Reborn in Death

“The Horsemen Testament”

I. The Beginning of War

II. Conquest of Gods

III. The Soul’s Famine

IV. Reborn In Death

“And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see.

And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.”

• Revelation 6:7-8 King James Version

Works mentioned

Archenemy – “My Apocalypse”

Kansas – “Carry On My Wayward Son”

Job For A Cowboy – “Entombment of a Machine”

Dethklok – “Thunderhorse”

Slipknot – “Psychosocial”

Matchbox Twenty – “Unwell”

Deep Purple – “Smoke on the Water”

Guns N’ Roses – “November Rain

Metallica – “Ride the Lightning”

Metallica – “The Thing that Should Not Be”

Lamb of God – “Ghost Walking”

Chapter 1

Well… where do I start?

I guess my name?

Thomas Michael Markey is the name I was given at birth, but since then I’ve taken up the title of Death.

Don’t get me wrong. I freaking love this title and all it’s come with since the Great War finished up, but I didn’t always enjoy this. The other Horsemen took to it like breathing. You could call me the black sheep of the family.

So, where to start?

I had an incredible friend slowly stripped away from me, got swindled by a demon bitch, watched my family burn (family is a bit of a strong term), spent some time in the nuthouse, met a cool Fallen, spent some time running around doing my own thing and having fun, joined up against my better judgement, learned some politicians aren’t just evil but stupid too, argued with some angels, found the Tree of Life, got a lot of people killed, hated myself for a long time, turned it around and saved my new family, got the band back together, straightened my shit out, saved the world…

Wow, did I miss anything?

Huh… thought so.

You want more?

I should have figured as much.

Things can never just be simple, but you asked to hear the story. So, I should tell it properly.

My name is Thomas Michael Markey, and this is the story of Death.

Chapter 2

Firstly, let’s start with a bit of the early days. I don’t recall much of my days as a youth in specific detail, but my mother always shines brightly in my mind like a beacon of happiness in a stormy sea.

Cheesy, right?

But it’s true!

I had this amazing mother. Taught me all about how to be a good person, respect others and they’ll respect me, how to better myself, and all that stuff. Basically, the mother’s guide to how-not-to-be-a-dick.

Wonderful woman.

And though I never really took to it, she did teach me about God. All that stuff about angels, spirits, devils, and what have you. Perhaps I should’ve listened better. Turns out she was right—on most of the things anyway. A few things were off a bit, but who could ever get all of it right?

I don’t even think some of the angels got the whole story straight. But that’s for later.

Years would go by with my mother taking care of me just as a good mother should. Letting me make my own mistakes and then talking out the issue with me after. She was the one setting me straight when dad had trouble handling it. Don’t get me wrong, he did a great job, too. It’s just that mom was the one keeping everything glued together perfectly.

After all this time and all that’s happened, I can’t even remember the year I was born. Isn’t that sad? I know it was in the glorious 90’s. Oh, sorry. 1990’s. I know I should be more specific.

But, what I meant to say, was that in those times it was pretty rough on parents who actually tried to discipline their kids. You couldn’t spank or hit because that’s abuse. We all know some of those kids that never felt their parents’ hand go upside your head or ass… I’d say sparing a few momentary, bodily pains in youth breaks the mind later in life.

My mom had no problem with this, and I may have gotten mad. I remember one time I cried and screamed at her. She was such a small thing. That gorgeous red hair just down to her shoulders. Those green eyes seemed to stream electricity through the ripples of emerald.

Calling her out on the spankings was a bad idea, because all of that hair became a burning storm about her head. Her slender build became a rocket as she lunged at me and pulled me in for another few lashings across the backside.

I believe it was because I swore at a neighbor kid when I was roughly seven or eight years old. A bit young to be cussing out a person for something as meaningless as whatever it was we were arguing about.

But, I digress.

She was the firm hand I needed to guide me down a path to being a decent human being. Those are quite hard to find these days, but once in a while you find yourself facing a good person and thank your lucky stars that you get to enjoy their company.

She would tend to my wounds. Those motherly kisses are no joke.

My parents would take me to church where she’d let that angelic voice fill the walls of the temple. Dad was a believer because she was. Not a strong man of the faith, but he loved my mom and so, too, loved her Maker. He would watch her with light in his eyes. I remember looking up from the pew to the joy of her spiritual songs and his soul taking in all she gave.

Catherine and Peter Markey exposed me to the grandest of the Creator’s gifts.

Music.

It is the vocalization and instrumental creation of mankind to express emotion and intent. The words she sang could have been empty, yet she poured her soul into every note and syllable. Each measure blissfully composed and presented before the masses on an altar meant to carry such glorious beauty to the Ancient One.

These two people gave another life. They brought me into this world to show me love and continue themselves through me. Music was that connection that bound me to my family. Keeping all love and need within bar and octave.

Passion was found at that young age. My parents were more than willing to fill my head with dreams and promote my esteem. I must have been in my early years of grade school when they got me a series of cheap instruments. Low quality, but I didn’t complain when my parents brought home multiple bags filled with a variety of new toys.

Mom was a secretary for a local law office and dad was a fireman. We lived in the Midwest of those glorious United States. For them to spend so much on their child’s dream was a blessing to me; though, being a child, I expect I didn’t properly show my gratitude to them.

A few tight hugs around their waists and jumping up and down must have been enough. There was a flute, a small set of bongos, a small electrical keyboard, and a few other ones that didn’t keep my attention for long.

I paged through every book they bought me to play my favorite songs of the time. A few tunes I knew from those wonderful child-programming shows on the T.V. My favorite book had to be the one containing a number of popular Disney songs.

Oh man… “Under the Sea” was my jam on the flute.

It took me some time to understand the notes, but, with my mother’s help, I figured out each sound and added it to my ear’s memory. After a few days I was able to play those songs well enough I could walk around the house without the music in front of me.

Catherine Markey sat with me for hours every night after school to pass all she knew about music onto me. It was the perfect gift she could give me.

The way dad looked at us… it gave me the best chills. He would watch us with that spark in his eye. That pitch and skill vibrated our home; filling it with that shared love of the divine art.

Creation at its finest, a family brought together in perfect bliss. A faithful couple sharing their genes and wishes with their offspring. Each of us growing by the other’s hands.

I miss those days.

It wouldn’t be the story of a Horseman without loss, correct?

Of course not. You’ve heard the other three speak of what they lost right from the beginning. Why should I stray from the theme?

I was probably around the age of ten when I was at my religious school (per my mother’s desires); playing the only instrument they ever supplied us with—the recorder. Just saying it makes me quiver. The only emotion conveyed through such a tool is that terror a young child has in the middle of the night when they wake up to find themselves staring into an open closet they know they shut.

That isn’t the loss, but it was definitely the beginning of my pain.

I waited all day to go home and play around on my favorite instruments, but no music would play that night.

Mom and dad were sitting in the kitchen when I got home. I ran through the front door, threw my colorful backpack on the floor, kicked off my shoes, and ran to them. Their faces broke into grins at the sight of me, but the tears told me I’d walked into a not-so-happy situation.

“Come sit down,” my father spoke with a lump in his throat. I looked to my mom. Her lips pulled into her mouth as if she were biting them closed against the terrible screams which were creeping up her windpipe. Peter Markey pulled out a third chair at our table for me to sit between them. “We want to talk to you about something.”

“Did I do something wrong?” Of course, a selfish need to stay innocent was my first concern—that ignorant, childish action that means no harm or foul.

My mother’s eyes burst and she coughed up a chuckle. Her arms flung themselves over me so she could pull me in close. “No, sweetie. You’ve done nothing.”

I looked over her arms to see dad rest his head against the palm of his hand, with the elbow resting on the table, and a heavy stream of water broke free of his eyelids.

“What’s wrong?” The words were strained through the heavy sweater she wore.

She released me but kept her hands on my shoulders. Dad put his free hand on her leg, a sign of out trinity being join in these trying times. Her right hand left my shoulder to join his on her leg. We sat there for a few silent moments while I waited for the first true pain of my life to come with a crushing force.

“I’ve been to the doctor,” her face ran over her arm to clear the tears. “They’ve told me I’m sick.”

“Sick.” Even then, I knew that sick could mean a variety of things. I wasn’t unaware of the serious illnesses of the world, but I knew she wasn’t sneezing or coughing. “Sick with what?” Still, the severity hadn’t registered.

“We have to stay positive,” the hands on her lap twisted about each other to grip tightly as if one might disappear and leave the other behind that very second.

“Your mother has something in her head.” My father spoke slowly, choosing nonaggressive words. “She’ll get medicine, but you and I will have to take care of her. Alright?”

“We’ll all handle this,” my mother lifted her husband’s hand and kissed it. “I’ll do my best to get better.”

“What can I do to help?” I looked up to her eyes that lifted with a sorrowful joy.

“Stay a happy, little boy and keep playing your music for me?” She pulled me and my father into her arms. We were in a huddle preparing for the first plays against our rival. “We’ll make it through, God willing. We’ll pray, doctors will treat, and we’ll be happy. Can we do that?”

From beneath them both, in the center of the pile, I responded, “God’ll save you, mommy.”

The Creator has given us our own world to grow and better. Very few feel that power reach down from On High to twist fate toward a planned outcome. Maybe this was one of those moments. I would ask, but calling Heaven isn’t so easy… the line is usually a one-way conversation.

But, again I’ve trailed off.

“You bet.” Her lovely tones lifted my heart. “No matter what happens, I need you two to keep living with a smile. Can you do that?”

My father and I both agreed without hesitation. We remained gathered as a family and embraced with hopes of a better tomorrow. I remember calling out in my head, God save her. She loves you. Send an angel, please. They’ll know what to do.

I looked up when we were released, but still all holding close to one another, to see the necklace my mother wore every day. It was the first time I truly took a look at it. I recall how the silver reflected the light above the table. Tears had fallen across the metal and figure upon it—St. Michael holding up his flaming sword in victory.

St. Michael. He’ll help. He’ll save her.

My words were carried off to an unknown land of thought or nothingness; I’m unsure. I sacrificed my beloved music that day, that my prayers may be heard. Without stopping, I called out in my head until I fell asleep. I called out with the confidence of a coming intervention. Maybe I would see the angel, and the angel would save my mother.

That dream of life kept me safe within my mind as I fell into slumber.

He’ll help her.

Chapter 3

Time flies by when sadness sweeps away your regard for the world. When all you loved turns to ash or shit, all we have is our mindless need to persevere. It is our need to survive and find gladness in anything so that our souls don’t desert our bodies in hopes of greener pastures.

Music was the only joy that remained. It calmed the burning agony of our hearts and of her flesh. Mother would lay on the couch with her pills scattered over the end table beside her. Cold, then hot, and cold again as if her body was unsure what temperature truly meant to her body and instituted a democratic system to set the norm.

Her skin had sunken in. Her body became fragile to every sensation. Those lovely strands of fire fell from her scalp. I remember standing beside her after school for a year or so. Every day, walking up to her and asking her what she would like to hear.

She would hold out her hand for me to take, and list the songs she’d been waiting for throughout the day. Her body was tightly bound within a tomb made of quilts. I did my best to hold the tears back until I was alone. What is a child to do?

But for her, I had to remain strong. We had to believe in the best, because to give up is to forsake all we are. I wouldn’t do that to her. So, I picked up any instrument she wanted (more bought over the year) and play as she requested.

Some days the strings of a violin would be too harsh, others the pitch of the flute would hurt her ears, and others the keyboard would resonate in a way that made her bones feel like crumbling. The poison had taken to attacking the tumor, but at the cost of the body it grew within.

War is Hell. A wise man once said this to those that asked about his questionable tactics, and his response claimed that Hell was the result of failed alternatives. Was what my mother suffered our best shot? Was that medicine what humanity prided itself on?

I watched on as she lost herself to the tumor and medicine; each seemingly gaining an understanding of the other to turn against the host. Still, no angel or Heavenly messenger came to us. So, I played for her as best I could.

Father would sit in the chair nearest her head. He would sleep beside her, uncomfortable, until he had to go fight the fires of the world beyond our home. Once a home was saved or lost, he would return to reclaim his throne beside his queen. Victory or defeat, he returned to her with gentle hands.

They would listen to me. We would try to laugh, because that is all you can do at times… is try.

I am not alone… I realize this. Many suffer from the bastard named Cancer. Our own genetics, our cells, turning against the body as if we’d wronged them in a past life. The pain. The torment. The loss.

The couch was the best place to remember her in her sickness. She would still laugh and smile. She loved to hear the hymns of her church and see the skill that she’d produced in human form. Joy was found in being one of her two anchors in the thrashing ocean of life… but it wouldn’t last.

St. Michael rested on her chest at all times. I never saw him leave that necklace. He never walked from the silver and swung his sword toward the true foe of our family.

She once saw me staring at it and pulled me to her side, “He is Heaven’s best, and he watches over us. He watches over you, Thomas. Remember that.” This conversation was cut short by a fit of coughing and shivering.

Time ran its course, and where else would this end up besides the expected. Couch time had been unhelpful. An expensive bed within the hospital was a second home to our family. Just like that, nights at the house became dull and frightening as mother and father spent their lives within the gathering of the sick. Bring outchya dead!

I cannot stay on this forever. These memories, ones I’ve spent years trying to overcome, bully themselves to the front of my mind and trench themselves deep within the forefront of my thoughts.

Two days in the hospital stand out against all the others. Two days over the course of half a year or so. That is all that I can actually recall in some detail, because every day seemed to be as the next or previous. Every day was another circus of walking by rooms of the ill; residents changing as often as the Sun rose for reasons ranging from cures to death.

I recall the place’s smell. It is a smell like a sheet that has been freshly washed but what stained it will never disappear from the fabric. A smell of disinfectant, bleach, and a choking sickness about the air. Hallways seemed to fill themselves like the lungs of the building; taking in a deep breath so that everyone can enjoy the putrid air.

First, we have the last gift my mother ever gave to me. A day I would never forsake in memory. Father held my hand and walked me through those hallways, noisy and funneling that stench, as an automaton. I knew he loved me, and my mother was his world, but his mind was breaking. Even in youth, I could understand this.

We wondered through the door, exhausted and quiet, to see mother breathing through her mouth. Windows closed, and shades open only slightly. I am positive laying in a putrid dungeon such as that was nothing short of disastrous for any hope we had of recovery.

Yet, that blessed woman smiled at our arrival. Smiled without eyes joining lips. We knew she loved us, but seeing the woman that my mother had become was… Hell. She had fallen apart. Her throat lost the ability to sing such sweet notes. Her eyes had lost all the flame of her ancestors. Her soul had become a docile prisoner to the body that absorbed necessary poison.

Tubing drooped from the bone that was her arm. She lifted her one hand, in a way that I could see the veins and bruises across the skin, to beckon me to her side. Always to her side, and every time I got close to her I knew that worse was yet to come.

“Thomas,” she spoke in a soft raking. To lose such a voice, “I’m so proud of my son.” Her thin fingers scratched through my hair. “Your father and I love you very much. You know that, right? Right, Thomas?”

I nodded. My eyes could only glaze over with tears; every day had further exhausted the reserves of water in my head. “I love you, too, mom. And dad.”

Father came closer to us and put his hand on his wife’s. Both my parents rubbed over my head as if this would make all the time we’d suffered rewind. All that terror thrown to the wind. All the agony hidden in the shifting sands of time.

“We have a present for you. Something I want you to have.” She nodded to my father so that he could perform the task that she was unable to. “Promise you’ll keep doing what you love. Never give it up. Can you do that for me?”

Another promise given to a woman that asked for so little in life. She wanted me to be strong. She wanted me to be good. She wanted me to continuing being the boy she saw growing into a fine man. She thought of us through it all. She thought of us!

For all the prayers and of all the hope… what the Hell did it do for us?

Humanity had failed in saving those that needed it. God remained silent. Angels kept to the sky and watched us fall apart below.

I hated it all. I hated what they’ve absently abstained.

“They didn’t come.”

“Who didn’t?” My mother’s words were filled with worry.

“The angels. Did we not pray enough?” My eyes had found another source of water, and so the tears fell. “Why didn’t God send them?”

The part I remember most was her eyes. How they lit up for the final time. She pulled her hand free of my father’s and grasped my shoulder with those boney digits.

