance in the chair of power. Meanwhile, President Oscar remained in said chair, staring at the door and waiting for it to flood open with the countless people who would think that they were more capable of running the country.
Eventually it did open, but it was simply the vice president walking through. He shut the doors behind him and walked up to the president’s desk, “Sir, there are hundreds of them that we had to use other rooms to hold them. What shall we do next?
“Next?” Oscar repeated, “Next we get this completely dangerous challenge out of the way! How fast do you think the U.S will be completely obliterated once another average Joe just steps into the throne?”
“Throne?”
Oscar stood up and looked out the window, “What could possibly amount from their desire to rule? Is it solely for their belief that I have failed the country? Blasphemy. I will show them that being president is no simple task.”
“But sir, you must understand that you have been a pretty major threat in the past years as they say,” The vice president said, “You cannot simply deny the opinions of the public. After all, who else are you serving?”
Oscar turned back to the vice president, “The world.”
The rope dangled from above my desk chair. I stood up on the seat and grabbed onto the noose and closed my eyes. Soon enough I wouldn’t have to worry about who saw me since I would no longer have to worry at all. I opened my eyes, pulled my head through the noose, and stared at the door across from me, all white and plain and boring. As soon as I pushed the chair with my feet, the darkness would arrive.
Then the door opened. My eyes looked down to my daughter, five years old and uncertain of what she was watching. She just stared; she did not speak. I had thought she was napping, but when had she awoken? I had not heard her. My legs trembled as I neared the tipping point – I wanted to push the chair so badly, but the guilt would be immense.
Why? I won’t care what anyone thinks once I’m non-existent. Why is the guilt right before it ends the strongest of all? The guilt that determines whether I’ll stay around or if I’ll say my premature farewells. Her eyes stared at me, empty and confused. Maybe she was sleepwalking? I could do it. If she wasn’t really paying attention then I could go through with it!
“Dad?” She asked me groggily.
I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t.
I took my head out of the noose and stepped down off the chair, falling to my knees in front of my daughter. I hugged her and pulled her closer, whispering in her ear, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please don’t tell your mother. My god, I’m so sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too.” She said.
The Fountain of Youth was actually smaller than the brigade had bet on. Instead of being monstrous or majestic or beautiful, it was just a shallow pond filled with leaves and frogs and an undeniable deadly stench of decomposition. The King p stepped closer to examine the pond and determine if they had been given the correct coordinates.
“This cannot be it,” One soldier said, “This cannot be the fountain that we had sought ages for and sacrificed several of our own brethren! This is not the Fountain of Youth, I guarantee it!”
“Pipe down, Scotty, this is it.” The King stood up and nodded slowly, “This is, in fact, the Fountain of Youth.”
There was an audible groan of disappointment from the men behind the King. They all gathered around the shallow pond found deep within the temple and looked at its dull appearance. Nothing about it screamed legendary or exotic. It looked just like a pond you’d find on any street. A frog jumped out from the center and looked up at the king.
It croaked and said, “Are you here to become eternalized in our sanctuary?”
Confusion set in throughout the brigade. The King kneeled down to the frog and said, “You just asked me if…”
“If you’d like to become eternalized! ‘Cause I can make that happen, ya know!” The frog stood up on its hind legs and stuck out a hand, “I’m Gaia, the spirit of this temple. I’m magic, ya know.”
The King shook the frog’s hand with his pinky finger and stood back up, “Well, this is odd.”
The destruction of the corridor only made traversing the collapsing citadel more difficult for the soldiers of the regime. Several of them died, but luckily they had a great man watching over them and controlling their every move – quite literally. Jonathan pulled out the numerous “soldiers” who had fallen in the siege of the citadel and set them in the bin with all the other fallen comrades.
“There’s no time! We must escape now!” The boy said, voicing the commander of the group.
“But sir, what about the president?” Another soldier asked.
There was a knock on the bedroom door. Jonathan wanted to continue playing as things were getting very dramatic, but he remembered the last time he didn’t answer his mother when she knocked on the door. He shouted, “Come in!”
The door slowly opened and a little girl stood there, pink dress and blond hair. She stood with several of her own toys, all dolls, with Jonathan’s mother behind her, “This is Julia. She moved in so I set up a play date for you. Don’t be mean, alright?”
