“Previously on…” – The problem with gaps

 There are times when a 1000 words story expands beyond the set limits of the flash format. Exceeding with a number of words is one thing ( I hear the flash set’s its boundaries somewhere around 1500, correct me if wrong), but when the story, in the process of writing, starts feeling like it needs more space, more time, more development, it grows into a serial.

I find serials tricky. At first they seem like a great idea, allowing the writer to set a future point, to add more and cut less, and when the installments come once a week there is plenty of time to build the next chapter. There is certain flexibility and new ideas are generated as the process of creating the universe of the story deepens.

I have personally felt much freedom in several cases. I had stories which I couldn’t tell in 1000 words and arranged the initial idea into one, two, three or more parts. The ways into which one flash story may develop, as a serial, are multiple. And because of that I believe them to be tricky and often fall in gaps that sometimes last longer than intended.

John Wiswell pointed himself and his ongoing serial “The Only Thing Worse is the Cure” as examples for such gaps. Maybe based on a few comments, but I still think the gaps between the installments are minor and don’t have effect when it comes to following the story. Perhaps the change in narrators and perspectives did that, but John would know better than me.

Whereas I on the other hand…well I have created gaps as vast as canyons between one part of an ongoing serial and the next. It ends up being paused rather than ongoing. I am going to use myself and my writings as examples.

I battled “Nightshift” a six part serial reasonably fast, with just one small gap. But two other serials I have abandoned at present time. I left creepy, ghostly “Sunflowers” hanging in the dark and am not sure if I am ever getting back to it, at least not soon. I left “Monsters” with only two chapters in order to transform it into a graphic novel which someday will meet light in 2 beautiful volumes.  But there is one which I was super excited about, still am, but I don’t write it.

First to say, I think the problem with the gaps to originate from the fact that some stories are not initially intended to be serials. I trust my gaps to come exactly from that.  The bigger the pause is the less the readers remember. And who would go back to read per se 10 chapters and try to remember what the heck was going on in this story?

I did a little experiment in my political sci-fi thriller (which still doesn’t have a proper name) and wrote some details to hint the upcoming events, and details which led to the first installment. I don’t think they hinted anything. I’ll allow myself to use this serial as the main example because I am working on it (in my head mostly) and thus I count it as an ongoing thing.

Here’s how I picture my failure: I have it planned ahead, but that would require time, something which I don’t always have on my side and sometimes feel the pressure of. Having a clear idea as to what will become of it in future terms I would want to write it down, but take time (extending it even more) to do that properly. That means I won’t be posting every week. Slowing down the tempo means I lose the readers, because they lose the original concept. Thus the gaps swallow all and at times I don’t see how and when this serial will be over and complete.

Now that I’m thinking, what’s the point in blogging a story piece by piece in this bizarre manner, I consider, why not pack it up in a small novelette and then offer the complete “product”? It would be easier, it will relax my anxiety of not meeting each week’s deadline, and it won’t trouble the readers of going back through posts and trying to make sense of what’s been happening and what’s to happen.

Could be the smart thing to do with a longer piece. It has its downsides, but the outcome might be more pleasing.

One thing is sure, gaps are mean and sometimes they stay for more than awhile. How to tackle them?

What do you think?

With an iron fist

With an iron fist

“It’s perfectly safe you know.”

I looked at my sister, trying to remember what the conversation was about. We were having lunch at a corner diner, the same one we had made a habit of visiting for six years now. Perhaps the only family tradition we kept, and were somehow fond of. Lisa always had a chicken cordon bleu, and I, a turkey pest ciabatta sandwich. The food tasted good, but the coffee was too bleak for my taste. I still drank it, taking it in small sips. I didn’t want to rebel against what we’ve build and adopted as a happy time.

Lisa slipped two spoons of sugar in her steaming cup.

“Shaun? Are you even listening to me?”

I smiled.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“So what do you think, cool or not?”

Ah, water skiing with her friends next month, that’s right.

“I think cool. I trust you’ll take care of yourself.”

She raised an eyebrow and sat back.

“What like no witty retort from you? You feeling okay big bro?”

“I’m fine. And yes no witty retort this time. Water skiing seems fun and you look like you need some. I’m happy you’re still consulting with me.”

She looked outside the window and fell silent for a few.

“After mom and dad I feel like I can’t let completely let go. I want to live and be brave and have fun, but sometimes this idea nests in my head, that I might die and leave you alone, or that you might die while I’m away and I’ll get that phone call…”

I reached my hand over the table and covered her gentle wrist, caressing, soothing, reassuring.