“It is not God’s fault. It isn’t your fault. It isn’t any angel or devil.” Dry words from a dehydrated body. “The world moves on, and we live as we will. God lets us be as I’ve let you learn for yourself. Would we grow any other way?”

I didn’t understand. Not even a teen, I was in a debate of philosophy and ideals that I had never been prepared for.

“People are born, they live, some get sick, but all die eventually. It is life, and I am glad I lived mine. I have known the love of an amazing man. I am the proud mother of a fantastic, talented child.” She ceased for a moment to cough with closed lips. The skin barely moved from the force.

“Your ancestors believed in celebrating the life of a person, and not mourning the death. Remember that. No matter what happens, remember the good and continue to live your own life. You need to live with a smile. Promise me Thomas. Michael will watch over you, and God will be waiting for us all. So, live and smile, my boy. Please?”

Agreeing was my only choice. I could never purposefully disappoint my parents. I would do what I could to make them happy and, when it came down to it, rest in peace.

“Good boy.” Her hand rustled my hair. The last time she would do so. “We have a present for you. Something nice, unlike the others you’ve gotten. We wanted you to have something worth your talent.”

With hospital bills and dad taking time off from work in increasing increments, they still brought me another gift for me to further my dreams. Music was my world, and they were willing to provide me with whatever they could.

Dad brought out a black case from under the bed. It was quite large for a child to be handling, but he placed it on the bed beside the small mound of my mother’s legs.

“Open it. Always remember your love of music. Play and enjoy it, as I’ve enjoyed hearing it from you.”

My parents watched as I opened the black, smooth case to find a true wonder within. In blue padding, rested a marvelous black guitar. It was smooth along all the edges, free of dents, all the knobs, and freshly pulled strings. Within the compartment beneath the neck was a cable that would let me send my music through waves of electricity so that all the world may hear my song.

Every tone and style would be available to me.

I stared at that beautiful gift. The gift of two breaking parents to their beloved child. I gazed upon it as if some sort of prayer had, in fact, been answered. Mankind’s creation was the answer.

I picked up the last gift from my parents with sadness and joy. For all that had happened and would happen, they provided me with a dream and purpose. I would do as she asked of me, even if God would not hear me or call to me. I would show the world true beauty as my mother had shown me.

Both of my parents watched me with tears in their eyes and their hands now wrapped about one another’s. I will always play for them, as long as I live, because it is the only way to celebrate the life… and resist mourning the death.

Chapter 4

The last memory I have of her… I could never forget it.

Spending month after month trying my best to keep a positive attitude and be there for my mother left me an exhausted kid. I remember it wasn’t too long before I was to become a teen. That young, and already experiencing these emotions.

Dad was waiting for me when I got home from school. I had just started my new year, the weather was cooling off, the leaves were changing colors, and I wanted to bring my guitar to the hospital to show mom my newest songs.

Days had gone by without me accompanying my father. He said she was sleeping so often and didn’t seem to be doing well, but he knew he couldn’t keep me from her for long. He said he’d hoped she’d be livelier after a few days taking a good rest. The smile he had on, saying I’d be a healing sight for her.

I had spent the weeks prior learning new hymns for her. She kept asking for more of those simplistic renditions based on the versions projected outward by choirs and a small orchestra. I did my best to prepare for her—to give her a show that would raise her spirits.

Dad was waiting patiently for me. He gave me a hug and handed me my black case. His smile assured me, but the eyes, void of any sparkle, left my heart heavy.

The drive seemed to take longer than usual. But, this gave me time to go over every bar of music in my head. No sheet music needed; I was ready to show her what she’d shown me all those times in church.

Assorted colors were blooming across the rows of trees. I had the window down, and only the wind kept me company as my father remained silent. I remember staring at one tree until it would pass us with a blur. Then to the next tree. Each in the line seemingly closer to resting than the next.

All the way to the hospital where the trees were, for that early in the year, already beginning to lose leaves. Even some that were, for the majority, still green littered the grounds. It was as if the accursed grounds had poisoned nature man’s diseases.

Father got out of his seat, opened the back door, grabbed our things, and came around the vehicle to get me. We always drove in his blue car; a reliable vehicle my dad loved taking care of. It always twinkled with fresh waxes or washes.

Free time came with a sense of uncertainty. Dad didn’t need to work so hard on a car that already looked immaculate, yet his calloused hands would prune by the time he would accept the spotless metal.

So, we walked together. I carried my guitar case. He carried the rest—snacks, anything mom wanted from home (even in a passing thought), and things dad thought might ease her.

I recall, dad was permitted once to bring my mother a Guinness. She barely drank it, but that foamy mustache it left behind gave us all a chuckle. Sighing relief, she placed it on her table to appreciate the flavor from afar. Even a small amount of Heaven can take all the pain away, I guess.

But this day I speak of, his bag didn’t contain beer. Just a few magazines, a pillow, blanket, and food for the two of us.

Down a row of dying trees, we traveled in a calmed pace. No rush that day. Perhaps, if we’d gotten there sooner, we could have avoided it. That’s just wishful thinking…

It had happened.

Choking chemicals and sickly aromas were naturally present, but there was a cloud of worry. I felt as if I should run away. As if what we were walking toward was something straight out of the nightmares father always fought away for me.

Hallways, elevators, every turn brought that feeling up another vertebra of my spine. Father didn’t seem panicked, not like I was. He just continued to walk forward with that stubble exacerbating his stone face.

I know now, he didn’t feel it. He was incapable of feeling it. The energies in the air and the sense of knowing were not part of his ignorant soul. I didn’t know what I was feeling, but I knew something… something was different.

“Honey, we’re here.” Father opened the door with a gentle knock; customary of our family as you were already entering.

The shades were open, but the curtain was drawn to the end of her bed. We could only see her feet mounding the sheet.

“She must be sleeping,” dad said while looking down to me. He smiled that same beautiful, dead smile. “Let’s set up, but let her sleep it off a bit longer. Okay?”

“Okay, dad.” I moved as he did. Trying to remain strong and not show what you feel. Such is the way of men, right? Or is it everyone? No one likes to be vulnerable. That much I know. Ask any of the Horsemen. Each would tell you they feel no pain or took a bullet like it was nothing.

It hurts.

Don’t let them kid you. The adrenaline and fullness of battle may numb it, but it all hurts. We feel every agony and every wound. Those of the mind are the worst though… they never truly heal. They just fester and scab until that awful day when your brain picks it open for, seemingly, no reason. It is then we feel our worst failures and sins take over—reminding us that we are horrible people unable to save those and that which we love.

We walked around to corner, and my mind opened a wound that would never heal. A scab that would forever peal up at the sides, letting my mental fingers dig beneath the skin to remove the protective seal and let the depressing puss ooze from below. Each connecting tether of flesh separating one at a time. Popping, splitting, unraveling and letting loose all that I fear.

Around the white veil, eyes were wide. A sparkle I believed to have always been shining against an otherwise dismal world were miserably plain. Her green eyes were nothing but flat stones that dared not reflect the Sun which shined through the window.

“Wha-.” The first words spoken to me by my mother that day drained all energy I had. It wasn’t her voice, but that of a vessel lacking the most crucial part of the formula.

“Dear, you’re awake.” Dad went forward in ritualistic instinct to kiss her on the forehead as he did every time he arrived at her side. I reached out and grabbed his sleeve, but he pulled mindlessly away from me. “We thought you’d be sleeping.”

I stood, wide-eyed and shivering, as my father moved to the woman’s side. Her eyes were on me, but they didn’t register at all… both of what we saw was beyond our memories.

A simple kiss fell onto her head.

“Get away from me!”

My dad took three quick steps back and hit the window with his shoulders, just over the ledge that jutted out from the wall. His right hand went to his heart as if it would have leapt from his chest; putting him not in a hospital bed, but the morgue downstairs. A banshee’s wail that still echoes in my head.

Throat, chest, head, heart… it all seemed to beat in unison as the room grew to an almost freezing temperature.

“Who the Hell are you? Who, why? I don’t need,” she rambled in a fluctuating volume. “Get out! I don’t need you!”

“Honey,” dad did as any lover would. He reached out to attempt saving that which he gave himself to. All she was, was all he was. An outstretched hand attempted to grasp at the final piece of himself when her needled-arm, colored purple and blue from every puncture, swiftly knocked his hand away. I could picture her fiery hair thrashing around her head wildly, but her smoothed scalp offer no such flame. Her eyes were jetting between my father and me, and the emerald erupted with a new light that seemed desperate and disconnected.

“Don’t you fucking touch me!” She screamed at her own husband. A howl of a beast backed into a corner, “Don’t fucking. Dammit! Get away!” Her eyes were circling the room as if a tornado was sweeping them away. “Leave. Fucking, get! I. God dammit!”

A crash was heard. I don’t remember dropping it, but the black case in my left hand collided with the tiles.

“Mom?” My father panicked as I spoke. Rushing to me, he turned me toward the door where he began pushing.

“Get a doctor. Please, get a doctor. Quick.” His voice begging me to save them.

“Jesus, please save me. Save me!” Her eyes were now above me.

Before passing the curtain of white, I could see her eyes drift toward the crucifix in the center of the wall a few feet above me. I recall staring at it; being pushed forward by my father as tears welled in both of our eyes.

You recall him? I slid over the floor with my dad’s hands on my back. You know him but not us? A child forgotten by the mother; whose name was “God” since the day I recalled my first experiences.

I regained my footing and mind. Leaving the cross to hang motionless behind me, I took to running into the hall. Screaming I needed help while listening to my father’s hurried steps back to his wife’s side.

“Don’t touch me! Help, Jesus! Don’t fucking touch me! Don’t you! Stop!”

Nurses and doctors rushed past me. I stood in the hallway with my hands against my eyes—pushing as hard as I could to keep the tears inside. I had to be strong for her, because my father and I promised. I had to be what that wooden symbol could not.

“Help! Stop touching. I’m lost! Save!”

Scrambled words of forsaken thoughts were forced outward into a world that would find no sense or purpose in them. I listened as people in different colored uniformed sped by.

There I sobbed, unable to help. I had promised to be strong, but I was broken.

Don’t you fucking touch me.

Those words would echo in my head over and over. I had promised her everything, but I’d failed her. I would become the Horseman of Death; and yet, as a child, I could not save the person I cared for most.

I promised to remain strong, and so I removed my hands.

I let the tears fall until they couldn’t fall any more.

Chapter 5

Let’s skip a few years forward. High school—those glorious days where everyone thinks life is going their way, every problem is a nuclear crisis, and out of balanced hormones are running almost every aspect of our primate brain.

I grew up as I think my mother would have wanted; except the blatant disregard for the religious aspects of our lives. Dad had stopped going to church… except that one day where he married some lady he got knocked-up after another drunken night at a bar.

Barely ever touched the stuff before mom died, but after she was gone he broke. He did what many do and filled every gap in his soul with the burning liquid and shards of glass from every broken bottle. Even with all that glass in front of him, he couldn’t see what he’d become.

Ended up with a new step-mom. She was… a delight would be too much even in sarcasm. She was a nightmare that took advantage of a sorrowful man and ended up living on easy street.

Dad still worked as a fireman occasionally, but mom’s life insurance and boss’s contribution put us in a reasonably secure place for the upcoming years. Barbara Trent became Barbara Markey with a little Markey in the oven.

She moved in, with her daughter (also a great addition to my life) Sam Trent, and made sure I knew that she was my father’s new favorite. Chores enough for her daughter and I piled up solely on my shoulders. Verbal discipline even when no wrongdoing had taken place. She was a succubus with tan skin, black hair in a bob and blonde tips, and an aura about her that wreaked of self-importance.

Eventually, she birthed little Dillon Markey. He was a fussy little tike. Always making noises or trying to be the center of attention. I’m sure he’d have made a great guy someday—another Cage for the world. After getting genes soaked in alcohol from one parent and demonic bloodlines from the other, he would have had to turn it around. I had big hopes for the kid.

Peter Markey was no more, and so his son took up the family promise to remain strong. My hair was a bit shaggy and brown with a trace of that fire that my mother had. I inherited bright green eyes from my parents, and I thank them every day. They might have been one of my only interesting features as a teenager. I was a bit husky at the time; the sort of teen most people look right past because I looked fantastically average.

Except those green eyes.

People seemed enticed by them, but everyone soon realized there wasn’t much for communication skills behind those eyes. My silence in most situations seemed to repel more than invite. I made a few friends but was kept to out of mind by most. The teachers liked me, my boss and coworkers liked me, and I was always quick to the jokes.

But, I lived for my promise.

Keep smiling. Keep on being me, right? Stay strong and do what I love. She would have wanted that. She also would have wanted me to get confirmed, but after going to a few classes I figured skipping out was the best choice.

I guess, what I mean to say, is home life sucked while school was my best available haven. I joined the school’s band. Our teacher… his name… Jeff Sanders, I believe it was, gave me all the support I needed.

While some would play one or two instruments, he let me go wild on anything I could get my hands on. He knew I liked playing whatever instrument got to show off during the song, but not many had anyway of proving they deserved it more. It was one of the only things I could brag about in life, and it was the only thing I had that kept me strong throughout the day before I went home to the witch, her accursed offspring, and the booze-man.

Guitar was still my favorite.

Because of that instrument, my best friend and I met. Kyle Gardener, a guy with a natural tan and boy-band style black hair, came up to me after I finished warming up with one of my favorite metal songs. He listened to the whole song before throwing up a fist and hooting at the end.

“Man, that was frickin’ sick.” Ah, good ol’ teenage lingo.

“Thanks,” it was a lovely tune about a man slipping into darkness and eventually lashing out at his abusive mother… a song that spoke to my current situation quite perfectly. “You a Disturbed fan?”

“Hell yeah!” He had a metal band shirt on (a different band than the one I had) with those wonderful logos that were damn-near impossible to interpret. “Saw them last year. They put on a great show. I’m Kyle, by the way. I play the bass.”

I shook his hand with the pick still between my fingers; and just like that, we were best buds.

The only person I actually spent time with outside of school was Kyle. He was a bit taller than me and slender. I met a lot more people because of him. My eyes may have held people’s attention for a moment, but that fricking kid had people flock to him. He was the belle of every ball.

Girls were especially drawn to him. I was always jealous of his mindless magnetism, but damned if he knew what to do with it. He could have gone completely slutty in high school, but he only focused on his bass playing and his baseball.

That boy spent so much time at the batting cages I thought a nickname was in order. His initials were the same as a member of another of our favorite bands, and so he became “Cage”.

I don’t think I called him Kyle from then on. He was Cage forever more. Hanging out with him meant video games, something to do with baseball, or jamming together in his parents’ basement.

He became my brother; more so than the poor chap that was spawned by my father’s inebriated loins. Two years went by like this. I knew everything about him; as he knew about me.

“That’s fucked up,” I told him about my home life after those first couple of years. Hiding bruises was easy, but the periodic disappearances were difficult. “That’s why we don’t hang at your place much, huh? Damn man. Can’t you tell someone?”

“For what?” Denial of a better life put me on the perfect road… fabulous. “Get taken away from here? I can’t leave your sorry ass here alone and get put in some shitty foster home or something. Nah, I’d rather just go to school, hang with you, go to work, hang in my room, and get the hell outta there as soon as possible.”

“College?” Cage grabbed us some sodas out of his dad’s basement fridge, passed me one, and sat across the open room. He lounged over his armchair as if he were the king of his abode, “You got any plans?”

“Something with music,” I shrugged and took a sip of the freshly opened cola. The fizz still sprang out of the top escaping its captivity. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. Government will give me some money, and I know I can get the band’s scholarship. Ain’t nothing.” I smirked while lifting the can to my lips for another cooling swig.

“I don’t doubt it.” Cage nodded and gave me a thumbs-up. “You got it going for you man. If you need anything, you let me know.” A sentiment that I took to heart. He smiled with his brown eyes shut tightly. “Don’t wana see my bro down; so, you gotta smile.”

No tears. Just nod and smile. He knew about my mom, but that promise was something I held only for myself. I would keep smiling.

“So, what song we going to learn next?” I changed the subject and let the pain subside. He knew about my pains, and that was enough. I had someone to confide in. A sanctuary in flesh that could brush away the ash to reveal a shiny relic. I needed him, because he was my best friend. He was my brother.

“I have a few in mind.” Cage jumped up and grabbed hold of his bass guitar.