Jonathan nodded. Julia stepped into the room, just kind of standing there instead of joining in on the game. She looked all around at the room she was in and at the toys that were thrown around carelessly.
Without saying a word of greeting, Jonathan went back to playing his game. His focus shifted from Julia to getting his men out of the citadel and to their truck so they could escape.
“What’re you playing?” Julia asked.
They came through windows and through walls. All they wore was black and white; they refused to state their names and affiliations. I could tell that they were watching me from behind their thick shades. Somehow they had caught wind of my actions and were coming to deal with it. I had not expected such quick response from the government even though it had been eight years. The worst part of my realization was that I would have to explain to them, in gruesome detail, all forty four murders that I committed in that time.
I sat in my arm chair in the living room as they all appeared in their dapper suits. Some wore white while others wore black, but from my understanding they were all male. They kept on coming into my suburban residence until there were about seventeen of them standing around me, arms crossed and ready to interrogate. It was fine by me as long as they didn’t threaten to involve my niece, who was staying with me at the time.
They waited and waited, and so I went ahead and initiated the confrontation by declaring, “I want you scum out of my house as soon as possible. How quick should this be?”
“Not long.” One said monotonously.
“Then get to it.”
The men looked to each other and nodded. One by one they grabbed onto a part of my armchair, gradually lifting it off the ground. Meanwhile they all stared down at me, whispering that it was time we left Westfall.
The colorful parrot plummeted to the Earth from the tree after being impaled by the Sarcos Spear. Three men surrounded it and stuffed it into a bag and carried it down the forest path towards a reservoir. The lake was shining with the early morning sun. The three men sat down and rested on the shore, throwing stones against the water’s surface and recounting their triumphs over the last several hours.
“If Cattala does reward us for doing this, what do you guys think we’ll get?” The man in a red jacket asked.
“I’ll ask for my mother back.” The man in the blue jacket asked.
“Probably the same.” The man in the yellow asked.
The man in red nodded in concurrence before tossing another stone. Ripples in the water indicated that something was moving around out over the lake. Within minutes the boat carrying their team came into view and their hopes soared when they saw three faces they never thought they would have seen that day. Of course, standing at the front of the boat was a woman in a black suit with her brown hair in a bun – the woman known as Cattala.
Once the boat reached land, several black armored men with guns walked over to the three men on shore and surrounded them. Following the soldiers came three woman, all looking older than the men or Cattala. They smiled faintly while Cattala approached them from behind.
“Only one goes home.” She said.
The man in red tried climbing up the walls again, but found that they were just too high for him. He had witnessed the man in blue trying to climb before, but he didn’t get much farther. The problem was where they were – trapped inside a cell at the Cataclysm Chamber. What’s worse was that they were actually separated from the man in yellow, meaning that they were lacking power. All of them needed to be together.
“Cattala will pay for this.” The man in blue said, sitting down against the cell wall in defeat.
“No she won’t. We’d need to get outta here first.” The man in red said after attempting to climb again. Unlike most cells at the time, this one was really just a massive metal pit at the center of the laboratory. It was reserved for only the worst of offenders of the law.
Somebody walked over to the edge and looked down at them. It was Cattala, who was holding the bag with the parrot that they had hunted, “If you attempt to climb out then your demise will come sooner than you expect.”
“What is the meaning of this, Cat? You sent us to get that bird in exchange for our mothers. Now you turn your back on us? Do you intend to profit from your betrayal?” The man in red shouted.
“I do, as a matter of fact. Your buddy in green has already begun to speak to me about your true opinions of me and the Construct. It won’t be soon before I get enough evidence to sentence you to death for attempting to usurp the power,” Cattala opened the bag in her hand and looked inside, “As for the parrot here, I’ve already got what I need from it.”
Through the blinds came a light so bare and empty that it might as well have been darkness. It was overshadowed by the lamp in the corner of my bedroom where several shirts hung off the switch. I stood up from my messily made bed and went to the closet to see if I had – no, I didn’t do my laundry. It wasn’t anywhere to be seen either which made my morning even better.