“I’m not going anywhere. You are not going anywhere. We stick together, take care of each other. But we also gotta live Lizzy. We’re not dead. You needn’t worry.”

She smirked and pulled her hand off mine, uncomfortably grabbing the cup of coffee instead.

I joined her silence and we ate, the diner becoming audible with its clacking of dishes and lively lunch chit-chat.

My eyes caught a fast-moving shadow outside. I lifted my gaze and traced the figure of a hooded man rushing outside our window. It happened in a split second. He neared a young woman and grabbed her purse, viciously pulling it away from her hands. He turned to run, but she was too fast, she was prepared and tripped him over. He fell flat on his face. The customers jumped on their feet watching the scenario unfolding. So did I and Lisa.

The young woman knelt, took her purse and slowly pulled out a Glock. We watched as she fired three rounds in the thief’s head. She hid her gun back in the purse, zipped it and continued on her way. I had never seen such a steel gaze as hers.

People in the diner screamed then covered their mouths, shaking heads in disbelief, and outside people gathered over the body, watching hypnotized as the pool of blood spreads.

Lisa looked at me searching for the reassurance I gave her just before. How was I supposed to say the truth when the world becomes like this? How was I to promise her nothing will happen, no one will get hurt and bleed…Maybe it was time I go out on the streets again. Maybe the days of my hiding were over. An example was needed, an image to speak of safety and hope. For the ordinary people who had taken the fight in their hands and dug their nails in dirt, and for Lisa who needed to believe that she can live.

The Jaxinail

Spooky Halloween in advance everyone! This is my little (awfully late) offering and attempt to scare you!

When the wind chimes ring for no reason and a little girl believes too much…

 

The Jaxinail

“You frightened her.”

Patty’s eyes wetted and she hugged her brown teddy bear tight, keeping it close to her chest.

“Oh, it’s just a story! It’s not like real you know.” Hana made a face, then turned on the lights in the living room and dowsed the candle’s flame with her fingers.

James offered his hand and Patty grabbed it, locking her little fingers into his. He looked at her, big hazel eyes staring back at him with droplets of tears barely hanging on the corners. He caressed her curly auburn hair and smiled, reassuring her safety.

“It’s all okay Patty. There isn’t anything to be afraid of.”

Perhaps for a second or two Patty hesitated, as any child would. The scary story that Hana had just told was still powerful and quite real inside her head, and the vision of the Jaxinail and his horrific transformations, was fresh and vivid, as only a child could keep it and continue, in her own manner, to illustrate the described happening after meeting the monster. Because it would, as Hana had said, come for no reason really, as monsters rarely have one, other than hunger and joy from the sound of clacking bones, but it would surely come when all the lights go off and all the people are asleep, and it will devour the tiny body of the sleeping child, slowly swalloing  it while no one hears or sees it, since the monster is usually invisible to everyone else, but the victim.

Patty pulled James’s hand.

“But, what if the Jaxinail comes after you go to sleep? And what if he…eats me? I don’t want to be eaten James!” Her mouth trembled and she sobbed, squeezing his hand again. There was genuine fear in her voice and a begging sparkle in her eyes for James to not send her to bed, at least not alone. He turned his gaze to Hana and frowned. She murmured a “sorry” and turned the TV on. He had agreed for them to tell stories while their parents are away, but was not expecting this new character to appear, none the less have such effect on his little sister. The old fright- to- behave stories were okay with Patty and she even laughed at them, but the Jaxinail, whoever that was, had crawled under her skin taking her captive in his false horror world. He couldn’t believe Hana had come up with such a disgusting story.

“Tell you what. I’ll stay by your bed all night long and make sure no Jaxi fellow comes.”

“You promise?”

“On my pride as a brother! I am your faithful protector little princess! You know nothing takes me by surprise and nothing scares me right?”

Patty smiled.

Hand in hand James and Patty walked across the hall and up the stairs.

The door to Patty’s room swung open and James clicked the light switch. He tucked in the blanket and placed Mr. Bear in Patty’s hands. Then he pulled a wooden chest full of toys and sat on it.

“Go to sleep. I’m right here.”

Before closing her eyes Patty spotted something different in her room. It was in the blink of an eye, but when she heard the whistle of the wind, Patty fixated her terrified eyes on the window. There was no wind outside and the night was quiet.

Patty searched for the eerie noise again. Oddly it seemed to come from her painting, hung on the opposite wall.