Work time came calling after a few hours. As so many other days, I’d leave his place and bike with my backpack and guitar case. Later hours at the local burger place suited me well.

My boss let me store my bags in the back room. I’d put on my red shirt and nametag. Hours of standing at the front counter would fly by as faces of people sped in and out. Cage would even come in and bring whatever girl he was seeing that week on occasion.

Fatty burgers and poorly made fries would rest on a puddle of grease, but still the industry thrived as people hurried in. I’d serve them with a smile from behind my counter, but watching them all devour their burgers like starving bears left me bored and a bit disgusted.

I just wanted to have my guitar in hand. Writing and playing music all day long, but we all have to do what we don’t want to. Some have to do more than others.

Tips weren’t really a thing at our establishment. Money in my hand, into the register, and changed out to be returned to them was the average process. I’d click a few buttons and call a few orders, but after a few years it became nothing more than a reaction to the appropriate stimuli.

Orders were requested and orders were given.

Stay happy.

Watch another family gorge as if the end were coming.

Keep smiling.

Pack up my things after hours of thoughtlessly enabling some and appeasing others.

Be me.

Back to the den upstairs, a home within a hellish house. Where posters were my fans, my computer was my connection to the world, and my instruments were my trusted companions. Parking my bike next to the dirty, blue car in the garage of our home, I rushed through the house.

It was the usual path. Get through the kitchen with leftovers in hand. Dash by the opening into the dark living room where a television entertained a passed out drunk. Up the stairs, and to the second door on the left.

“Where have you been?”

I dropped my hand from the knob of my safety. Over my shoulder, I saw my step-mother leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom across the hall from me. “I just got off work. Going to get ready for bed now.”

“You bring your guitar to work?” She wrinkled up her nose as if smelling the grease traps.

“I bring it to school. Can’t leave it there.”

“Might as well, maybe someone could actually do some good with it there.”

I don’t know why. I still don’t understand what I could have done to deserve her in my life. Dad was always drunk, working, or unconscious. Dealing with her was always left to me.

“Figured it should stay with the best.” Keep smiling.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, dammit.” She turned and slammed the door to the bathroom.

Maybe we could have joked with one another. Poked fun and had family laughs, but instead she spoke with spite. Her words were meant to hurt. It was like she never grew out of her high school days, and every word was meant to keep someone beneath her fragile esteem.

“Goodnight.” I said softly as I entered my room. The only place in that fucking building worth spending time in. A mess of various lights, clothes, and musical purchases. It was my safe place.

I dropped my bags and landed myself across my bed. To my right, I turned to see the photo of my mother, father, and I. I said my prayers to her. A soul I knew would hear me and watch over me.

Metal shimmered in the dim light of one of my lamps. The one item of hers that I had kept. It rested beside our picture at all times. All those years, it stayed watch over the woman who claimed it would shield us.

St. Michael’s necklace lay coiled and facing upward. His eyes carved with purpose. I placed a hand on the photo and then the necklace.

My prayers to my mother had ended, and so I slept.

Chapter 6

There was a weird dream. Well, if I’m being honest, they all get weird from here. Buckle up, buttercup. I’ll bring you to a land of pure imagination.

Silent.

I couldn’t talk, move, or think of anything but what was happening before me.

There was a bright light from on High. I could see a figure coming from within the light. Shining as brightly as the illumination behind him, this figure cast down rays of spectacular light.

Wings like feathery daggers spread out in four different directions. Each as powerful as it was aerodynamically slender. Long feathers of purest white carried the figure down in a graceful decent.

Once he came into view, I saw the burning sword that pointed toward me. Flames encased the finely crafted blade. His face was beautiful. Smile and eyes burning brightly gave me an ease regarding the approaching weapon.

A star burned above his head as if he were carrying the center of the universe. All of creation was within him for he had been charged with its safekeeping. Let his glory be known; I felt tears fall from my eyes without sadness or joy. It was purely witnessing this blessed creature that my soul wept for lack of any other appropriate emotional reaction.

His body was beyond my comprehension. Only a human face (meant to sooth me in a way I could understand), wings of glorious purpose, the sword of holy wrath, and the halo of divine creation were visible to me. I would have bowed, but my body wouldn’t budge.

Instead I watched him fall.

I watched him choose to fall.

“Catherine has called, Thomas.”

Tears fell in a river of appreciative mindlessness. As an ant may lift its eyes to the foot which decides to walk over or land upon it, I gazed upward toward the Seraphim. I felt enveloped in the light of the divine as he graced me with his presence.

“Be weary the serpent—for faces and tongues are their weapons.”

Speaking was impossible, and with these words he began to travel in reverse.

Without any dialogue he returned from whence he came. I would have asked him questions. I would have spoken to him and awaited answers to my unrequited prayers.

Instead I was left alone. Light from above was gifted to me as he ascended.

I woke up in a sweat and panting. I looked to the photo to see my mother looking back at me with loving eyes and a smile that settled my lungs.

A faint, blue sparkle lifted beside it, and I moved my attention to the necklace beside the photograph. Silver remained motionless, yet something within it made my eyes shake. It was as if the metal had a heat rising from the surface.

I stared for some time, but the wavy air began to give me a headache. Feeling exhausted, my body collapsed back where it once found rest.

“Just a stupid dream.”

If only. I denied myself an intervention, and again my life’s path was kept from mind. Unable to comprehend what I had seen, through pride and anger, I let myself sleep uninhibited by any thought of angels or anything correlated.

“Night, mom.”

Chapter 7

“Man, you are the best at this,” Cage patted me on the back after another successful day in band. As other students walked around and prepared themselves for the next class, we stood around and discussed music, comics, and current events.

Of course, the girls would come up and talk to him, and I’d stand patiently by with my guitar quietly pinging out a tune. Once each young lass was done, we’d continue as if nothing had disrupted us.

I must admit, as he looked toward my talents, I gazed on with a shallow envy of his natural skills. They were not a skill of hands, mind, or soul… he possessed the simple talent of being attractive. How often the faces we see most in news and articles are a pretty face instead of a beautiful mind. It leaves us longing for something that may be beyond our genetic reach while we squander our gifts in a petty daydream. A pound of brain to make the makeup last.

“I wish I could play like you,” these were the words that gave me some hope for myself. Cage would stare at my fingers and nod his head along with the song as if he could see the notes sparking across the frets.

“Practice. Nothing more than that really.”

“That’s bullshit,” I remember stopping my fingers to lift my head to him. Worry of insult crept up my spine, but his smile excused me. “You’re just damn good. I could practice for hours and get a lot better, but I don’t think I could ever reach your level.”

“Well, you got tons going for you, too.” I shot a hand out to a few of the fine ladies walking out of the room. Most wearing short-shorts and shirts that I’m sure kept them cool in the warm months. Their strutting forms left the room with our eyes capturing each moment like paparazzi from the bushes.

“Yeah, but that won’t get me far. Think there’s any need for a bass-playing, baseball player?” He chuckled a bit at his own ridiculous question. “You pick up any instrument in this room, and you have it down pat in an hour or so. That’s just crazy.”

“Well, art class is up next. You’re great at that. Maybe art will be your thing.” I didn’t want him desiring my skills. Maybe it’s because that would mean I was something to admire… something along those lines. Guess home life has a way of swaying us in our everyday lives beyond our grasp. “My hands aren’t so great at the pencil.”

He nodded a bit with a smile. Those brown eyes of his watched me rest my guitar in its case. “Maybe. Let’s get going.”

Art class went by somewhat smoothly.

But forever and always, that boy had eyes on him instead of the individual’s work. Girls would talk to him, and I felt a gladness for my friend. I may have envied him, but I also enjoyed that my friend was getting so much out of his youth. He was a lucky fellow.

“So, Kyle. When are we going to see that movie?” One gal by the name of Bethany Vetterman invited herself to Kyle’s side for a night. He smiled back at her and began a conversation of little importance—as the courtship died as quickly as it began.

She was pretty, don’t get me wrong. Cage took her out that night while I went to work. We laughed about it after art class and went along our own ways until he left the school in his dad’s vehicle while I biked back into town. His father let him borrow a car, but I hadn’t even gotten my driver’s license thanks to my grand-ol’ stepmother.

What do you need a license for? You don’t go anywhere. You don’t need to drive when work is only a few minutes away. No matter the reasoning I gave. That rite of passage was kept beyond my reach. Dad didn’t pay attention unless it was his barking wife or something alcoholic. You’ll get by just fine.

I feared the day I asked about college.

So, I worked. Watching those mouths open and squish meals while my mind wondered how my friend’s date was going. Would he take her to the back row? Would they feel that fresh, new ecstasy of youthful flesh against their own? Would they end up dating or simply go along their ways after tasting one another in one way or another?

Does any of that romance shit actually happen or do we romanticize basic instinct?

Thinking about this was a bit infuriating. She was a nicely developed lady, and most guys would relish the idea of taking her out. Bethany wouldn’t have even looked at me, but the guy next to me made her considerable bust heave.

Cage’s list of desirable women grew every day, and I stayed on the sideline unable to even ask the girl next to her if we wanted to double date. It seemed simple enough in my head, but damned if I wasn’t so shy when it came to women that I got all panicky as if I were facing one of the supervillains in the comics Cage and I read together. Give me Venom anyday.

That is what it means to be beautiful. It puts you atop a pedestal that the majority believes themselves far too below to simply speak. As if a goddess were gracing us with her presence, I would simply look from afar and do what most boys will do.

I feel I don’t need to explain. I believe you can figure that out for yourself, and if you can’t… well go ask someone that’s a bit less sheltered.

Customers come and go, but still my mind stayed on my ineptness. I had a lot to offer (or so I believed), but it was all for not if I couldn’t even open my mouth. This sort of thinking only aggravates the hormones. A sadness like a pit opens wide. When you fall into it all, of those wounds you previously survived open one by one like vents to filter in toxic fumes.

Finishing out the night seemed to take three hours longer than I was scheduled for. Dragging time accompanies all pitfalls. We fall and we suffer as the Sun dances slowly down from the sky; leaving us in a darkness that scares us. What else is in the pit? What else could happen? How much further does this hole go should the floor fall out from beneath me?

Biking home brought no relief. My stepmom was actually asleep, but her beloved daughter was still doing homework at the kitchen table when I came in.

“Working again? You’ll be able to move out soon.” Wait for it. “Finally.” Spoken without looking up at me. Didn’t want to give me any joy by looking me in the eyes… so sad for me.

“Yeah, maybe get a place that doesn’t allow pets. I’d be sad you couldn’t visit though.”

Make a straight line for the bedroom. That one safe place I had in that shitty home.

“Funny.”

“Thank you,” siblings may fight, but usually they don’t want each other resting on a spike on the front step; Vlad style.

“Mom says you have chores. Better do them tomorrow.” She actually turned to see my face—hoping for sadness or, at least, annoyance. I gave her no such benefit.

The spiteful girl frowned when I gave a thumbs-up and kept climbing the stairs. I turned once to see if my dad unstuck from his chair, but it was a fantasy I’d hoped each day to see. His head rested against the back of his chair while the television broadcasted some mindless infomercials to a mindless man.

Finishing the steps, I could see the young one’s room was open. I peaked in to the see the only innocent member of that family. Dillon Markey slept with his face buried in his pillow. Still so young, but I felt as if he were the one hope that someone in this family could get out without mental scaring.

“Best of luck kid,” I didn’t see much of him. He was a good kid. Played well with others. He was nice and actually listened to his mother, but I’d put all I have (which isn’t much) on that woman ruining him worse had she the time. I think he was getting close to two years old. She had plenty of time to sink her fangs into him.

Sadly, or for the best, that would never happen. I looked to the young boy with the best intentions, yet he would never grow to see his teens. Life would be stolen from him, and of course the one praying for his safety and wellbeing would be the cause.

Why do these things happen? Blasted fate? Fuckery of the universe? I’d wager the latter. Things just play out, and we have no control. Most of the time we make it work. We lift our heads up and say, “Oh well. Let it be.” But some people, good people, just get stuck with lives that couldn’t possibly carry any importance.

That boy had the world before him. He had all the makings of a kid worth cheering on in sports or clapping for after a speech was made. A president, a lawyer, a cop, the list could go on.

And I’d take it all from him.

Soon after that night, my life would change forever. It wouldn’t change with the death of a family member or friends—that would come later. First would be the change of life. Every molecule of my being would alter to the design of the universe in all its splendid fuckery.

That was my fate.

That was my purpose.

I mucked it all up from the get-go.

Forgive me, Dillon.

Chapter 8

First period went by quickly. My time with Cage seemed to fly by.

“Eh, man she had some weird tongue action going on.” I chuckled at that. “She got all into it, but I couldn’t handle how it was wiggling around like licking peanut butter inside a jar. It was sort of gross.” He laughed with a shiver finishing the thought. “I drove her home, but I don’t think I’ll be doing that again.”

“You gave it your best.” We shared a snicker at another’s expense as most teens (who am I kidding, most people) do so often. “So, we jammin’ after school today?”

“Yeah, man. Got some time if you don’t have to be to work right away.”

“Nope. Got a later shift start. I’ll work until close, but that’s for the best.”

“Still shit at home?”

“Would it be any other way?” I packed up my case so we could head out. “Sister’s too busy being her mother’s daughter. Stepmom’s straight out of a bad fairytale, and dad’s got to have tasted every bottle of booze in the county this week.”

Stay happy. Keep joking. Smile.

“Man, is there anything I can do?” Cage turned with me to begin our journey to the next hour. Sadly, it was Tuesday. Tuesday and Thursday didn’t have art class. Instead I would go to math second hour. This would mean Cage and I didn’t get to hang out until after school.

“You do all you can man. I thank you for it.” I patted him on the back. “If I snap and end up in jail, you’ll be the first one I call.” We shared a laugh. He wouldn’t have shied away from dark humor—a characteristic I enjoy in people.

If one thing can’t be joked about, we loss something that makes us human. We learn to move on. We learn how to deal with the shit in our lives by laughing at ourselves and mocking those causes of our misfortunes. Jokes about horrific events and atrocities help us mend the wounds which have been pulled back from the festering scabs of our minds.

He let me joke, and he made some of his own. In that, I found my best friend.

“I’ll tell them the murders were surely just.”

“That a boy.” I slapped his back one more time before I turned toward a stairwell. He would go on to his science for the hour while I sat bored with numbers and formulas which we would all believe ourselves never needing.

That class was one of my favorites though. I could always sit in the back and doodle out oddities and scribble new tunes into my notebooks. Writing music and lyrics made the hour go by quickly, and I never found the work that difficult to understand.

Listening to the dribble of the room, while our elderly teacher blathered on with little understanding of what was happening around him, was a perk of the class. As long as they were whispering and chittering, I knew I could keep focused on my creations. Every song made with a title and bars beneath the lyrics. Little creatures, symbols, or demented doodles were added into the white space of the pages. Filling a page was cathartic.

“I forgot my calculator today,” the gorgeous girl, Katy, that sat in front of me was bending over her desk with her knees on the seat (just so happens she was wearing a pair of tight leggings). “I could just die. Literally die.”

Like nails to a chalkboard while a tornado siren blared in the background.

“We don’t have a test today. We can just share answers later.” Andria, a brown-haired beauty in her own right, sat in front of the blonde. “Not like Mr. Drew ever gives us anything difficult, because he’d have to look it all over. Bet he forgets to collect the work today anyway.”

If you read that with the sassy-teenager voice, you’ve done well.

If not, please go back and mix any teen drama character with someone like Madonna. Those flicks of hair, head snaps, fingers spread out and waving as she talks, and eyes rolling so far you swear they could see into the back of the skull.

I honestly never really cared about their conversations. Truthfully, I listened to them and used them as a means to create new songs. It gave an interesting perspective. Someone freaking out about a calculator for a day in high school really keeps you grounded on the grander concepts of existence—making a metal song all the more real for the listener.

Any and all music uses this. Someone putting their soul into their lyrics and instruments can be picked out of a group of fakers. It’s all music, but the talented and soulful stand above the rest as if their skills have elevated them to a near-divine status.

Using those mindless conversations as a sort of white noise creates a state of mind for me. People discussing the unimportant leaves me to wonder what grander ideals they are missing.

“Ugh, I hate this class. Can’t wait to get out of here. We still having drinks at your place Friday?” Katy giggled while whispering through one of her hands; although her whispering was about the same level of speech for the average person. “I could really use a stiff one.” Then she giggled in a way that made me think it wasn’t the only stiff thing she was looking forward to.