I opened the door and exited to the hallway of the apartment complex in my boxers - an upstanding American citizen I was. Luckily it was just an hour until noon so most people were out and about. I could do with myself whatever I please as long as I decided that I wanted to do it, which I didn’t so I went back inside and sat back down on my bed. It was a lovely little room for me to at least get by without having to resort to paying my parents rent. They lived only a few streets over, though, so I still felt as if I hadn’t quite moved out yet.
I fell onto my backside sort of naturally and reached for the remote underneath my pillow. The bulky 1990’s era television in the corner was my biggest buy from the local thrift shop which was a weekly ritual for me. There wasn’t much that I actually wanted to see on TV in the first place so it didn’t matter what quality it came in so long as I could see be fed the information. There was a man behind the podium telling a story aaaaand I’m already bored.
My phone began ringing and I was pretty excited that somebody decided to call me at this hour. Nope, just my alarm. I turned it off and laid my head on my pillow, wondering if it would be a good idea to start going to the gym – nope, absolutely not.
Ashley was downstairs, drowning herself in two bowls of cereal while her father continued to put on his tie. He stared into the mirror, admiring his own facial features and how handsome and thin he looked. Though he seemed pleased by his radiating charisma and well maintained hygiene, he couldn’t help but shake the feeling that somewhere along the line he had let Ashley go. She seemed pretty when she was a baby, but that went for everybody. Her father walked over and sat down on the bed, holding a typed document in his hand.
It was from the school. For the third time in a month his daughter was being taunted for her obesity and lack of maintenance when it came to her looks. It was becoming so troublesome to her father that he’s being weighing his options – being a single parent, it would be impossible for him to home school her. On the other hand, it would be incredibly difficult to get past her thick skin and tell her to change. He’s tried before.
The phone started ringing. He left the room and walked down the stairs into the kitchen where he was relieved to find that Ashley had already left for school. He looked at the phone number and answered it, saying, “Hello?”
“Mr. Keith, it has come to our attention that-“
“I don’t want any.”
“It was a pleasure speaking with you, Mr. Keith.”
He slammed the phone down and continued to lament.
9-95-99 As reported by Stasis: “We have fully developed the sensors necessary to make contact with the miniscule components of the Tablature. We believe that the specimen currently occupying it will receive these sensors and attempt to make contact back. Whether or not we are capable of understand them is beyond our goal as we only wish to make them noticeable to us at first. Then we will attempt to understand them.”
9-96-99 As reported by Stasis: “Failure. It is impossible to make them notice us with these sensors. We are currently hoping to make the project a success by the end of the one hundred day time span. However, we are afraid that we will not amount to anything.”
9-97-99 As reported by Stasis: “No one seems confident in the project anymore, but I’m positive we can achieve at least something. It is not as if the world is at stake. We simply need time. Sure, the one hundred day stretch is not going to be met, but we will reach our goal eventually. Patience is necessary.”
9-98-99 As reported by Stasis: “The project is being aborted by countless supporters to the point where the head is considering shutting down and breaking down the Tablature. I will not let him. I will take matters into my own hand. The Tablature is coming with me and I will examine it myself.”
9-99-99 As reported by Stasis: “Oh no.”
A shadow could be seen against the black background. Strangely enough, it was invisible, but its presence was obvious. L stepped off the craft and began to step over the rocky surface of the star towards the supposed being. He could sense it watching them as they landed. He was curious now though his colleagues were fearful.
R stepped off the craft as well, “What’re you doing, L? Don’t go too far or you’ll get lost.”
“There’s somethin’ over there. I sense it.”
“What? We’re alone.”
Q appeared in the doorway of the craft, “Are we?”
All three were wearing multi-colored space suits produced by their parent company, Ganger. L continued walking, feeling the weight of the suit in the atmosphere start to drag him down. He began to see light – distant light – reflect in his helmet. It was blinding. He was seeing things. Then the shadow began to move as well.
“Jesus Christ! L, get back here!” R shouted and ran after his comrade.
Q stood in the doorway, casually watching as a mammoth of a monster appeared, the darkness still protecting its identity, “Strange. I guess I was right.”
R ran forward and pulled L back by the waist, his heels dragging on the rocky surface. They made their way back towards the craft as the shadow retreated back to its horizon. L was propped up into the craft, heavily breathing and possibly scarred for life. Q stood over him, arms crossed.