There was light, maybe the moon or a street lamp, reflecting in the glass surface of the frame. Patty saw beyond her crayons.

It was windy in there, leaves rushing in the air in a mad spin, the branches of the big tree croaking with age and snapping like whips in the starless night. A shadow appeared in the distance and it came closer, then closer and closer, but it was many shadows now, many shapes all put into one. A hand, or was it a hand? reached and knocked on the inside of the painting. Thump, thump, thump the sound went.

Patty cried, her fear escalating quickly.

“What’s the matter Patty?” James was on his feet.

“He’s here! The Jaxinail is here!” She hid under the blanket.

“Nonsense Patty. Hana made him. He isn’t real.”

“Yes he is, yes he is, YES HE IS!”

And then, the link finally became real. The boundaries fell, dissolving into mist and the coyote laugh of the Jaxinail rang through the house. With it came the wind blowing through the rooms and the halls and the holes of the house, opening every door. Then the lights died, leaving them both in darkness, in cold and await. James found himself listening to the wind chime outside on the porch.

Patty’s scream grew weaker and weaker until it was lost and all there left was the wind chime and the realization.

Thump, thump, thump the sound went before the door slowly opened, and James thought “Here he comes”

The Jaxinail.

Vicarious

Something someone said during the drive on the first day of my weekend trip. This is what it resulted in.

Vicarious

“There’s no secret to dying”

We drove past the abandoned construction sites in the old industrial region. It never got be one, never was urbanized or highly populated. Something about ground property they said. Local fishermen still swam the river in their creaky old boats, but the expensive buildings were only concrete skeletons erecting above the river bank. It was a dead zone, lonely and attracting the homeless and the abandoned dogs.

Though it was a cold month, the sky wearing a pale mascara of grey and white and the scenery being colorless, left without a single shade of life, a stench emerged from the waters sliding itself through the gap in the window. I rode it up separating the smell of the interior with that from outside. The scent of cheap cigarettes nested itself again, continuing to soak into the leather seats and my clothes.

The river curved and with it the road. My eyesight caught the rapid movement of dozen crows, circling around one spot of the river bank; somewhere down below where my eyes couldn’t travel and observe. I watched them, those vultures of death, the predecessors of illness. Even from the moving car I thought I could see their glass-like eyes glisten with hunger and desire to rip large pieces of meat and swallow them down their shaggy, skinny necks.

Why where they so many? A little tornado of black wings and piercing gazes.

Even with the loudness of the engine their cries penetrated the safety of the car; shouts from Hell escalating and resonating with my thoughts, confusing my senses and provoking some sort of sudden self- preservation. I yield before it for a mere moment, than I frowned, shaking away the grasp of fear. “Why are their godless pleas for wrong so easily heard; that ugly sound of laughter that chills the heart, but what is good and kind and asks for nothing more than kindness in return remains unheard, unnoticed?”

I averted my eyes.

Still the curiosity aroused by their numbers left me restless.

“Why do you think they are so many?”

My father responded with an extended “Hmm” which meant he hadn’t heard my asking.

“The crows” I enlightened.

His gaze skipped to the window on his right then quickly returned to the empty road.

“There must be something dead down there. Seems their fighting over it.”

He said nothing more. Nor did I.

My mind drifted from the daily, and the abstract, the horror took place.

What was dead down there? A man? A woman? A child? Someone who would no longer love, laugh, cry…feel? Someone to be missed, to be spoken of… or was it someone forgotten? Someone thrown back by family, by strangers, by society, left to sleep in puddles of city mud and dirty sewer leaks?

What poor creature was left lying there, to decay, dissolve till a dog comes and snatches a bone? What soul was offered to the descending black devils to eat from its flesh and tear its insides until their primal needs are satisfied?

Who was now no more, no longer, never again?

Or was it going to be like it had never been at all? Existence never happened… No tears were shed upon its demise, no memories were brought upon its release, no mothers had felt their hearts destroyed at that very moment when the waters of the river had spat out its lifeless body?

What fate had that mysterious carcass face? Whose image of hate had it met before the end? Whose cold palm had caressed it with anger?

Was it Mother Nature? Was it my own kind?

I wept inside for it. A little helpless thing, a poor and fragile soul, there alone and dined on. Ruthless world!

And I contributing to it from my warm and comfortable seat; a spectator like anyone else, watching from a safe distance. Was I any different from those who had guided it undoubtedly long before to that grave beside the muddy green waters?

Further down the road I entered a quiet state of mind. Not long after the crows were left behind.