“There will be plenty of drinks and people,” Andria waved her hands around with each syllable. She was definitely one of the more popular people in the grade, and I knew that these parties went on quite frequently.

Never getting an invite, I did get a little jealous. They weren’t exactly my sort of people, but I’d like to have partied a bit, too. Cage, and the few people we hung out with occasionally, were all I needed. Those were the people that discussed my interests. Debated the lyrics, politics, and emotional standings.

Getting crazy at a party and trying to be Cage for a night… that did have its appeal, though.

The world was filled with interesting topics, and the girls I sat behind didn’t participate in any of those discussions. Instead, they would consume massive amounts of alcohol to numb whatever remained of their minds. I recall thinking, maybe someday they’ll turn it around. They’ll get a degree. They’ll be doctors or leaders.

But most don’t change. They burn their early years away with gasoline poured on their candles to make it burn all the brighter. Burn baby, burn! Maybe that’s the way it should be done. They seemed to be having way more fun in their youth than I was, but hindsight is never perfect when variables of individuals are taken into account.

They would live their lives, and I would… attempt to live mine.

“Invite everyone. I hope Kyle shows up.”

My pen wrote furiously over the paper.

Our teacher had begun his lecture, speaking loudly so that he could hear his own words. All but a few ignored him and continued with their discussions.

“I’m sure he will be. You going to get him? You’ll have to get in line,” I could see from the top of my vision the girl in front press her tongue to the side of her lips. They were sort of face each other to line up with the teacher to avoid possible eye contact.

I kept scribbling without thought. The lyrics were written, and now the whitespace had to be taken care of.

“You skank. We’ll have to see,” playful bantering as the girls giggled and swatted at the air around each other.

I didn’t know if Cage would go, but I didn’t see why he wouldn’t. That lucky bastard. They were damn near drooling. What a wonderful power to have over the world of humanity. To topple empires with a single wink.

Pen marks kept flowing over the page without my heart in it. Instead, my mind was completely drawn in by the conversation of the two ahead of me. The noise that was meant to be a distant wave had become my crushing ocean through curiosity.

“Can we get back to the lesson!” Mr. Drew had turned with his large glasses magnifying his eyes. He pushed back his thin, white hair. A frown pulled a few of his chin wrinkles up to smooth out.

“Sorry,” Andria said with rolling eyes and turned to the front.

Correcting myself, although I had done nothing to disrupt the class, I sat at attention. Almost ready to learn! Like I actually cared to be there and not back in my band class where I had freedom and enthusiasm.

“Weird shit, Tom.” Katy was turned around with her face over her left shoulder. Her eyes were glancing down at my paper filled with doodles and lyrics.

Dropping my gaze, I found my pen dug into the paper. Its black ink had scratched thick black markings across the left side of the last verse. Three black birds, crudely etched into the white, took flight with wide eyes and open beaks.

Shit! I usually did the best I could to keep the crazy out of view.

“Yeah,” I chuckled a bit and rubbed the back of my neck with my free hand. I didn’t have a joke to add to it, but she pulled her lips back in return—though her eyebrows remained motionless as she turned back around.

I pulled the pen from its hole and stared at the birds. Each of the bordering sketches were shapes and swirling symbols, but these birds had spawned out of nowhere. I hadn’t remembered drawing them.

The lyrics beside them, the final verse, read as such:

Pretending all may remain

Forgetting all disappears

Carry its weight forever

Burdened by blood and tears

Words I recalled writing, now brought a new chill up my spine. I froze with the pen held above the notebook. The three birds squawked the words. Shouting them as if they were carried upon the black winds of their wings.

I closed that notebook. Receiving no knowledge from the class, I kept to my own thoughts as the teacher continued. That day went by quickly; all a blur in the wake of the cawing black birds.

Chapter 9

“You didn’t finish your chores.” Mommy-dearest was angry again. Surprise, Surprise.

“I’ll get them done tomorrow. I just want to sleep.”

I began walking to the stairs when her hand swung out in front of me. It grabbed hold of my left arm; the grip of a skeleton trying to flay the flesh off the living.

“You’ll do them now, God dammit!” I could smell the drink she had obviously taken in harmony with my father. “’Bout time you help out around here.”

Too tired to fight, or be a smartass, I turned to place my belongings on the floor beside the sink. She nodded and huffed, but at least she left the room.

A stack of dishes awaited me like a mountain of crusted food I hadn’t even had the pleasure of eating. The scum of the Earth leaves their scum behind for others, I guess.

Being exhausted, I don’t think I got most of the junk off. It did the trick though. Once they were “done” I had the chance to slip by and go upstairs. The troubles of today would wait for tomorrow’s me to handle.

Even after a quick, mindless day, I was tired beyond belief. I hadn’t done anything at work except stand by the fryer, and I still couldn’t seem to keep my eyes open. Doing an hour’s worth of dishes didn’t exactly help the issue.

It was almost midnight by the time I finally set my things into my room. Off came the shoes. Unnecessary clothes were shed.

Those birds, I couldn’t get them out of my mind. I moved over to the desk where my computer awaited my guiding hand. The notebook with the sketch was placed between me and the keyboard.

A red cover shined softly against the light of the screen. I hadn’t decorated that plastic page; leaving it blank with only my mind knowing the secrets of the pages within. My own testament. Can I get an Hallelujah?

When my hand found the right side of the notebook, that same chill ran through my body. It was familiar, a sense that hadn’t just played out in the day’s events. It was a sensation I’d felt before, but what feelings connect directly to specific memories in such an obvious way?

I didn’t want to seem cowardly to myself.

Flinging open to exactly the right page, I gazed down at the birds that seemed as though their lines would spring forth and begin flapping around the room. Cool fingers were creeping up my back, but I continued to examine my creations.

My right index finger ran along the length of the foremost bird. Along its body and wings, but soon I found myself circling the eyes a number of times.

With such a chill coursing through me, I found myself unexpectedly sweating. The room felt as through the heater were on, but one quick glance to the thermostat told me I was wrong. The heat was within me. The cold seemingly came from the eyes of the bird and shot to my spine with my arm being the conduit.

Retreating my hand, the keyboard clacked as I searched the internet. Ignoring all the pretty icons of my most visited websites, I began looking for the meaning of the birds I’d drawn. Not that the internet held my answer. It was just me looking for something to ease my mind.

Finding pictures of various black birds, I guessed ravens were what I drew. Three lifeless ravens were the harbingers of my worry. Each spanning out its wings and calling out the final lines of my song.

“Birds of change, of death. Ravens need no champions.” I read aloud an article written by some random guy. “They are mischievous creatures of fair intelligence. They are often connected to the world of the dead.”

Another shiver went through my body. The room was dark; only one lamp on my nightstand and the computer screen produced light for the room. Posters and art, some of which some may find disturbing, skulked in the shadows.

The feeling of being watched, that hair lifting awareness, washed over me. Over both shoulders, I checked over the room to make sure nothing had crept up while I scanned over the writings.

“Cultures across the globe have considered these birds the bringers of great secrets.” The three birds were staring up at me while I continued to scroll down the page. “Ravens are the symbol of wisdom and knowledge.”

Then came the final picture at the bottom of the page.

Three ravens, one in the front with the two others beyond each wing, flew with beaks open wide to call out their eerie tune. My drawing, now lifted to stand vertically, was a hastened rendition of the photo on the website—one I know I had never visited before.

Crazy, right?

A feeling like a cold hand placed against the skin of my neck stole all heat from my body. I could have sworn I felt something touch me, but as I jumped forward and turned I saw I was alone.

Only my empty, dark room that had so often comforted me.

Screw this.

Back into my backpack the notebook went. The computer was turned off. I flung myself onto my bed where the hope of sleep began to sooth the anxiety that had found me.

I looked over to the picture I prayed to every night. My mother’s face smiled back at me while I said my mental script. She would hear it as she always heard it, but that night I asked that she keep a closer watch. The cold on my neck hadn’t left… it stayed with me as the night began to close.

Just as my eyes closed for their final time that night, a faint blue light flickered in the corner of my eyes. Beside the picture, as it had the last time. I saw that blip of color above my nightstand.

I couldn’t have reacted—for sleep came to me on the cold wings of Ravens.

Chapter 10

My eyes blinked a few times to get that troublesome sleep from the corners. The light was far too bright for me, and it seemed to be falling directly on my face—though my window had blinds and was on the southern wall.

The world came into view, and a sky of radiant yellows and blues was brightly dancing above. Fingers gripped for sheets but found cushioning grass in their place. Jolting upright, I found myself sitting in a field devoid any humanity or animals.

A flourishing sea of green expanded around me. A ballet of grass moved in harmony about the risen petals of roses; red orbs floating in the green. One was growing a few feet in front of me, and it grew with dominance. This bush of crimson flowers reached up toward the harsh light of day with no worries that it may be burned or forgotten.

“Where am I?” I spoke to no one with hands covering the top of my eyes. My retinas didn’t exactly enjoy the rays of such an open field.

Whispers.

“Who’s there?”

More whispers.

I looked toward the bush of roses; branching outward to embrace every arm of green that greeted it. Roses bloomed in a fascinating helix. Looking on, I found myself absorbed in the vivacity of scarlet.

Shuffling on all fours, I moved closer to the plant. As I did, the voices grew from inaudible whispers to soft speeches and song. There were far too many voices to differentiate, but each seemed to join the others to create a wondrous symphony.

Music as I had always known. It was that which bound all. A combination of all in one—I listened to the soft song of an impossible, innumerable gathering.

Light of a sky unlike any other burned against the cooling breeze of an unknown direction. I felt physically content while my mind found bliss in crimson song. I didn’t know what made the song, but I knew, in my heart and soul, that the flowers fed upon these vibrations—gifting their feast to the winds that all may eat at their table as guests.

Tears may have fallen, but I wouldn’t want to openly admit I cried over something beautiful. I have my dignity.

I dared not touch the flowers. Fear that they would retract within their green pods or cease their music kept my hands frozen. Listening was all I could do, and so I sat at attention for some time.

This field of small hills continued to bend as the grass waved with the oncoming breath of the sky. It was a symphony of nature unspoiled by the physical hands of mankind. I felt at peace there—though I could never have survived in such a place.

No trees in any direction. No water. Rain may have fallen, but to spoil the sparkling nature of that field with overcast would seem a crime not even Loki would dare risk.

Roses bloomed all over the bush I stared at, and I carefully recounted to find forty in total. The lengths of the stems were naked beside the sparingly spaced leaves.

A beauty of natural means (or so it seemed) produced no violent protection; for nothing would tear them or attempt to consume them. Only a perfect picture of creation that sang the produced voices of all worlds. Languages, nature, thoughts, instruments, electricity, skies, Earth, and seas… it all collaborated the most perfect of orchestral operas.

It had been some time. My appreciation of the world I didn’t question—I had ended up within some paradise and how I’d arrived was unimportant.

But I was not alone.

I believed I was, but I’m frequently wrong. Feelings hadn’t been recognized then. My instincts were dulled because I buried them deep with those wounds of my mind. Forgetting what I felt, I let myself become as the average person.

So, I was crept up on.

In my silent appreciation I was startled by the cawing of a bird that rested atop the bush I gazed into. It had landed inconspicuously; sneaky little devil.

I fell back to sit with my arms behind me. The bird hopped from one stem to another; careful to not disrupt the blooming roses nearest its talons. Its thoughtful eyes examined the bush with a twitching head to prudently move about the plant.

When it came to the front of the bush, the stem bouncing beneath it, the bird looked directly toward me. It gave another loud call that seemed in tempo with the song of the bush it perched on.

Then a distant voice joined in the bird’s calling. I looked to my left, across the waving sea of green, to see another raven atop a bush some distance away. Another called out from my right—about the same distance away from me as the left.

Ravens joined the music of the roses with a trio of caws that brought both fear and temptation. Their words were unknown, but the intent seemed inviting. An oddity of emotions stirred in me. They called out to me in particular; amongst the roses of paradise.

“What? What do you want?” I questioned the creatures hoping they understood me. They have intelligence, look at their damn eyes. They know something for sure.

The closest raven danced a bit and ruffled its feathers. Once finished, the feathers fell back into a sleek sheet of midnight—yet the sky above reflected off the bird in a hypnotic way. Once my eyes looked over the creature, its head moved into my view and called out to me again.

“What?! Dammit, tell me!” Frustration at the language barrier broke my peace.

As if the world sensed my annoyance, the sky grew brighter still. I shielded my eyes from the purest of yellows and blues. Nothing I could do but hold myself in the light of that perfect day while the ravens accompanied the tunes delivered by scarlet flowers.

“Why do you cower? Stand, for you are upon holy ground.” A disembodied voice dominated all other sounds—turning them down almost as if a dial could be spun.

At once I stood. Arms at my side, the light burned down on my pale skin—the skin of people from an isle of constant clouds.

“They call for you child. They bring news from the Ancient—the Great Changer, the End of All.” This voice echoed about the field; even the ravens lifted their heads to listen as they, and their master, were introduced. “Chosen, for life has fit the path, by the hands of Eternity.”

“I,” I attempted to speak, but no words found their way to pass my lips.

“Worry not, and speak not. Time is short in this world of worlds. They shall lead you; secrets shown by way of wing and beak.” This voice shook me; a bass that made my heart feel as if a beat may be skipped. “Follow the black.” This voice vibrated like thunder over the blades of grass. Its guidance resonated as truth. “Follow the beasts.”

Through the field, I looked to each raven. The left, the right, and then the center. The one in the middle stared at me with a motionless head—eyes that looked into me more than any human had ever attempted to. He knew me. He had found me.

I nodded to the creature. With that, all three ravens took flight. A series of surprised caws interrupted the song. They flew up into the brightness above and began to circle me. I looked through squinted eyes to find the forms casting their shadows onto the waving grass below.

Caws came down with the sound of flapping wings. These sounds now dialed up to drown out all else. The voice had departed—and so that sense of the speaker gone with it.

I listened as the caws and wings began to become deafening. No hands lifted to cover my ears—for it was holy ground I stood upon. These sounds were meant to be heard as was the song that I had witnessed with great pleasure. All I had seen and heard was for me; a direction gifted in dream.

Most would dismiss these. I would surely try. Crazy birds, singing flowers, and thundering voices from nowhere… insanity. But in the moment, the dream feels more real than life. A life more a reality than anything you’ve experienced awake; these dreams feel beyond all sensation and emotion. They are that which makes us question existence and whether what we see is real or fantasy.

Overstimulation caused by the ravens began to overwhelm me. I gritted my teeth while they continued to call down. I waited for them to stop, but it only increased. Each encircling made them caw louder; their wings beat harder.

Then I woke up. I was sweating and panting, and a ringing in my ears made it hard to simply lie back down and find sleep again. Instead, I sat up and got ready for the day three hours before my alarm.

I sat at my desk and pondered my dream. A new page, the one beside the ravens and my song, was opened in my notebook so that I could sketch the field as best I could from memory. It didn’t look quite right, but it was enough for me to recall the scene should I forget it someday—though I never would.

Some dreams stick with you. Some drift away into nothing. Others return with fireworks of realization after a catalyst ignites it. This one was fresh and stuck around.

For an hour or so I drew each line carefully. The grass all individual. The roses each lifted in the system of creation toward the light. The twisting and rising action of life that all experience in the world around us as we spin and grow. Life had been shown to me, in all wholeness, within those roses. It was a truth I knew from the aspect of my soul I buried deep with my pains.

This acknowledgement brought it forth, little by little, and began my metamorphosis. It wasn’t my knowing or choosing to do so, but I had been placed upon a path where certain hands would move pieces about me to ensure my steps.

I didn’t know I would become their pawn, and so I moved onward with my mind openly accepting the dream and sensations. Drawing the roses as best I could, the paradise seemed only a fraction of the truth I had felt.

Once completed, I let the page stay open. For some time, I looked over the pencil markings and smiled at their optimal replication due to my imperfect skills.

A blue flicker came from the corner of my eyes, and I turned to the portrait of my mother. That day would be my beginning—the true beginning of my feet upon the path of a Horseman. And wouldn’t you know it, I hadn’t even realized it.

I’d have quit right then and there! No one even offered me the job or shook my hand and said, “Thanks for coming. We’ll contact you.”