The goblin hobbled out of his swamp-hut and displayed a golden charm hanging around his neck. He grinned widely to express his green splotched teeth and vibrant yellow eyes. There was a strange heavy breathing sound echoing from his throat and out through a small gap in his mouth. The little girl that had come to see him wasn’t so sure whether coming this far from home was a wise idea anymore.
“You come for your mother?” The goblin asked.
The little girl nodded.
The goblin gripped the golden charm in his hand, “You know that it’ll take a lot of power to release her from this necklace. She’s been sealed deep within it. Surely you must have something to make this worthwhile.”
“I do not.”
“Oh, what a shame,” The goblin’s smile desecrated, “Then I guess it’s farewell.”
“Wait!” The girl shouted and grabbed onto the goblin’s arm, “What is it that you want?”
The goblin turned and pushed her away, “For you to get out of my swamp!”
“But my mother-“
“Was caught for a reason. You are simply wasting your time here. Go home to your father and your brother and pretend like you didn’t fail to save her. Hopefully your family will still love you after that.” The goblin continued on to his hut.
The door closed behind the masked man. His mask was odd. It was very odd. There were numerals surrounding the outer rim like a clock – his breathing was ticking. Tick tock tick tock. There were two circles. One was cut out while the other was filled in. He didn’t say anything. The silence eerily spoke for him. Tick tock tick tock.
“A lot of time passes in five minutes.” He spoke.
I tried to wiggle my hands free. Nope.
“Somehow it feels…” He reached his hand up to his mask and prepared to reveal himself, but stopped, “Right. It feels right to be thinking about it.”
At some point I would need to speak. It felt like the natural thing to do. Yet I also felt afraid to try and speak since he might take it as a threat and claim my life. He seemed intent on bestowing a particular theme upon me. A theme of time, perhaps? I mean, he’s not making it any less obvious at this point. His mask was a clock, for Christ’s sake.
He walked into the corner, a dark corner where no light from the single lamp hanging above my head shone towards him, and brought out a white lawn chair. He sat down in front of me, leaned forward, and firmly gathered his hands together like a gentleman – a freaky, masked gentleman. Tick tock tick tock.
“Do I frighten you?” He asked.
I nodded.
“Your lack of speech confirms this.”
Into the dusk the night men rode, wary of their previous travels and cautious of their future ones as well. They foresaw a terrible tragedy unfolding – the merry men, with their pikes and their charm, were to cast shadows upon the towns governed by the queen. The lords, with their high rising towers and connections to the darkest and most sinister of villains, were to completely remove the throne from underneath the king and rule over the kingdom like a storm at sea.
They saw the pride in the church on the hillside. It was packed at this time with men, women, and children who were all dressed in black and white and praying to their god for peace. The night men stopped, removed themselves from their horses, and approached the front gates of the stone church filled with dozens of the innocent. A preacher stood at the front of the aisle, speaking not from a book, but from his heart.
To those in worry, he said, “Time is not with us. It is against us and always will be as long as we continue to stand still and wait. The only time that costs us is the time in which we do nothing. That is the greatest weakness of the human race.”
This was an odd revelation to the night men. They glanced to one another in response and prepared to turn back to their horses after being off-put by the preacher’s words. However, he noticed them as they marched back to the door and spoke loudly to them.
“My most charitable heroes, where do you come from?” He asked.
They did not turn around.
Timothy fell and felt his thigh crash and bruise underneath his weight. He turned onto his back and felt the jabs and kicks of the young school children around him. They were all shouting the same incessant nonsense such as, “Get up and fight like a boy!” or “Don’t fall down like your sister!” He knew it to be the easiest way out, though. He was told by his younger sister that the easiest way out was by simply defending yourself.
He didn’t want to, though. They punched her, they kicked her, they pulled her hair, they insulted her, and they threatened her. Defending himself was the easy way out, but also the morally weak way out. He could feel the rage building up inside him. He shifted his feet a bit and began to push himself up. He looked around at the school boys, all taller and stronger than him, as they smiled, laughed, and taunted him.
“I’ll fight you,” Timothy growled, “I’ll murder all of you.”
To the girls watching this was a shock; to the boys participating it was a challenge.