But I still wondered, I still craved to know despite all…what was dead down at the river bank? What?

As a single crow glided over the car, its cry mocking

I wondered…

Night shift (Part Five: the conclusion)

I’ve split the conclusion to the serial in two parts

Part one  Part two Part three Part four

Night shift

Part five

The conclusion

 Everything around John slid up as if his world was knocked out of his sight, driven away into a chaotic periphery of images, dim with fog streaming up from the city sewers, writhing into the abyss sky. Somewhere from the darkness surrounding John a pathetic whimper erupted, deflecting into the hollowness that consumed the man who’s world was off rails, slowly tumbling down towards hysteria. One word managed to churn midway the descending and repeat itself long enough to sink and pulsate, pushing back in stance the universe of John Walker.  “Dead”  He mumbled it, focusing on the consonants and vowels constructing it. He didn’t speak the word out loud partially because he was afraid that would mean recognition and acceptance, and mostly because he couldn’t bear seeing it reflecting towards him once more from the man before him. But deep inside the plasters of his still lingering in sense mind, John knew he was truly, undoubtedly dead.  He had felt the metal of his Ford Sierra crunch loud and mangle under the pressure of the truck smashing into him. Then someone shut the lights out, the show ended and all the ladies and gentlemen went home to chit-chat and drink lemonade.

“You better believe it Johnny. It’s a fact now. F-A-C-T!”

“Shut up Webster!” John resumed himself in the presence and the shivers came up his spine.

As the cacophony of car honks, radio beats and cats fighting over territory also returned, he stared at Sam searching in him the abnormality he had just claimed. He was drawn again by the anxious sparkle in Sam’s eyes, but this time he saw something else there, unfamiliar and terrifying. Now they were filled with abysmal antiquity no human possessed. The ancient was merged with novelty, and the old face was a new face as well.  The blackness was of the starry sky, and the centuries were gathered in there; they were the glimmering bodies of stars, all inexistent for so long. They remained only a count.

John took a step back from the creature before him. His back met the solid façade of the door leading back to the dreamy, grim existence of his past. He stood there, hemmed into a corner like a wounded animal.

“How can this be happening?” his voice growled.

Sam smiled and it was that sincere grin of a child receiving a new toy on its birthday.

“It isn’t really. That’s you making this alley exist. You are confused I can see. It’s rather easy to explain. The shell is ripped apart, all blood and flesh and bones, and is no longer functional, but what’s inside is safe and unharmed. That’s what you portray right now. A soul. A vessel of memories, feelings. Your character trapped in an echo. This here – Sam took out a silver Zippo lighter from his pocket – is a modern day psychopomp, my own invention actually. Back in the days we used spiritual animals, but that’s considered overrated today. Anyways…Its flame burns white to guide the soul into the afterlife. When it illuminates the tie between the body and the soul is severed and the soul alone is taken to the next stage. My lighter hasn’t clicked for you yet my friend. Wonder why?” Sam chuckled.

“Tell me. Why am I like…this?”

“For a purpose of course. I managed to detour your trip and guide you into this place you held so dearly to. John Walker, fighting to learn the truth until his very end. Here it is, finally.”

“What?!” John was stunned; his voice came out in a too loud pitch and he thought someone else had asked that simple question.

There was wind. Strong and persistent, that one which makes windows vibrate and doors slam hard. It was like the messenger for an upcoming hurricane. Or maybe it was just an airplane, preparing for landing.  It blocked John’s thoughts. He could see Sam’s lips moving but couldn’t hear his words. He denied them. The lips of the reaper curved and his tongue touched the lower lip. His teeth were sharp. John read the words rolling down from those lips. He stared in a genuine shock.

“I made you come here” was saying Sam. He pushed open a door that was or wasn’t there a second ago. It was smashed in the middle and the paint had fallen off, but bits of it were clinging onto the rust, revealing red paint, stuck on ugly spots like dried blood.

John shifted in his angle.  He was afraid, but couldn’t do anything. He was helpless! With no way to go, he asked:

“Where would this lead me?”

“I told you, you were brought here with a purpose. I didn’t lie. Sanctum awaits in there my friend. The secret unravels”

Sam extended his hand towards the entrance, alluring.

To be continued...

Down by the river

Down by the river

“Schlange stehen! Bewegen!”*

The group of chained people moved forward. They were dressed in civilian clothes, although the days spent running and hiding had made them look more like torn pieces of dirty material stitched together only to resemble clothes. They were about to be executed in those dreadful outfits, stripped from their true identity.