The ravens were my instruction. Not to kill or follow another. Birds. I had to follow squawking rats with wings. That is all I knew at the time, but the blue light hadn’t left me.

It had only flickered once above the stand. I looked down to the picture of my family as it was with a smile. Those times were the closest I had in life to the field of roses and that blinding sky.

Metal reflected the dim light of the lamp, and I turned to it. The necklace of St. Michael rested beside the photo, and for the first time I lifted it and placed it around my neck. I kept it beneath the shirt, but I had seen that light and knew the security in my dreams.

What could it hurt to wear it? What wrong was there in keeping a memento of her near me at all times? What could anyone say about a young man without much belief wearing a very religious piece of jewelry?

I guess there is plenty to be said, but I donned it all the same. Don’t judge me just yet. He may not have saved her, but perhaps she would answer me through his metal. I held her close to my heart and returned to the drawing. There I sat until the sunlight entered my window and the day truly began.

Preparing for the day, I left before the rest of the family had started. Bike out of the garage and all of my items with me, the world greeted me with a chilled breeze and soft sky. Down the street I went.

I began my new life that day.

Chapter 11

Every morning consisted of a bike ride for me. Down a number of streets with my guitar and backpack. The usual first turn was taken, but then something caught my eye.

As I rounded the corner of an empty street, there was a raven a few houses down atop the home’s mailbox. It turned its head enough so that he could look at with from a better angle.

Startled, I stopped in the center of the road. Our eyes connecting across the distance; neither knowing how to begin the conversation. In his eyes I could feel the jolt of electricity meant for those that are bound; a shock of purpose. It was like love at first sight… if love was absolutely terrifying.

Chilled air caught by visible breath. I knew the morning would be cold, which I enjoyed, but there was a true freezing quality to it. Like a hand reaching up the back of my shirt to grab hold of my spine—tearing right into the flesh and capturing my structure entirely.

I should have followed him—or that’s what I was meant to do.

Not that day.

“Screw you,” I lifted the front end of the bike and turned toward the street I’d come from. Taking another block up wouldn’t put me far out of my way. I began to peddle faster so I could escape the bringer of secrets.

Nothing of that world was real to me. Not then. I was a young man—trying to make it in the world. Trying to survive! I didn’t need to add another stressful aspect to my life. Like, I don’t know… my dreams telling me to follow birds because their master had set for me?

Most would have laughed it off and went on with their lives; and dammit, I was going to be like most. Putting the chill from mind and the bird behind me let me ease back into the usual numbness of the average person.

Down one road and turned right onto the next street.

A caw stopped me again. The house nearest me had two ravens on the roof, and the house across the street had another. They all looked at me the same way as the first had—tilting the head slightly to examine the coming boy.

Pausing for a second, I looked over the birds. Unable to determine if they’d fly at me or simply watch set my nerves on edge. That shivering grip was returning to my spine, and once I felt the tips of the fingers on my back I fled.

Peddling as quickly as I could, the bike moved down the street toward my refuge—school. Eyes followed me on my path. Ravens waited until I ‘d passed and took to the air. They didn’t swoop or attack, but each swirled around the others to follow me in a well-choreographed display. It was rather impressive.

“Shit!” I turned down another road and pushed my legs to gain more speed. Passing a house with a variety of trees in the yard only added to the conspiracy behind me. Black feathers blocked most of the rising sunlight as my escape continued.

The birds were relatively quiet, and that was enough to confirm running was the right choice. What are they planning? Even in my disbelief I found it hard to not expect a plot from the unreal swarm of ravens.

With only a few more blocks to go, I had to push on. They weren’t closing in on me, but they kept an odd distance constant between us. Looking over my shoulder periodically, I found them to accelerate or slow down at my choice of speed. This didn’t cease my panic.

They were watching me. I could feel it. What do you do about something intelligent following… hunting you? Damned if I knew at the time what they were doing. I wasn’t going to listen to a disoriented dream! That’d be crazy!

So, I biked faster and faster with the ravens flowing over one another like waves of a dark sea. Numbers increasing with each passing block. I traveled in the shadow of an intelligent, black cloud.

Finally, I turned onto the last block that led directly to the school. I could see the left side of the building just a handful of blocks away. Had to get inside, and I didn’t give two shits if I had to bail off the bike, letting it crash into whatever it may, to do it.

Anything to get away from those damn birds!

Two more blocks to go! I could see kids getting dropped off by early. I crouched against the bike to force myself into a faster speed. Haste had brought the chilled air against my warm face like little breaths of refreshing springs. I felt I would make it, but I had to push myself just that little bit further.

I cut off one truck driven by a father delivering his kids, and I heard a wonderful, morning greeting come from the window. I didn’t care. Clearly, he didn’t see the unnatural flock of black feathers chasing me.

To hell with him and his words. I wasn’t going to get taken out by a crazed group of ravens! I forced the front of the bike to lift so that I could hop a slanted edge of curb. A few kids were walking near the steps as I sped by them—kicking one leg over the back of the bike so I could begin running when my vehicle struck the cement.

A crash of metal against ground turned all eyes toward me as I jumped up the first, short series of steps. I’d pushed past two students on my way. I glanced back, exhausted, to see what time remained before they’d collapse on me… and all I found was myself looking like a damn fool.

Everyone was looking at me. Parents, bus drivers, people in vehicles, kids gathering outside, and a few teachers looked at me with a spectrum of reactions. Most giggled quietly within their groups, a few shook their heads as if I’d done something that agitated them (those in the vehicles were probably more justified), and then those that squinted their eyes and scrunched their noses up.

I was panting as the sweat began to clash against the cooled air of the dying year. Heat, not just that of exhaustion, crept into my face. How do I make it better?

“There was a bee,” I clapped my hands together. “Wo! He almost got me. He was a tricky one.” I tried to hold in my breath so that my husky physique didn’t worsen the glances.

I moved back to where my bike had fallen with a weight of shame on my shoulders. There wasn’t a single raven behind me as I’d turned. Not a freakin’ bird in the sky.

But I knew they were there. I hadn’t simply hallucinated all of those birds and the shadows that they cast across the entire street as I fled. They were real, and they must have hidden as I neared the watching eyes of the school.

“Nice bail, Markey.” One of the football players patted me on the backpack; at least not striking my guitar. He didn’t laugh at me, but I couldn’t quite tell if he was on my side or hoping to make me feel worse. Smiling at him was all I could do to keep myself held up. I just knelt down and lifted the bike so I could bring it to the proper area and lock it up.

I was knelt beside the stairs as some of the people were entering the building. Whispers always seem to be at you, don’t they? Especially after you just made a jackass out of yourself. Every sound you hear a person make feels as if it’s directed completely at you. Those wounds we buried deep in our souls feel the shift in the mind and dig their ways to the top. Like zombies of the brain, they escape their prison to feed upon the insecurities we birth.

Heat didn’t leave me, but at least the morning air was lowering my blood temperature. I just had to get to first hour. I could talk this through with Cage. I didn’t tell him about the first dream or the blue light because none of our extensive conversations particularly spanned into the supernatural.

But this… I had to talk about it with someone. No one at home would even bother to listen as a joke. People I knew in school didn’t need another reason to think I was weird—adding to the fantastic display of that morning.

Cage would hear me out and give me advice. He’d calm me down and give me something else to think about. We’d get through the day, and I’d feel better. That’s all I could hope for… keep on smiling.

Chapter 12

“Hey Tom,” Cage was moving toward his storage locker in the band room. I was slouched against the farthest wall while waiting for the class to begin… or rather for my friend to find me.

I knew I was smiling, but my eyes felt sunken and my anxieties were just beneath the skin. Making such a fool of myself shouldn’t have meant that much, but to a kid with little self-esteem it can be the most devastating grain of rice that threatens to tip the scales of sanity.

We don’t always ask for help. People don’t want to seem weak. God knows I don’t. I run. I hide. I make jokes. I am not the “face your problems” kind of guy the other Horsemen are. No. I waited for Cage to see it on my face, but he walked by with his own smile and just began the day.

“Lamb of God, great shirt man. We should start with some of their music later tonight. You open after school?” He kept looking at me and then to his belongings he stored for the period. “It’ll be great. Some nice, heavy shit.” He chuckled as he finished up.

Cage walked along the back wall of the room to find himself at my side—taking his own seat on the floor. I just nodded at him. My eyes were screaming for help. I was in a low place, and I just needed that one person to lift me out of it for an hour or so. I’d be fine on my own after that.

“Come on man. I know you love “Omerta”. We could definitely learn that in a couple of hours. Well, a few hours for me. You probably already have it memorized.” He bumped my shoulder in jest.

“Yeah, I know that one.” The song of honor. A song of living on one’s own strength. It had an amazing breakdown and the type of lyrics that get the blood boiling. “It’ll be fun man.”

Hear my lack of enthusiasm man. One of my favorite bands, and I’m not even giddy? I nodded and smiled lifelessly back at him. His brown eyes were lit up as if I were about to teach him the secrets of the universe. Come on man!

We don’t want to seem weak. We want to have others care, but that’s the trouble with people. Empathy isn’t a natural thing for most… or, it is… but they don’t understand it themselves. It isn’t always that they are simply self-absorbed. People just don’t feel out the world around them.

That sense that dwells in us all is like an appendix. It had a use at one time, but it has become a vestigial ability for most. They see and react, but that feeling one gets in the stomach, heart, or brain has all but disappeared. It shrivels away as the years continue and the person grows.

It was a lot to ask of him, and yet I would have asked it again. For my sake, I would expect a friend to notice my odd behavior or ask what’s wrong. That doesn’t take much. That takes three seconds to ask the question and maybe three whole minutes of listening. I didn’t have much to say.

I’d have given a quick overview of the dream and ravens. Once I saw how he’d react, I’d question it all myself. He’d give me what I needed just by listening for a short time and giving a few disbelieving comments to ease my racing heart.

But exhaustion had taken over. It’s not easy work being so pitiful. Retreating within yourself can be a toiling task. Those that do it daily (beyond their control) must be mental strongmen. Dragging yourself back out can be physically draining, and yet many tread that path with worn boots.

I didn’t. I was a sad kid that needed a friend for a few minutes so I could resist the mental wounds pealing back.

No blade found my skin that day. No pills emptied from a bottle. No standing out on the edge of a bridge hoping someone would talk me down.

I just felt like shit.

Plain and simple. I could use a few fricking seconds of compassion. People in band weren’t going to give it to me. High school is the domain of selfish and isolated groups—none of which I actually belonged.

And I’m thankful for that. I got to talk to a lot of people and get to know them on a basic level, but none of them were tied to me. It would have made it all much worse… in the end. Instead I only had to turn my back on one friend, but what would have happened had he put his hand on my back and said, “It’ll be alright. Fuck it, man.”

“We’ll go to my place after school. You work tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“So, we have to fit a lot in a short time. We’ll kick ass man. Maybe we could get a band together for the talent show this year.” Cage let his head rest against the wall while he fantasized. I followed his thoughts. All the teenage girls cheering for Cage; their heaving chest catching his eyes. His stage presence would be quite potent. “We’d win for sure.”

“Could be fun. What would we play?” I kept looking at the floor. It was the only place I could look at without my mind sprinting through hundreds of questions that did me no good.

“We’d have to do something brutal.” He snickered a bit and lowered his voice while nudging me, “That way they couldn’t hear the swearing and disqualify us.”

“Sure, our classmates would love it,” I did smile at the thought of a bunch of teens forced to sit through our metal show. “We could enter. We’d need a few others.”

The conversation did keep my worries at a distance, but they remained awake and waiting for the moment that defense was gone. Cage could have fought them off, but keeping watch was the best I’d get at the moment.

“You know David and Luis. I think Luis has some drums. Sure David wouldn’t mind screaming a bit more than singing.” His eyes were a million miles away at the concept of a first show. I guess the school’s population was a grand enough audience for him… not me.

I wanted to play for halls, for temples built to the wonder of music, for stadiums filled with screaming fans of both art and sport. Playing for my classmates was next to nothing for me since I’d played solos in front of them almost my entire life. But, if it meant I got to play with Cage then it didn’t matter.

We’d put on that show, and the ravens drifted from thought as I yielded to the vision of my friend. Of course, they perched on trees of my mental horizon, but playing my favorite instrument and songs with my best friend kept me busy.

“Thanks man.”

Cage rolled his head over the wall to look at me. “For what?” I thought him playing coy, but ignorance was plain in his face. Bless that boy—he was daft at times. Women wanted him, guys envied him, and his friends gazed on in hopes all the while his eyes remained the same.

“I’ve been having a few bad days.” I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Because I had to bring it up. I just wanted to thank him for doing the best he could manage. “This’ll be fun. You talk to the guys and see if we can’t start practicing sometime.”

“Yeah, man. No worries.” He stood by sliding his back up the wall. I followed him up and moved toward our seats at the backside of the band. My guitar was right beside the seat, and I felt better knowing I’d be holding it.

The hole wasn’t escaped, but it seemed to fill itself in below me. Just shallow enough I could see out of captivity.

“Pull out the set, and we’ll start from the top,” our director took his place at the head of the class. His baton lifted in command of our attention and participation. Cage had taken up his bass, connected to an amplifier to his left, with the usual excited expression.

I held my black guitar, feeling the body and strings against my fingers. The weaving of the strings rippled beneath my touch like waves of a metallic sea. Endless possibilities stemmed from the eternal gift of music—held within one single tool.

Whatever depth of the hole remained, I found myself lifted above it. My talent and joy was a pedestal on which I rose above all the surrounding world. Finding that one thing in your life is the best way to flip the world the bird and keep moving forward.

The baton fell, and the first notes rang out with perfect clarity—clean sounding from the amp free of any distortion or effects. I played my part, matching the volume of those around me, with ease and grace. My hands and mind were swiftly executing each chord and slide.

I played while looking at the instructor; leaving the sheets in their folder. Hearing the bass close to me, I turned to see Cage and his instrument. He was staring intently at every note. Each passing bar was played well, but his confidence in the matter seemingly held back the potential.

He doesn’t want to look bad either. I thought to myself as I played, He has worries of his own.

I thought of Cage playing within his own hole.

The boy lifting his brown eyes to glance out over the land which lifted around him as he tried to play his bass as best he could. His intense focus was mostly to blame, but with each note incorrectly struck or tempo forgotten he sank further into the ground.

We all have our problems. We just have to keep smiling.

Cage shook his head when the song was done. His face was scrunched up with an expression of disgust. He then turned to me with wide eyes.

I was giving him a thumbs-up and smiling at him. A real smile. Eyes open, eyebrows raised, and teeth shining out from beneath the pulled back lips of someone that was genuinely happy.

The hole filled in a bit, and Cage relaxed. His worry was nothing of concern, and just a little nudge was all it took to free him of his depressed, mental lands. I smiled at him after each song. My friend deserved to be happy.

Chapter 13

My next class was a pain in the ass. It was just a place for anxieties to fester. Cage had his gathering fans to talk to, and this time gave me nothing but freedom to slip back into thoughts of that morning.

There was a series of cups and glasses on differing levels; each layer covered with a black cloth that gave a sense of conflicting scenery. The glass and white cups were balanced in a variety of ways. Light from the ceiling of the tall room shot streams across angled glass.

Normally, I would have enjoyed the chance to challenge my skills—however underdeveloped they were. That day though… that wasn’t fun. It wasn’t interesting. I know you might feel that sometimes. Everyone does.

Reading a book that the teacher forced on you. Those stories make you daydream as your eyes scan over meaningless words filled with, what the teacher insists, are deeper meanings.

Online summaries got me through so many classes, I think I wasted almost any tax money that went to my English education. But, if I’m being honest here, I’d say that about almost any class. The internet lets our minds wander with the simplicity of a single click.

Science research turns into a three-hour video binge of random or thoughtless garbage that people put up… yet you watch. The mind wants that. It wants to numb itself to the things that bore it.

Those cups were everything I’d ignored throughout all my years. They had taken on a worth like water to a man who’s drowning. Glug, Glug. Drink up. They were just another thing in my piling life of garbage.

Instead, my hands drew like a nomad traveling the map. Lines that were jagged, swoops that didn’t connect to anything, and shading which filled in no shapes. It almost felt like I was working backwards on something, but I looked at nothing.

Stuck in my own head where the ravens roosted with wonder and the roses fed upon delightful melodies. They seemed so real in my head. Like the images were becoming a reality while the world around me faded.