One boy went ahead with his shot straight to Timothy’s face. Timothy stepped aside, grabbed the boy’s arm, and dragged him to his knees. With the boy’s head wrapped around his arms, Timothy laughed internally as the boy’s sporadic breathing began to vibrate against his arm. One second later, a snap ceased all of the oppressor’s fear. His body collapsed to the ground as those watching did not react.
The hood was removed from Coda’s head. He lifted his face, from upon his knees, and saw a group of men in black uniforms standing at the top of the stairs like priests. They held their hoods over their heads and remained silent in the prisoner’s presence. Not once had they called Coda a prisoner, but to him that is what he felt like.
From behind those on the stairs came a man with flowing red hair running along his back. He was wearing a dark green suit with black tattoos covering both of his hands and his face. He glared directly at Coda and smiled. No one spoke. Then he opened his mouth and said, “Coda, you have been elected out of our choice to carry out a sacred destiny that few are capable of.”
Coda started to stand up, but saw that the men in black had raised hidden guns from underneath their uniforms. He returned to his knees and refrained from speech.”
“Three people in power across our world are currently the targets of your mission, Coda. We have chosen you based on how well you have performed these past several years. You hold immense promise and should be proud to be able to carry this honor with you to your grave.” The man spoke.
“And who are you to dictate my actions?” Coda questioned.
You looked at me and asked me why we were standing in the middle of the road. It was somewhere in Nebraska, years ago when we were much younger, and it was freezing. Everything was freezing. Something was happening and the whole world was becoming frozen. Many people succumbed to frostbite and related illness, but others did make it through. Now we are inhabitants of a new age.
It was in that road that we had watched a train derail. It was heading to southern United States and was packed with extra heat. The train was carrying hundreds of passengers to a new location. We were standing by the tracks, somewhere in Nebraska, long ago, when the train derailed and we realized that no one survived.
We could have been on the tracks and we would’ve been dead. We could’ve been on the train itself and been torn apart in the derailment. Instead we were standing aside and witnessing death swallow several hundred people whole. It was odd because we were standing out in the cold where most people were too afraid to go. In this road we stood and realized that we could also be dead, not by train derailment and faulty mechanisms of our transportation systems, but of the world around us.
So you asked me, “Why are we standing out in the middle of the road?”
And I told you, in Nebraska, long ago, “We are but Fate at a distance.”
The officers arrived quickly only to find that they were a little too late. Several were dead, women and men, with only one holding the gun. Blood painted the shelves and food that lined them. The people who were fortunate enough to escape were all waiting outside, sobbing and wishing that this didn’t need to happen.
Ambulances were called. Everyone was speculating about the culprit already, a tall black man who carried a rifle into the store with him. He was lying against a table with self inflicted gunshot wounds bringing his hate-filled life to an end. He was put into a body bad by paramedics and carried out to the vehicles. The officers confiscated the rifle and planned to conduct a deeper investigation into who he was.
Back on the outside of the store, a woman shouted at the officers, “Why would he do such a thing?”
One officer, holding the rifle in his hand, wanted to ignore her, but knew of the rage that would spiral out of the control if he didn’t speak.
“It’s because he was black. They always do this.” One racist man spoke.
“Because he’s poor.” Another person said.
“No, it’s because he doesn’t care,” The officer said, “He killed himself after killing the others. After life, what else matters? Nothing. He can do whatever he wants because he won’t feel a thing afterwards for eternity. Anyone can be like this only if they truly don’t care for anyone else’s life.”
“How long has it been?”
“I dunno, a year? It was about a year ago that this all began.”
“Did you think you would still be doing this after all this time?”
“That’s an interesting thing because… it’s only five minutes of my day. It’s not that big of a deal, but sometimes it just burns out on you. Sometimes I’ll skip out on a day. Other times it’ll be months before I go at it again.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“It’s a mixed bag. I thought that I’d keep doing it as long as wanted. I also thought that I’d probably get bored of it and do something else. It depends on my mood.”
“How much longer are you gonna do it?”
“Dude, it’s literally just the same answers. I don’t know.”
“Okay, but will you ever stop?”
“I think we’re done here.”
“Any closing remarks?”
“I freaking hate this keyboard.”
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