Some of them whimpered, howled, screeched as their feet sunk into the mud, as the barrels of the guns touched their necks, pushing them forward, faster. But the majority of them remained silent, their eyes dim, staring into the blazing horizon.

They had nothing to speak of anymore. They were betrayed by those whom they trusted the most. It was all over. Their era was to be no longer.

The soldiers took them to a crumbling farmhouse, down by the river and ordered them to stand before the wall, their backs up against the solid structure. They faced five machine guns, surely fed by wanting release bullets.

A woman with once golden hair turned to the man beside her. His black hair was damped and his eyes were hollow but still she could recognize the King of the fairies, her beloved husband.  The forest spirit was gone; the sparkle of power was gone, only a shell of a desperate man trapped in human form remained. The woman, who was the Queen of the fairies traced each face as much as it was possible, trying to remember those forsaken, forgotten and sent to death – the Minotaur was there, his face trapped in the transfiguration of a beast to a man. His horns were cut in the middle, the blood dried on the edges; the Werewolf trembled and growled, the cuts on his face burning with pain, his human eyes glowing yellow; the Dragon was no longer resisting the restraints on his hands – he no longer desired to rip his own heart out; the Nymphs were pale and one by one were about to be consumed by madness, so they begged the fire to start sooner and vanish them from the realm of people forever; the Unicorn had lost its shine- a young boy he stood with eyes glaring to the ground without truly seeing. A red circle like a burned wound stained his forehead where his horn had once been. The queen averted her eyes. She could see no more of this torture.

There was a click coming from each gun; the sound was short but made the condemned push their backs further into the wall.

Before they could shout, or plead or run the soldiers fired for what seemed like hours, the thundering cries of fast flying, skin piercing bullets prolonging into the day, and extending more into the night. When it ended the silence was so fragile, the world thought it shouldn’t exist.

The only ones to blame for this massacre were the people, who had forgotten them over countless bloodshed wars. In fear they turned to selfish Gods who wanted only blood sacrifices in their name. Humanity asked them for help, for victory neglecting that they have won their victory many eons ago and the help had always been there with them, carried within those who protected their homeland, their sanity, who kept them alive.

And so, their protectors, the offspring of their imagination were left aside to rot and only watch as their world decays. All the creatures of myths and legends and folklore fell dead that day. Imagination fell that day.

 

*“In line! Move!”

Night shift (Part Three)

I’ve chopped the flash, so it meets the requirements. Nothing new here, just shorter form of chapter two, which now extends into a third one. Forth one to come

 Part Two 

Night shift 

Part 3

John found he couldn’t sleep. He twisted in his bed, but daymares kept appearing in his mind. He needed to find Sanctum St. He needed to know.

Midday struck and John started the engine of his car, driving down to 3^rd Ave.

Arriving on spot he looked for signs, numbers, graffiti, anything indicating that a street named “Sanctum” existed there. Nothing.

He asked around. No one had heard of it.

He was starting to get impatient, stomping in one place, chasing ghosts.

John was about to give up when he saw a homeless man walking out of an alley, pushing a broken shopping cart. He suddenly got an idea.

“Hey you, wait.  Was there ever a Sanctum street here? Or have they renamed some street like that recently?”

The man stayed quite until John gave him 20 dollars.

“Nope sir. Never was, never heard of a rename. I’ve lived here all my life!”

“What about an ambulance? Have you seen one going into these alleys?”

The old man then quivered and shook his head, stepping back, saying “No”.

That was good enough for John.

The hospital was into doing some illegal stuff around here. Sanctum might be a code name, a meeting spot. Or a person.

“Sanctum needs more”

More what? Drugs, money? Organs?

John grew more curious.

He went back to the hospital. Day shift teams were still there. He walked over to a group of chatting paramedics.

“Excuse me. I’m John, from the night shift. I work with Sam. I was wondering has either of you received a call for an emergency on 3^rd Ave. and Sanctum St? We got one few days back, but it seemed to have disappeared and no one recalls giving it to us. Any clues?”

They stared at John like he had just grown a second head. One man however spoke to him.

“There’s no such street there. You seem to have heard wrong. Why don’t you go and have some sleep before your shift? You look…tired”

John nodded and walked off.

They were hiding something. The tone with which that guy spoke was cold. Threatening.

John went straight up to Doctor Brown’s cabinet.

“John right? How can I help you?”

John showed him the snapshot from last night.