Still my hand sketched away.

Cage was listening to the sweet-nothings some girl was whispering to him at my right. His form in the corner of my eyes began to blur. Maybe I hadn’t blinked in some time, but I felt as if what my eyes were seeing wasn’t real; therefore, neither was the blindness which permanently open eyes would bring.

I stayed in my world of gathering sensation. The ravens had taken to trees which reached in every direction with naked arms. There was a gray sky which cast a bluish hue across the barren land below. There may have been fog, but that may have been the world becoming clearer.

Roses were all that bloomed—flourishing flowers for my listening and viewing pleasure. I thought, for only a moment, I could hear their lovely tune. It died out quickly as I felt my hand stop.

It had halted drawing nothing because of the sensation that was in both worlds of my being. In my school and the world of ravens, a series of cold pressures were climbing my spine.

This forced a jolt of energy up my spine to which I arched my back. Everything had come crashing back into the real world me. When I flung myself back I could see the teacher behind me.

I had almost slammed my head into her gut. I knew she walked about the class to study and assist, but I’d lost track of her. Nothing out of the ordinary, but she did startle me.

“That’s quite the work, Tom.” I straightened myself on my stool—the lovely seating for the class. “Doesn’t really look like the glasses though. Maybe try to finish your work before practicing your album cover.” I leaned forward a bit to cover my unknown work from the prying eyes of the other students.

She chuckled, a nice sounding laugh, as she walked away. She was a younger teacher compared to the rest of our school. A handsome woman that took to caring for her students; granted they respected her. I watched the short, blonde hair bounce as she continued on to look at Cage’s works.

“Very good, Kyle. Maybe you could keep Tom focused. Ms. Lisa, why don’t you let Kyle get back to his work. I don’t recall making Kyle your assignment.” She chuckled again as she kept her feet moving.

Lisa huffed and returned to her drawing but not before she shot Cage a smirk. Cage returned the glance and turned to me.

“Wo, dude. What the hell?” He started shuffling his stool over, that graceful hopping most kids do when they’re on such furniture. His left hand reached out and started pulling my arm away from the paper. Cage’s eyes were filled with fascination, “And you said you can’t draw. Bullshit.”

Heat hadn’t left. It’d claimed the entirety of my face.

“I can’t. You know that.”

Cage’s hands were both on my unknown work. “Give it here.” He pulled it free and held it out in front of us both.

My eyes looked to the sketch for the first time since the starting marks that meant all but anything. I joined him at gawking at the drawing which had only taken me a few minutes.

Detail in every crease. Reflection of the bird within the metal. Chains linked together about the waist shaded perfectly in relation to the rest of the work. The contents of the sandglass almost looked coarse in feature. The quality of the sunken face—a man like a skeleton shadowed by a hood of black.

The reaper stood with one hand reaching toward us; as though he would rise from the paper to steal us away. His other hand held the mythical scythe across one of his shoulders. Its blade curved upward; his hood and the front of the raven upon the other shoulder were mirrored upon the weapon’s face.

Death stared directly at me. His face, a form manifested for the sake of our understanding, studied me with interest and purpose. He looked at me the same way the ravens had.

“She had a good idea.” I turned to Cage, but my eyes were darting between his face and that of my creation… or my channeling hand. “It’d make us a great album cover.”

Cage handed the paper back to me. Hesitantly, I retrieved the art. His fingers stayed clasped on it for a moment. His lips pushed together as he looked it over for another few seconds.

“That’s damn good man.” He let it go and slowly retreated to his own desk. “Don’t want to hear that, ‘I’m not good at drawing,’ crap anymore. O.K.?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, but I was enthralled by the work. Nothing I’d ever done was ever even close to that good. I had a sense of pride in it, but I had that deep worry of its origin. Part of me knew I hadn’t drawn it by my own accord, and that part was gradually growing as the days continued on.

I said it before, but I’ll say it again… just in case you aren’t keeping up with me here.

You open up that door to the deeper parts of your mind and soul even once, and the entire floodgates may break. It’s a gamble. It’s a freaking bet I didn’t even understand I took!

Seems a bit rigged to me, but I didn’t make the rules. I just got screwed by them.

I had drawn what I’d dreamt. I’d felt that it was real and even put on the metal which I swore sparkled with a faint blue light. I’d let that dormant side of me awaken, and it was going to come out in style. All flashy and full of jazz hands.

I would have put it back to sleep, killed it, whatever it took to keep my life going in the direction it was. Instead, the universe decided to give a steroid boost to my ignorant soul.

The other Horsemen grew through deaths and emotional extremes—not me. I would be thrown in to sink or swim… but either way Death was coming for me.

Staring at that drawing, I knew it to be true somewhere in my mind. Those solid, black eyes were gazing through me. They knew me. They were waiting for me to take his hand; that reaching hand offering me an eternity of purposeful and blissful slumber.

There was a chill up my back again, and I shook. I simply stared at that picture until the class ended.

Chapter 14

Irritable for the rest of the day, I settled back into my daydreams while waiting for the last bell. I used the school phone at lunch to call into work—I was sick. After all that had happened I couldn’t simply go to work and act like everything was acceptably normal.

No, not that day. I wanted to find out more. I didn’t know how, but I was going to get some answers. First, I’d hang with Cage as planned. Instead of going to work, I’d go home; though he’d still think I had hours on schedule.

I didn’t want to lie to him, but I doubted he had the answers I needed. No one in my life would; at least that I knew of. The internet might have held some answers. That was the only source I had to discover what the Hell was wrong with me.

After lunch, I went to history class. The teacher (a short and angry old woman I can’t recall any name for) shuffled across the room and barked boring anecdotes about times that had passed long ago. Not the interesting stuff like wars, silly governments, or the occasional oddity in civilization. No… I believe she was talking about some Parthian prince who was acting out against the empire of Rome.

No fighting in that day’s lecture. Just a few tidbits about how he ran his nation while in times of war, but she almost purposefully left out those glorious tales that each teen wants to hear. Those stories of the honor of battle and the romanticizing of bloodshed.

I was a kid like any other. I didn’t want to join the military, but it was always a topic that made me straighten up and pay extra-close attention.

So, I made my own. I opened my notebook to a page just a few before the ravens. With my own hand, the pencil scribbled out a quick scene of men running at one another with spears and swords drawn.

“Rome benefitted well through these times. An increase in trading and military spending maintained a healthy economy. War can often be profitable.” Something like that.

I laughed a bit to myself. This room had windows that faced the front of the school. I had a perfect seat to see the empty top of the flagpole.

Since that day years before, a day where towers fell and a nation cried in sorrowful anger, our nation had placed the flag in the middle of the rise for an uncertain amount of time. Every other day there was another reason to lower it… but I felt as if that “lowering” meant keeping it as it was. When the red and white found the top of the pole it meant something was going well—at least by the government’s standards.

Those stars and stripes flapped in the winds below the second story, but I could see it fine from the distance. Ripples of fabric signified our country’s perpetual grief. Blue should have taken over the body. Red streaks would stain the blue as white was bled over.

“Rome was the star of wealth and fashion during these times. Their economic growth seemed to know no bounds.” Again, paraphrasing the teacher’s words. I didn’t pay much attention.

Blue, red, and white waved in the day’s breeze. I kept doodling with the immoral desire for brutality in our lesson. I didn’t fight those human urges for violence. Instead, I accepted them with healthy outlets.

A picture drawn with a pencil is a much safer means of expressing those tendencies than taking up any item of destruction, and yet many praise the latter without thought or consideration to the stories that follow. I had respect for those that carried that flapping sheet, but putting the label of faultless demi-gods on them made me cringe.

I’d see it later in life. Media censoring the actions of those who acted out inhumane orders or solo executions. Politicians sending men and women to die for profit or motives kept secret from the population. It’s enough to make you sick… or even wish for an Apocalypse.

There will always be heroes on the field of battle, but history paints their story with a brush composed of bones dipped in a variety of fancy colors. The artist which wields the tool is often the victor. All art debating or accusing the piece are destroyed or stored away in a dark space which may never be seen by the commoner’s eyes.

I would know those heroes that history should remember. I would stand beside them and witness their courage and ethics. They would keep the spark within me lit—forcing me to march on through the ashes and blood.

I would know great and terrible people. I’d even find myself standing before monsters wearing matching colors. They were the reason our world shares only a fraction of the truths, why our flags seemed to lose their glimmer, and why people grow to hate their fellow men.

I’ll get to that later, I’m sure.

For now, I kept sketching the field of battle as blue lines split through the soldiers. The notebook’s paper was a distracting canvas where a small group of two armies clashed. Once done, I looked it over with a sense of satisfaction.

It was a piece of shit.

Proportions were off. The shading was all over the place—light sources apparently all over the ancient battle. Weapons seemingly too large or oddly shaped to be useful. I had drawn it with focus and found myself lacking any real technique.

It was nothing like the Reaper. With confirmation, the door in my mind was creaking open gradually. Something had helped me along with the drawing, but now that it was gone I retained little of its teachings.

Back into the backpack, my tools and notebook went. I prepared myself for the signal as the teacher continued pointless explanations of which none would recall or require. A council of dead eyes awaiting the bell’s toll.

“War is profitable.” The single-most important truth that woman had ever uttered.

It wasn’t too long after this that our suffering ended. Each student rushed to the door as if being in the hallway was a haven of fresh air and relaxation before the next period began.

I took my time. Pondering the meaning of my life and recent days caused a sluggish escape. The flag flapped on with brilliant colors only partially lifted as designed. I waited for something else to happen… some vision or experience while looking at the flag.

Like icy ambiences or ghostly figures. Something to let me know I wasn’t crazy—that what I was experiencing could be called upon. Focusing on the flag provided no answers. Only silence.

Yet, I’ve been told that when you’ve asked a question it doesn’t matter if Heaven grants you sight or sound. Silence is often an answer in itself. One we dislike, but it is as important a device as speaking into the mind or guiding our hands. Our minds may act rashly, filling us with aggression or depression, but we are forced to trudge on by the force of our own will.

I feel I need to explain this. I think a lot of people won’t get it… they won’t believe that silence is acceptable, but I talked about it earlier. If I hadn’t learned things on my own, I’d have become spoiled. I’d have become someone that most of the population speaks poorly of behind closed doors or in friendly company.

Instead of aggression, I rejoiced at the normal sight. The flag would dance in the soft winds, and I would continue on with my day. The worries of my country and soul began to wane. A fresh dose of ignorance to perk you up.

I walked to my next class.

Chapter 15

The day ended without incident. I didn’t have to feel silly or strange the rest of the day. I had fallen back into my normal self within just a few hours.

How wonderful right? The eccentric mind of youth; bouncing back from all things because there is nothing that lasts long within the hormone-fluctuating brain.

No one really spoke to me; and, therefore, I had no opportunity to alienate myself in the eyes of my peers.

Pretty soon that would be impossible. Pretty soon I would be set loose and unable to stop. Every action was a walk across eggs covered in glass, and I wasn’t permitted shoes.

Cage and I went back to his place. We walked alongside one another; my bike beside me. I only occasionally glanced over the horizons in search of approaching black wings. With my area free of the birds, I felt myself relaxed enough to discuss our plan of forming a band.

Cage was excited to see me excited. Something he was great at. If you shared a hobby or interest with the guy, you were almost forced into an enjoyable friendship. With how outgoing and charismatic he was, it was almost impossible to resist.

I got to see a friend smile and bring him some joy, and he got to join in with my smile. Everyone came out on top—they say friendships are built on self-interest. We definitely benefited from one another.

“What songs should we get ready?” Cage was looking up and puckered his lips in thought.

Leaves were falling around us. Dancing forms of differing species finding comradery in their display of colors. A macabre ballet of the fallen. The whispering currents of air carried them softly across the sky and ground.

Though it was beginning to get cold, we walked with our t-shirts and shorts as if it were the middle of summer. Growing up where we did made our bodies used to the snowy months. Soon we’d wear pants, but that was still weeks away.

“I’m not sure.” I thought it over. Actually thought it over. Not how some answer and drift off. This was a topic of interest, and so he had my attention. “How long does each skit get?”

“I think just ten minutes, but they usually hurry you up if you start getting to that max time.” Soft chuckles preceded his memory. “I saw some last year. Left halfway through. But some girls went up and had a skit about the Daily Life in our school. They just did stupid, quick acts about classes and sports.”

“That sounds pretty dumb.” I shook my head at the thought that we’d have to sit through some of those in order to play for just ten minutes. That was two full songs. Not much of a set list.

“Well it was; until one girl acted out football and hit her head on the stage.” Cage began laughing. Recalling an event that required I’d seen it to enjoy it, I walked beside him waiting for him to regain himself. “She stood up with blood just pouring from her nose. We all thought it was part of the show. Everyone started laughing, but she just began crying and ran off stage.”

“What the hell, man?” I raised my eyebrows at him. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” a snort got through the breaths. “When everyone saw her cry, they stopped laughing. All but the guys and me. I didn’t stop until I realized we were the only ones left.”

Laughing became the thing to do. It must have been harsh for that girl, but hearing my buddy giggle made me bust out. Thinking of him getting embarrassed in public because he couldn’t stop laughing at someone’s misfortune… him looking like a jackass, let me enjoy the image with him.

“You’re an asshole.” I hit him lightly on the arm as we walked.

“I know!” He tried settling himself. “I didn’t mean to, but there she was! Bleeding! Probably one of the best skits of the night.”

“Well, we have to be better.” I nodded hard with affirmation. “We gotta be the best up there.”

“Hell yeah!” Cage’s right arm shot out and pulled back. “We got this. I was thinking a Lamb of God to end it. Your solos will get the crowd on their feet.”

“Of course.” He made me want to be more confident. Why not enjoy a little pride? I wasn’t asking anyone to lick my boots or meet us back stage.

“Anything in mind for the other one?”

“Probably something more,” I thought over my vocabulary, “relatable. We could do a softer song to really throw them off.” I could feel the wind against my teeth as I grinned. “Savage Garden or something should do it.”

“Oh, come on. What’s that about?” Cage hadn’t really enjoyed some of the genres I’d shared with him. My musical taste was more elaborate than his, but his passion was almost as buttressed… haha, what a silly word.

“Just a thought. I don’t know. What were you thinking? I feel you’ve been obsessing about this all day.”

Cage slowed down a bit. He looked over the leaves. I stood a bit ahead of him; watching his shaggy hair stretch out over the streams of wind. His brown eyes were narrowed and jolting.

“You’re picking a song, not saving a life.” I shook my head at him. “Let’s go back and practice and you can decide.”

“What’s a good song with a bass solo?” I knew his intent, and I appreciated that drive.

“I know a few. Korn’s got a few. Lots of people would know them, too.” Cage’s eyes opened wide at my shared knowledge of discographies. “Preferably something from a few years ago. Their new stuff has too much electronic shit in it for us.”

“Yeah,” Cage began walking again. His plan to excite the crowd was an enjoyable one. I hoped to see him lose that finger-looking worry he expressed when playing. It was time to break him of bad habits. I’d considered a ruler over the knuckles.

We joked and walked on. I guess I didn’t look back after that to see if we were followed, but something tells me we were. I bet eyes were tracking our (my) every move.

Ravens weren’t on my mind, but some part of me knew that they were damn sure around. Out of sight, out of mind. I kept walking and enjoying my night until I left Cage’s place.

Chapter 16

Cage and I parted ways after practicing a bit of the heavier songs we knew and enjoyed. That rush of musical adrenaline was still fresh in my blood as I biked home. Getting home early would mean I could dodge the family easier… at least my stepmother had the decency to work until late afternoon.

Those days of getting home early meant I could lock my door and avoid any contact. Dad’s routine was a bit more spaced out. He never told me what hours he was meant to work at the fire department (mostly cleaning the trucks since he wasn’t fit to rescue).

Lucky me. Home all to myself. The little brother was at his mother’s work where they had a daycare—pretty high-end for a Midwest city. My stepsister must have gone to hang out with her friends or sneak off with whatever guy smiled at her that day.

Bike went into the usual spot and the doors were flung open. I grabbed a quick snack from the fridge. By quick snack, I mean leftover spaghetti and some chips that were in the drawer.

No one to judge me. Just me and my thoughts—those that had begun reemerging in the absence of distractions. Cage had played his part in keeping the winged messengers at bay, but their mental imprints had skulked back into thought. Caw. Listen. Caw!