“I want to know what does this mean. I want to know what kind of games you are playing at this hospital. Is everyone involved? Why is Doctor Lewis not calling me back? Did he suspect you? He found out and you had him removed is that it? But he sent me, before that because he knew I would figure it out and expose you. Am I right so far Doctor Brown?”

John breathed heavily, satisfied with his deduction. Of course this whole thing explained the absence of Lewis.

“John, you are so, so terribly confused. If I had known night shifts will have such effect on your health I would never ask for your transfer here. I begged Lewis to send me a capable man. Oh, it’s my fault. You need help John. There is no conspiracy for you here”

“Bullshit!”

Before John could say more, the security came in, twisting his wrists behind his back, dragging him out of Doctor Brown’s cabinet.

“Sedate him and tie him up in room 4. He’s dangerous like this.”

John knew he had to break loose. He bit one of the guards on the hand until blood tickled his tongue.

That was enough for him to tear off the guard’s grip and to dash down the hall and into the parking lot where his car waited.

He dialed Sam.

“Come on pick up!”

“Uhm..Sam speaking” his partner sounded still sleepy.

“Sam, it’s me John. I need your help. Something seriously wrong is going on in the hospital. Brown just tried to sedate me. The day shift teams are in it too. All leads to this Sanctum St. Meet me at 3^rd Ave. in twenty minutes.”

John tossed the phone on the passenger seat.

What the hell was happening?!

The answers were somewhere there, in the invisible cross-path of 3^rd Ave. and Sanctum.

John drove faster.

“I have to trust Sam on this” He thought, gripping onto the steering wheel.

He then heard a loud honk and everything went into a pitch black silence.

 To be continued…

Monsters (Part two)

A bit late with this entry, my apologies. I hope I deliver with this conclusion.

Part one

Monsters

Part 2

 

“As a breath on glass, -
As witch-fires that burn,
The gods and monsters pass,
Are dust, and return.
(“The Face of the Skies”)”

―George Sterling,

The Thirst of Satan:Poems of Fantasy and Terror 

 

 

“I think I brought memory to life. Did I Neil? Could I?…”

As I stood before my door Tom’s words came back to me and I asked myself what he meant.

“Did you Tom do something horrible in the past that came back to haunt you today? Could you have done something bad?”

I cursed me for doubting my friend.

My hand hesitated on the door lock. I turned to watch the lights of the departing cab with a tinge of disappointed. I wished I had stayed in it. Maybe tell the driver to keep on driving around town until the dawn comes and saves me from the questions solitude and darkness tend to evoke in one’s mind.

I didn’t feel like being home tonight. Not alone.

I sighed and opened the door.

The lights, as I switched them on, welcomed me with a vague, nonchalant gleam.

I prepared myself a quick dinner – macaroni and cheese with tomatoes – and watched the news, only for the voices to keep me company and distract me from the ones in my own head.

A young blond reporter spoke of a chain accident on the interstate. Five people were dead and a dozen injured. She looked frightened as if her life was the one depending on good Faith.

I turned the TV off and stared at my face in the black screen. Was that fear written on me as well? Fear of what I saw back at Tom’s apartment?

Once more my thoughts were taken back to the filthy living room turned into a studio and the paintings aligned staring at me.

I wondered what imagination dreams of such horrid creatures? What sort of agony makes the artist reach so deep in his soul, in that part which is unknown and foreign to him?

“Why, Tom?”

I had to know.

“How can I help you Tom when you told me I couldn’t understand. Why is that? For what am I so blind?”

I rubbed my eyes and poured myself a large glass of golden liquid. Even after a few drinks no answers showed to solve my mystery and cease my worries.

I decided sleep may be my remedy.

I went asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow and no longer after that a dream came to me, one that left me moaning and twisting in the bed; a poor mess of sweat and sheets.

I didn’t see myself present in it, but it felt as if I was the host, my body, soul and mind combined to offer a field for the events developing. I felt utterly exposed to some invisible invasion from outside, a fearful breeze of rotten nightmares.

The scenery was bleak and confusing but it reminded me of the cover of a book I used to own as a child. But the golden crops, the morning sky were different– they painted themselves in dark rusty-brown, before the sky cracked and only blackness was left, so vast and loathing it raised my curiosity of what lies beyond.

I remembered there were children painted too, playing and laughing but instead of them something else was celebrating under distant sounds of drums and horns.

A creature of scales and claws, multiple eyes, tongues and limbs descended from the blackness, towering above all and with an echoing roar of its billion mouths it shattered grotesquely and collapsed into monsters that scattered and possessed each piece of the dying ground; the spawns danced with rhythmic moves, but all I could see was a savage ritual of grunts and roars; the nameless ones caught in a symbolic moment of fierce copulation; a collision of bodies furry, wet and muscular. Some, I observed from my nowhere position, carried human parts and with disgust I had to watch as their sharp tongues lick thirstily the dripping blood and their mouths bite, tore and swallow down large pieces of red flesh.

This was a feast upon humanity. A celebration of prevail and conquer. It smelled like defeat, like losing all hope and I felt even greater fear emerging from each direction, cloaking the dream, the inhabitants, the revelations.

My childhood nightmares were there before me, but somehow altered, changed. More vulgar and shameless, more brutal and willing to kill my vision and memory of how monsters were supposed to look. Those were…

“No, monsters aren’t real. This is just a dream” spoke Tom’s voice but I knew it was I who thought so.

But these spoken in the subconscious words disappeared with the increasing throbbing of the drums. The melody so ancient and ethnic called me to come forward; an invitation of the sort you don’t simply turn down even if your whole being is trembling with fear. I felt myself do as told, and I tried to suppress the urge to touch skins, horns, furs and prove them real, proclaim them living and breathing and here. I hesitate…do I want to?

They are not real. I know that. They can’t be.

I push myself away; a far and rapid withdraw from this degeneration of the soul.

I woke up weak and destroyed from the dream. My head pounded with pain.

I didn’t enjoy this demented reflection of yesterday’s events, mostly because there were shadows which I didn’t see but felt. The art in Tom’s paintings had crawled into my sleep and hid underneath my pillow to invade my dreams and observe just as me.

Observe what? Me?

I reminded myself again it was simply a nightmare. Fiction of the mind.

Then what was that feeling of doubt nesting low in my belly making me uncomfortable?

Had I gone mad even for a second to believe monsters are real? To believe that those portraying Tom’s sickness are stalking me in my dreams and insist I participate from aside in a spectacle of horror?

God, I sounded like I do.

“Remember you believe in something once you’ve seen it and touched it” told me Tom’s whispering voice.

-   Hold on Tom, I’m coming.

I dressed and called a cab.

With a few begs my Arabic guide of city streets and ugly alleys drove faster and kept silent.

I decided on any cost to get Tom out of his place and buy us a plane ticket to Mexico or somewhere further.

Up ahead there was a construction site and the street was closed by large orange signs. My impatience overpowered me; I paid and jumped out of the car to run the last two blocks.

I dashed between faces and grimaces without my eyes registering any gender, age or race.

All I could think of were those monsters closing their rope of insanity around Tom’s neck.

When I got there a large crowd had gathered outside the entrance of the building. I spotted an ambulance and two police cars.

The officers were just starting to close the perimeter circling it with the “Cautious” yellow tape.

I maneuvered myself deeper into the whispering and gasping audience.

I needed to get to Tom’s apartment.

-  Excuse me? I need to get to apartment 8, Tomas Byrnes lives there, he is a friend of mine. I was supposed to meet him today. Could you let me pass?

The officer which I had just spoken to opened and closed his mouth, seemingly experiencing difficulty to offer me an answer.

-   I’m sorry sir. I’m afraid that will be impossible.

-   It’s very important officer. Can’t we arrange something?

-    I don’t think you understood me sir. Mr. Byrnes was found dead in his apartment an hour ago. My condolences on your loss.

-   Oh… – was all I could say, and then I mumbled – thank you.

Perhaps I had heard him the first time but was too shocked to realize.

I turned and walked away without feeling my feet touch the ground.

The monsters had won. They had found out I wanted to save Tom and had taken him away from me. They mocked me in my dream and showed me what future awaits those who deny belief in something so obviously real. I didn’t acknowledge them and they punished me by provoking my friend to implant their vision in me and make me question their authenticity.

“Oh Tom, please forgive me for running away. I was so scared and foolish.”

I stopped.

The people walking past me game me curious looks at my motionless figure. I looked in their eyes to seek some recognition, some response or understanding.

But they didn’t know of the storm in my soul and the guilt in my heart. They didn’t understand the fear in my mind and couldn’t explain the tears running down my cheeks.

But I knew what I’ve done.

“I can feel it. I have let the monsters in”

Indigo Priest

Indigo Priest

Dark days are staring upon the city. Its people are blind and unaware of the danger it shelters; the crimes and the villainy that roam the streets at night go unnoticed. But underneath the filth the city cries, breathing dying words, begging me to help.