I threw my backpack to the side of my desk and carefully placed the guitar in its usual resting spot near the foot of my bed. I took my place at the computer where I flipped on a lamp.

Opening my notebook, I found the sketch I’d stuck within the pages. The old man reached out to me with persistence. I placed his creepy ass as far up my desk as I could before it wrinkled beneath the screen’s stand. He stood with an outstretched hand between the keyboard and the various sites I was searching.

My usual pages were waiting, but I scrolled by each to find my search engine. Funnyjunk, the place I could go and not feel like I was the only screwed up person, called out to me with pink and green twisting into an inviting logo. A multitude of websites battled for the top spot where I’d click them more frequently. Youtube sat silent near the top awaiting another song choice or instructional video.

I ignored the news that day. I recall those days as unsettling and sensationalized drama. The world seemed to canonize useless popstars or drink in headlines like political protein shakes. It wasn’t worth looking through the news when a hero could save dozens of lives and be cast aside for the tantalizing scoop on a shooter in some progressive city or a madman bombing a cartoonist. It was more depressing reading about humanity than it was to read about Death.

A few clicks and I was where I wanted to be. Not difficult. Or you’d think.

But moving my eyes away from the drawing was almost painful. It was like leaving him behind for even a moment might allow him to reach out and snag me. I kept checking that he wasn’t moving—just enough time spared between glances at the screen to direct my mouse.

“Death,” I typed pretty quickly. Don’t know if I still could. Not exactly a skill I kept up with since the end of the world, but I guess my mind has only gotten sharper. Anyway, I typed it in.

Of course, a few stories of odd deaths, videos of weird occurrences and the always-relevant killing of people across the globe in the name of some faceless being or reason, and celebrity death dates filled the screen. All things I didn’t want, but I can’t blame the engine for showing what most deem important. People love their blood and gore.

It made me want to listen to Tool.

My fingers moved back along the keys to add a few words. “Death the being” was the second search. He kept watching me. I couldn’t shake it; even in pencil it seemed his eyes could follow you no matter which direction you leaned.

“Shit you’re weird,” I leaned back and knew his dark irises slid with me.

“Death as an entity,” I read out the first line of a new article that was about halfway down the front page. My pointer finger clicked one and letting it load gave me time to stand sentry for the impinging phantasm.

Once I saw the words blacken some of the light in the screen, I removed my eyes from the art to the article. I scrolled as if looking for something specific. Hell if I knew what it was but scanning quickly gave me the best chance of finding it while keeping watch.

I know you’re thinking, “Thomas, put the fricking picture away! It isn’t that hard! Damn, you are dumb.”

I get you. I do. This isn’t something simple to explain. You feel a need to breathe, and so you learn to do it naturally. You inhale and exhale without a thought of the matter—at least when you aren’t chemically impaired. It’s the sensation of necessity, and if you don’t breathe right you’re going to end up passing out. That’s after you panic with the loss of consciousness.

There was a desire and need to keep it out. I felt close to it. It was a part of me you see, and I didn’t even realize it then. I was being called, and someone with some faith (or insanity, haha) would have accepted it. Instead, I questioned it. I didn’t just want to give in, and I wouldn’t even later on.

His eyes were staring at me in a way that made me question the purpose. What happened? Where did it come from? My curiosity was the key that unlocked that door I’d shut tight, and this picture was one of those first things to slip through the cracks. I couldn’t keep it away because I knew it had importance.

Tearing it up would have hurt me in all sorts of ways. Putting it away would have made me question what he was doing in my backpack beyond my sight. Keeping him facedown was out of the question… if the paper lifted up I would have shit myself.

So, screw your “ideas” on how to handle this. You don’t know what it’s like! I don’t expect you to, but I expect you to hear me out. I appreciate you listening because I never really got to get this all off my chest, but give me a bit of credit here.

Back to the page I went. Scanning, I scrolled through snippets. Things like “Death is but a change. He leads us from one plane to the next,” and “Death isn’t evil, but simply is. As creation comes to life; so too, must all things perish and become something else.”

Backing up to the engine, I moved on to the next search.

“Death and Raven”.

With this typed, I found a few articles to read. There was a putative consideration that the Father Reaper was a nice guy. This did give me a laugh, but I kept on reading. People, especially those in the new age, have come to see Death as a more compassionate creature. Death doesn’t kill; he reaps. That is a very important distinguishing point.

Death, per my studies, seemed to offer peace. A chance to find yourself in the world beyond—wherever your next life or existence was meant to be. Some talked of a land where the dead were judged, few talked of Heaven or Hell being the only choices, and many in the discussion board chatted of the calming wave that comes over those that are dying.

There is always fear. Not many willingly go into the darkness before the light, yet there is light. This light is meant to relax you—ease you from one path to another. Fear pain, the world, and people… but Death is your welcome friend who relieves you and offers a chance at more.

By the end of that page, I almost felt a sense of companionship for the specter. It wasn’t exactly like I wanted to go have a drink with the guy, but if that is what he truly did then I had no reason to fear him.

Well… no reason to fear dying.

If you don’t at least partially fear those with far greater power than you, I don’t believe you have the emotional wellbeing to survive. Don’t cower and panic! I’m just saying you need to be careful. You need to question things. That’s how we live and get stronger. We test the boundaries and find a new way of perceiving that which is around us.

I began to see the picture in a different light.

Yes. I was afraid, but I took a moment to breathe and look into those drawn eyes. They weren’t filled with hatred or disgust. They were staring with that resolve of existing eons with a purpose—a purpose he fulfilled willingly.

It almost made sense to me, but just because you see someone in a different light doesn’t mean you don’t let suspicion keep your mind sharp. Sometimes, a bit of fear is what you need to keep yourself protected—a reasonable amount between careless and paranoid.

And, let me tell you, this was not paranoia.

Backing up into the search brought me to the last few paragraphs I was willing to read on a new page. There was a short story halfway down. Seems some author took a fancy to Death and shared his divine art with the world.

The work “The Raven and Reaper” had a picture of a shrouded figure with a bird upon his shoulder near the top. It was a simple etching into the white background of the page, but that tiny figure represented the entirety of the words beneath.

Recalling a bit, it sounded something like…

Here we see the forever-inconsolable. The entity of eternity—our own demise and rebirth—the Reaper.

This creature of time and sand takes the form relatable to his victims, but may never truly live amongst them. There are many beings and creatures that may stand by his side for a moment of companionship; but alas, he must live on as he helps those to the next life while despising the very essence of his being.

A few paragraphs go by as he watches those in life from a world which morphs to the produced landscapes of the traveler. He watches from a simple throne as humanity stumbles toward the end of their current lives and into the portal of the next. He has guided them since the beginning, and has grown tired of their hatred, their ignorance, and their existence.

The Grand End became inundated with the thankless specks of creation. Doing his task as he had since his brother had begun it all, he retains only the form meant to reveal to them their final moments—that a connection may be made and the future unfurled before them.

He watches on through his infinite sight to see a woman coming to her end. I think she slips or has a heart attack; but either way, her number is up. The main, daddy Reaper has to go and take her soul to Terra Morte where it may be judged and sent forth into the next… wherever it goes.

Death takes a break; even the eternal need a vacation. I think it continues…

From those fingertips spawns a blackened smog. Twisting, fusing, and morphing together brings forth a creature of our departing moments—a simple raven that now stands upon his stiff fingers.

“Forgive me, but I leave this to you.” The Raven turns to the vision of this woman. To the child beyond her, to the man beyond that, to the sleeping couple in the burning house, to the murdered boy in the alley behind your local shopping mall, to the soldier whose homeland has become nothing more than a battlefield and cemetery, to the sailor and his daughter who fish upon the ocean without knowledge of the coming storm, and to the mother who excitedly strains herself for the gift of new life—only to lose her own.

“Where?” The Raven bounces on his hand, but the eyes keep fixated on the Reaper’s.

He sends out his own form of creation. His brother may be the Creator, but he isn’t without his own talent for the piecing together of life. It isn’t his grandest pleasure, but trying something new keeps people excited and fights off boredom—even sadness.

Death tells the raven that it is his job to go out and take the souls. Sort of like his army of reapers; those wonderfully dull pieces of himself. Death demands the bird do his bidding, but the intelligent creature refuses. In this display of defiance, the King of the Dead spreads his molting wings and pumps some badass energy into his land of unending vicissitude.

The bird, essentially, pisses off Death himself. Something most people wouldn’t do, but I guess the raven was a piece of him. It was something that he personified (or birdified) to vocalize something he’d forgotten within himself. A tiny, feathered creature looks to his creator and calls him chicken. Pretty ballsy if you ask me.

The reaper listens to the bird…

As simple as the Reaper exhibits himself—the scythe reflects such humbleness. Black and silver metal extends beyond the fading flames of the forsaken, fake environment. The crescent blade turns itself at the will of its Master—reaches around the neck of the stiff and confident Raven. “Am I not your Master, Raven? Am I not the Reaper of all?”

“Reaper, yes!” Strength within the eyes of the flight-able beast. “Go, Reap!” The bird looks to the blade that abrades the flesh and feathers—a quick peck shakes the stiffened hold it has upon the mortal bird’s existence. “Reap!”

Eyes of false vision widen—to surprise even the being that has existed since life originated. “Reap?” The blade eased away from the child of his own blackened aura; feathers for feathers.

“Reap!” Calling out to his Creator, the Raven beckons a change—actions to be taken. “Reap!”

So, Death listens to him. He hears the words that come from the beak of his own creation. Looking into the world of humanity, toward the woman suffering and unable to die, he is reminded of his importance and desire to destroy—an ending to all things in balance with his kin. Taking pride in one’s work isn’t such a bad thing.

Death cries out in a revitalizing revelation of his regardful ravishing of mankind. He had found himself because of the disobedience of his own creature. The raven spoke truth which his master hadn’t found in his solitude and silence…

“Forever and ever shall I reap—and forever I shall have purpose.” Black wings and tattered cloths broaden and fade from the far and distant world—mankind’s world is once again invaded by the welcomed Reaper.

Still in the home world of the Reaper flies the Raven. Back to the throne atop stone and fire—a world of snow or desert, the Raven lands atop the throne’s head. Making itself comfortable, the Raven watches as the human’s fearful eyes soon fall to rest easy and glance on eternity with motionless vision.

Atop the stone throne stands the Raven—watching the Master work—watching the Master restore reason and order in the existence of his own existence—watching the Master from afar as His saving Grace.

“Purpose.” Squawking calls, the Raven hops excitedly watching the Creator of change and death. “Given purpose!” The bird’s voice soothes as the head cocks—the black eyes watching the careful movements of the Creator from afar. God’s brother—Death, has returned.

“Purpose.”

That ending got me. Death accepts what must be done… something I couldn’t do. I would fight tooth and nail to resist the passing of my destiny. But Death took up his scythe and reclaimed the position granted to him by chance of nothingness. He took up the mantle of which his eternal existence was fashioned.

A true ruler that does what is needed and not what is most desired by his subjects. He watched and listened to even the weakest surrounding him and reconstructed himself, bettered himself, with the wisdom he’d heard.

He was an inspirational character, and yet I would ignore his example.

Instead, I looked down to the photo I had drawn and watched his eyes for any movement. There was none. Nothing but the variant sketch of God’s brother.

I kept him out, and I only glanced down to him when I felt a finger of ice upon my skin. I found myself searching my usual sites having found closure in my studies. He was not the beast I feared, but the figure I would simply await.

He wasn’t to blame for our end, and that was a truth I found in myself. It was soothing, and so I laughed throughout Funnyjunk and similar sites.

Death wasn’t coming to kill me in some horrible way, and he had never done it before. I surfed through trash and gold on the web while my eternal companion’s eyes examined me.

He watches over us all forever; waiting for his chance to bring us peace. I went to bed hours later, and I knew she had found her peace with him and in the paradise he led her to.

She didn’t yell at him. She wouldn’t have swung at or pushed him. She would have walked beside him—perhaps taking his hand and thanking him.

I said my words to her as I stared into her framed eyes. The picture of Death rested between the keyboard and screen while I prayed to my mother. She had found peace in this life’s end.

This also, was truth.

Chapter 17

Out of the house before the rest of the family wakes up. The usual routine. Escape the dungeon. Take no prisons! Jail break!

It was finally chilled enough, I gathered from looking up the weather on the computer, that I should at least bring my usual winter outfit—even though shorts would do for my legs. I put on a black hoodie with the hood resting just above my eyes. It was a pullover type with the long strings that never seemed to stay even. Next, a leather jacket went over that.

About as fashionable as I got really. It was good enough to keep me warm in any weather I’d have to deal with. Practicality over looks, right? Not really a fancy getup, but it got the job done.

Biking down the empty road was nice. No birds or people to watch me as I pedaled to school. A new sense of understanding soothed my recently troubled soul. Everything seemed as though it were returning normal; however, our perceptions can be manipulated by the lack of proof it hasn’t changed. Just because we do not see or feel does not mean it is not or has not.

The picture of the ravens’ master was tucked into the notebook in my backpack. My guitar case hung at my side as it always did. I went down the quickest path—one most traveled. Not a single feathered creature… that was until I found myself at school.

Atop the flagpole, where the flag was in its usual place halfway up the metal, a raven sat with watching eyes. It seemed to gaze down as if studying each student that entered the building, but once I approached the grounds he turned those attentive eyes on me.

Paying attention to the little guy, I walked my bike up the sidewalk and chained it beside the school. Occasionally looking over my shoulder at him, I found him only watching. No squawking or flapping. He just analyzed my every move with intelligent eyes.

A lone bird wasn’t enough to startle me. So, I could look at him with a bit of understanding. Beside the front steps, I met his gaze. I felt as though I were understanding him—again, the wrongs of my perceptions.

I knew nothing of him, but at least I stood confident in his presence. Reading up on how people viewed his creator let me believe I could trust him. As long as he didn’t swoop down and pluck my eyes out or something, I was cool with him staying outside and watching.

Must have been a few minutes of standing there because Cage came up and broke me out of my observation. “Hey, ready for class. What are you looking at?” I spun to Cage, but he was already following my eyes. “A crow?”

“Raven.” I shrugged and looked back to the bird with my friend. “They’ve been all over lately.”

“Weird. Probably going south soon.”

“Ravens don’t usually migrate.” The bird cocked his head momentarily to Cage and then back to me. “Smart little dudes. They find food even when there isn’t much to live on.”

“Brutal. Guess that’s why you drew one, huh? You like them?” Cage smiled while the bird, even from his distance, was visibly looking at whomever was speaking. “I can see why.”

“Messengers of secrets and Death.” I nodded as if it were the label they had always been given… a ranking as high as the angels which fill the court of the Creator.

“That’s kind of weird.” Cage began to move toward the institute of our various studies. “Coming?”

“Yeah,” I nodded and, in response, so did the bird. As if he understood every word we spoke. Even from the distance across the front lawn; the bird knew what we said and agreed.

Band went by quickly. We played music that had its place in the art but not in my heart. I moved my fingers along as I had to. Cage was already beginning to show signs of true progress. His fingers were moving slowly across the strings as his eyes stayed on the sheets of music.

We were preparing for our unborn band’s first show. He said he’d talk to the guys about it after class, and so I’d just walk to my next class alone. Math would be waiting for me to ignore it. Most will use it in their lives, but I don’t think the Pythagorean theorem would save any more lives when it came to the End War.

On my way to class though, the hallways spread out in disruption. This kid, Seth, was bullying as he usually did. Some nerdy kid (not to be mean, but I call them like I see them) I didn’t know was getting pushed into his locker while Seth laughed and swore. No one stopped him because of his size and uncaring ideals toward the school or punishment. The rest of us stayed in line while another of our species suffered.

“Little bitch. Come on. What? Going to take a swing?” Of course not, dumbass. He wasn’t about to put himself in real danger against Seth’s ogre genetics. He was a tall, tan-skinned, shaggy black-haired kid. He was the type of kid that you’d assume was an adult at fifteen or sixteen; why would the kid he pushed want to duel that? “Bitch.” He pushed him again. The sound of metal rang out as his body struck it.

What a bunch of useless wastes we were. This kid would go on to get bullied more. Shoved and put into a place that wasn’t his to belong in. Instead of helping, we all watched with passing eyes as he suffered. We all want to change the world for our betterment, and yet, we can’t even change it for the better of our own brethren.