This is my city. My duty is to save it, regardless of the price.

The day may transform me into an ordinary person, but when the sun closes its eyes I put on my mask, my true identity, and become the shadow of the city, the shadow of the people. They call me Indigo Priest and I….

-   Kevin go to bed! It’s way past ten young men! How many times have I told you not to read this late? Put that comic book away.

-    But mom…

-    No buts. Sleep. Now. – Kevin’s mom turned off the lights and shut the door. He put his comic book underneath the pillow and hid under the blanket. She didn’t know. She couldn’t possibly know. Mothers never understood.

“Today I did what I was supposed to. I protected. When tomorrow the city needs me again I will be there to save it… “

Invaders

A Flash Fiction that was supposed to be a Friday one but because of “the Lord Almighty” ‘s  decision it ended up to be a Saturday Flash.

Anyways, enjoy ! 

Invaders

R. J. was coming back from the store carrying two bags filled with enough food for the weekend. He wasn’t planning on going out, just wanted to stay home and work on his motorcycle. He always had the idea to build something on his own and honestly he thought he was quite good at it. R.J. had started building it part by part last summer and was close to finishing it but since then other daily boring tasks and duties like work, or chores or his mother and sister visiting and nagging him for not being married yet had got in the way.

R.J. smiled to the thought of being alone and practicing his hobby undisturbed. Then he smiled to the dark clouds that were coming and to the wind bringing the smell of rain.

He wasn’t bothered by such weather. In fact he loved it.

The man opened the small wooden fence and walked the white alley leading to his suburban home, but stopped before unlocking the door. He looked behind his shoulder, feeling the urge to grab an apple from the tree that grew in his yard. R.J left the bags on the ground and crossed the smoothly trimmed grass.

A distant thunder called the storm, grey clouds without a shape or form nested high above R.J. Some forsaken and lost sun beams were fighting their way through the gathering darkness, their golden color reflecting in the windows of the house creating a frighteningly beautiful contrast with the dark-blue sky.

R.J. wrapped his hand around one big red apple. The sun’s trajectory had leveled up with the position of the apple, hiding behind it, and when R.J. picked the fruit the strong light blinded him. He dropped the apple and shadowed his eyes with hand. He blinked hoping to chase away the white circles that had started to dance before him.

R.J. took a step back wanting to look the other way when a low-frequency sound begun to insistently ring in his ears. R.J. closed his eyes and tried to block the noise with both hands, thinking his head might explode if it continued. The pain banged like drums in his brain, making him disoriented. He just wanted it to stop, please oh please stop, or I might cry, or just lay here and die. The solution came to him from somewhere deeper, an unknown place in his mind. It asked of him to open his eyes, and look where the sun was shining through. R.J. resisted on that idea, but his subconscious voice spoke again, telling him the noise will stop once he looks into the sun.

“Do it”. This time he didn’t resist.

R.J. looked straight into the burning body, the white and pure glow. The ringing stopped. Then a whisper, the memory of his voice from just a moment ago became only a humming sound, some sort of language R.J. thought that was unreal, so ancient but so very beautiful. The sun was talking to R.J. He felt his body drifting away from him under those words in alien notes, under this bright and welcoming face of the sun. His limbs were no longer his own and R.J. didn’t know if he was still standing, flying or lying. Didn’t matter. It was an amazing feeling.

 But something else was moving in, an invader. He had let it in. His insides burned and for a moment R.J. imagined this is what it feels like when the sun is living in you. Then he felt fear and snapped out of the hypnotizing song. He screamed but his mouth did not open. He tried to move but his feet stood still. He tried to see but the view before him flew away leaving only blackness. Then R.J stopped existing.

Silence fell. The sky waited not daring to release the rain. Maybe the Earth too, stood still for one breathtaking tick of the clock.  

What made everything spin and turn and scream and cry and just live again or die, were his lips slowly curving into a small smirk, yet leaving the face without any cheerful expression. He closed his fingers into a fist, than released them. He cracked his neck releasing the pressure. He looked down staring into his white sneakers and lifted one foot then the other. And he walked out of the yard leaving one apple to roll on the ground and two bags of food to be blown away by what wind may come.

A few meters from the house R.J.’s body stopped. His eyes weren’t blinking. Then R.J’s head nodded.

“It has begun Brothers. It will be over soon Brothers.”

He continued walking towards the city.

A thunder clapped shaking the world. Soon it started raining.