Keeping my eyes down, I walked by. Sorry kid. Ain’t my battle today. I thought this as if it were a viable excuse or explanation to my apathy… a trait I hated most in people.

I do hate that. Something should be done. I wasn’t the fighting type, but who needs to fight?

I picked up the pace and got to math class. Explaining to the teacher (in a whisper, of course) what I just saw, he stood up and rushed out into the hallway. That old guy could sure move when someone needed help. More than I could say for myself… at least at the time.

With my teacher moving toward Seth and his victim, I took my seat behind Katy. She had already taken her place leaning over her desk to talk to Andria in front of her. I, on the other hand, took out my notebook and opened it to the next blank page in the back of the notebook where Death awaited my wondering stare.

“This class is going to kill me. I don’t understand anything,” Katy exaggerating as usual. “He’s so boring. You got any more of those pills?” Such a thing should be whispered, right? Nope. Just blatantly requesting chemical aids in class. Someone could have called them out on it, but who cared really? Pop ‘em if you got ‘em.

“Of course.” Andria pulled out a small bottle from her backpack. I guess amphetamines were acceptable if the government gave it the seal of approval. A lot of kids in my days were given the drug because they were energetic, or bored, or just plain inattentive. “Got tons.”

Katy swallowed the pill dry and giggled. “Thanks. I’ll need it to get through this shit.”

The teacher still hadn’t returned. He was pursuing the bully and his prey. I had already prepared my notebook for more doodles and lyrics. Death was moved from one page to the next. Keeping him close was a new task I took upon myself.

Something that well done and that important couldn’t be left out for others to find or destroy. With him below the page on the left, I began moving my pen across the white of the right.

“Doctors just give this out now. I didn’t even have to say anything. My mom told them she thought I couldn’t pay attention. She’s so stupid. I just nodded along and got these.” Andria placed the bottle back into the bag with a smile. “Best thing she’s ever done for me.”

The scribbles became that of the topic. A bottle resting on its side with pills scattered about it. That part was quick and done with basic skill. I started drawing a clawed hand beside it.

“I need to get some. ‘Bout time we get something good out of medicine.” Katy took her seat and prepared herself for the rush—a focus with wide eyes and jittering limbs.

The arm connected to the hand moved into the background of the picture. Body parts began to connect as the form of a young woman took shape. Her head was turned toward the viewer. Her eyes were blank and mouth foaming. Hair framed her face; the same cut Andria wore so well.

“Can’t make it through the day without these.” Andria grinned at her friend as they shared the proverbial peace pipe. “You should definitely get your mom to take you in. They just give them out!”

No one batted an eye. Those pills were part of our everyday lives, and this was the result. Maybe some need chemical help, but kids that just don’t give a damn are not among the ranks.

So, the mouth foamed in the picture. The body twisted unnaturally. The eyes were lifeless. The hand reached out for more pills instead of help. All things I thought spoke well of the dependency of our culture.

“Sorry kids.” The teacher returned. He was breathing heavily and pressing his long sleeves against his forehead to soak up the sweat. “Just some issues that needed handling.”

Class began, and still I drew. No lyrics or poems. Just the shading and lining of Andria’s fate. I didn’t see it vividly in my head or feel it as truth, but the picture began to take form as the one beside it.

Shading that was all uniform produced a more three-dimensional image. Lines across the skin and clothes gave a sense of flesh and fabric. The eyes, mouth, and pills were the focal concepts; each securing my eyes until they were developed.

I didn’t even hear the teacher’s lessons. Only the lifeless body that resembled Andria had claimed my attention. Truth came to my ignorant hands.

I wouldn’t have known that in my years of incarceration she had met her end at the bottom of a tiny bottle. Doctors and acquaintances wrote a plethora of prescriptions. Pills she had found security in would steal everything from her—leaving her a helpless corpse with only tiny, white creatures to look after her.

Continuing my drawing, I enjoyed the chance to draw as if I’d known what I was doing. Everything I wanted to come out of my mind was produced across the page of white and blue lines. Her future suffering was my momentary joy.

How could I have known? It was just a drawing.

Chapter 18

Hours flew by as if the separation between the sides of an hourglass were opened wide. Nothing kept me focused. I bet, had that sort of behavior continued, I would have ended up with the same pills the girls shared. I was all over the place.

It was a thrill really. I could draw! Something I’d envied in my friend had finally blossomed! All it took was the shock of Death’s presence to catalyze a lifetime of practice into a few days.

“Let’s go practice,” Cage was already waiting for me by the front doors of the school. I put on my signature style of sweatshirt and leather jacket. I remember the wind coming straight toward the doors, and how it only caused a fraction of a shiver when compared to the fingers which occasionally found themselves creeping up my back.

“What else would I do until I had to work?” We began walking down the street—bike, of course, beside me. Raven eyes glared down toward us as we moved by the pole he stood upon. He had waited for me the entire day.

Had the flag been fully up the length, his form may have gone unnoticed. Instead, he kept guard atop the metal. Far above the stars and stripes, the bird which whispers Death’s commands and secrets examined the movements of my peers.

I walked on with the bird at my back. He could look on in wonder or analyze me as he wished. I didn’t much care after what I’d read. And besides, he was one fricking bird. I think I could handle one. One haymaker and call it a day.

But one small bird, when directive by the voice of an Eternal, can change the very path of existence. Does it carry with it a germ which will plague the world until all must be reborn through ash? Or does it carry a seed that spreads like wildfire to produce a nutritious fruit that births a new age?

We were almost to Cage’s house when I noticed we weren’t alone. The leaves which had begun to fall danced about us, but some fell unnaturally. Clumps of leaves and even small branches were beginning to fall from the numerous trees in yards or across the street.

I could hear it. The soft pat of a tree’s limb dropping to the grass. It fell to be claimed by those dying blades, and with time it shall become life for awakening fields and the body which it once belonged. Life continues in every moment, even when our ears and eyes keep themselves shielded from the natural progression.

“What are you looking at?” Cage was leaning forward. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?”

“Sorry,” I turned to see that three or four blocks had gone by since the raven on the pole. Ever since, I hadn’t heard anything but the tunes of trees, wind, and grass. “Just so much going on.” I pointed over to the yards where nothing but dying plants and silent homes stood.

“Didn’t know you smoked at school,” Cage smirked with his insinuation. “At least share.”

“Not that, dick.” I looked back into the yard across the street and up one house. Another branch stumbled through its brothers and sisters to find eternal peace on the cold ground. Looking through reds and yellows, I found the culprit.

“What are you looking at?” Cage stopped moving to shrug. “We don’t have much time to practice. Shouldn’t we get a move on?”

I lifted my left hand slightly to point toward the tree’s upper branches.

Cage followed with a huff, “So what? It’s a raven.”

“A raven,” and then I pointed to the tree behind it and to the right. “And three more.”

I pointed and counted. Turning a half circle to register the fullness of their conspiracy. “Twenty-three. Twenty-four.” By the time I finished my spin, “Thirty-nine. Forty.”

I looked around to see if I’d missed any. There might have been more between the wooden enclosures, but they weren’t added to my count. Forty ravens watched us from the lofty brush of fading giants.

“What the Hell are they all doing here?” Cage was turning with me. Even an ignorant soul such as his noticed the chill in the air. A wind with no physical force or pressure, but a power that seemed to press upon the naked spirit within.

“I don’t know.” They ruffled themselves and twisted their heads. No words. No flying. Only an ambush of silent eyes to remind me of my worries.

Just when you find confidence something can peck away at the foundation. A hole can tear open in the mind by witnessing a dream in life. The lost connections of an area between memory and nothing can make your heart skip a beat.

There’s no reason I should have been panicked, but my heart contracted and released with anxiety. Chemicals which produce fight-or-flight responses were pumped into the veins. I didn’t know which it would be… only that every pair of eyes was on me.

“We should keep walking.”

“That’s,” I wanted to move. I wanted to keep going. My damn legs wouldn’t budge, “Why?”

“What?” Cage was slowly inching forward and turned to me with narrowed eyes. “Why what?” I saw him staring at me as I spun my head. Features on his face were contorted into a type of annoyance. Paying him no mind, I kept observing the gathered blackness about me. “They’re just dumb, fucking birds.”

“No,” the one I looked at began to shuffle and turned toward Cage for a moment. Then he returned to meet my gaze. “They have something to say.”

“That makes no sense.” Cage shrugged and started walking backward. “So, if you want to stay with the birds, be my guest. I’m going back to practice.”

“I’m coming.” The fight hadn’t come. The flight never really was possible. Instead, I moved with my friend; those cold fingers moving up my spine. As one may see the enemy line fill the horizon, I found myself walking through the valley of Death.

Not a stone to bash my foot on. Not a sword to split my flesh. Not a single arrow to steal my breath away. Only the eyes of those which know of me. The eyes of purpose and knowledge.

I walked through the valley of Death.

And I was afraid.

Chapter 19

After the jam session, the long hours at work (a nice new check in my pocket), and the bike home, I was ready to sleep… well, more so my body was ready. My brain was in that odd boundary between hopeless worry and accepted apathy. Would I be able to sleep? Would I be able to erase, or at least hide, those forty pairs of eyes from my mind?

I didn’t think I would.

I knew I couldn’t.

They’d gathered strategically along our route. We walked without leaving footprints, and they silently lined the path as gawking villagers may have stood to witness the king’s daily stroll… or the soon-to-be executed prodded toward his final breath.

I guess both are right, in a way.

Entering my house only exacerbated my dilemma. There was a sense of dread in the air. I could feel that stinging energy seeping from behind the door to the kitchen. Even in the darkness of the garage, it felt as though I were being watched—like a big burning eye over a tower peering over the miles.

Take a breath. It can’t be that bad.

I hadn’t even opened the door before I heard the heavy steps of someone with heated veins. Looking to the floor, I saw the shadow approach without warning. It soared over the tiles of the kitchen and up to cover my legs. All light seemed to vanish.

Smack.

That’s how I was greeted. Welcome home son, was far too much to ask for.

Those fingers carried the scent of whiskey with them. A stench of enjoyable poison lingered on my cheek. As the hand carried itself to my right, my face with it, I could have almost gagged at the smell.

Drunk enough to start with violence, with fingers coated in the spilt drink, and a lack of humanity; the woman stared through black strands of her wild hair. It was another wild night of inebriated propensities.

In other words… she acted like a total bitch.

“At last, his highness returns.” Twin witches snarled at me.

“I,” enough of me talking. Her hand lifted and swung in reverse. A ring made of cheap metal dug itself into my lower lip. She pushed through the resistance as if slicing through water.

“You don’t get to talk. I ask you to do a few chores and you can’t do a single, fucking one.” I stood still but kept my guitar behind me; still slung over my shoulder. “Your father and I are tired of this shit!”

“What do you want me to do?” Don’t look her in the eye. She takes that as a challenge. Those black holes were more frightening than the entourage of ravens. If I just played along she’d run herself out. She’d only swing a bit. She’d only hit until she was satisfied.

If I talked back… if I rose a single finger toward her… she’d hit beyond her enjoyment. She’d swing and swear until I gave up and she was exhausted. These last years she’d figured it best to keep it beneath the clothes. Hide the evidence and be free another day.

In that state, she only wanted to make me suffer. For what reason? I was my father’s son from another marriage? I was the kid that never called her mommy and sucked on her tits?

I don’t know… it’s for the best she never saw me change.

She wouldn’t have seen me revert back.

But this when, the time I’m speaking of, she held all the power. Had I hit her or lashed out, my father would have heard of it. His mindless eyes would have looked down on me and spoken words she had slipped into his ears. Like a slug from some far-off planet, she’d pull at his nervous system’s strings to function his role in the “family”.

Blood dripped from the middle of my lip. Letting it flow was for the best. Let her take pride in her work against the passive. What a mother she had become. What a fucking delight her own mother would have seen her daughter become.

“I want you to do your damn job around here!”

Another swing. A right hand fell flat against the same cheek it had struck before. It burned. In the moment she carried my head sideways, I saw her face.

No care. Of course not.

“Worthless bastard!”

Another backswing forced me against the countertop beside the entrance. I rested for a moment while she reached her left hand behind me and slammed the door.

I could see her daughter at the table. Eating some chicken and vegetables as normally as if she were watching television at dinner. Just watched me as so many watched Seth perform his daily rituals.

Just like that.

My false mother found readied herself. She placed one bony hand against my right collar bone and recalled it with my jacket in its grip; a skeleton dragging the damned down.

Tears were welling up in response to my homecoming, but I spent all my energy trying to keep them back. Stay happy, it was the only thing I could do. It was all I had to strive for.

“You think you’re so happy, huh? You little shit. Answer me when I’m talking to you!” She went for a horizontal strike across my forehead. This made my skull shake. Everything became a series of stars and blurs.

“You don’t have any smartass comments? Finally learned how to shut you up!” She giggled a bit while she swayed. Her voice got stronger and softer in sickening slurs. Black hair swung about her face as she continued, “’Bout damn time!”

She shoved me.

Pushing off from me, I hit my back against the door she had placed between me and the world beyond.

When my backpack hit the door, so did my guitar. I could hear the metallic beauty jostle against the wood. Luckily, nothing broke. My pack cushioned me, but my one concern was the gift of a greater woman.

I looked up.

Mistake.

Another swing. This one sent lights into each direction as if she’d slapped the world away from me. Black hair almost looked red in that moment. Her wild hair lifted against the illumination from her back.

The smile was wrong, but it was as if a real mother were looking at her injured child. That smile (if you didn’t see her eyes above it) brought the tears out. I’d been hit hard enough to hallucinate, and the trip was worth it.

What if, as it should have been. As I could have lived!

The apocryphal angel graced me with a glimmer of hope—a chance to see beyond the disgusting existence I’d called life. Her wings reached out around her; beyond the counter’s edge and to the wall to my right.

Each wing encased me, one at a time, with a quick lashing. A heavenly beating at least lifts the spirits and encourages the mind. It was a gift to be beaten by something so wonderful—at least the demon had been replaced for the moment.

But with the wings shifted my vision, the demon and angel became a corpse. Decayed and burned in the harsh light. Her smile peeled back over her teeth in an involuntary action. Singed flesh shriveled to express the madness.

Laughing after a painful death, this creature of the undead swung until my legs gave out. I let my body slide down the counter. Wooden flakes chipped off as my clothes and skin brushed down its exposed insides. A few found their way beneath my skin, but nothing close to the punishment endowed for unclear reasons and perverse justifications.

“I wish I didn’t have to deal with your shit.” She knelt down. A shadow of the dead which clawed its way to my turned ear. “You’d be better off dead.” She shook her head slowly at me. I couldn’t quite see through the escaping tears and jumbled brain.

She, the woman meant to bring youth up in this world, dug her nails into my face to make me look at her. When I refused, she bolted the hand across my face and secured my head again.

“Look at me,” she got inches from my face. I looked into her inhuman eyes as my newest mother spoke directly to me, “We’d be better off.”

She left me there. She stumbled away. The form was that of a shambling corpse escaping the tomb in search of something else to consume.

Sam only looked at me once more after her mother had left the room. She returned to her food while copying her mother’s disapproving expression—as if I’d been given justice for wrongs done.

I sat there until I could function. It was a while until I could do so; even after Sam had taken her leave. At last, I found the strength to retreat within my sanctum.

Across the kitchen and to the stairs. I just had to get behind that one door I cared about. Get away from it all.

“Thomas,” I froze as my shaking hand reached the banister. The deepness of the voice broke the silence of my lonely suffering.

“Yes?” I didn’t turn. I didn’t want to look at the ghoul which had replaced half of my foundation. Instead, I stared at the fourth step. I kept my eyes there as best I could while the tears fell across the screaming skin.

“You aren’t going to school tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” an order given and received. The true highness of the house had proclaimed my morrow’s events—caged within the Hell of his domain.

So, I climbed. Up the stairs and into my room where I could lick my wounds and curse the name of my family.

The angel had come and gone with as much violence as the demon. As least the burned corpse had the decency to leave me to my solitude and agony. With the grin of a decayed lunatic, the harpy opened her blackened heart and let the soulless energy unleash itself on the weak. Woe, be my blasted name of Markey.

I sat on my bed. My bag and guitar rested at my feet. I was still in my work clothes and jacket.

“What could I have done?” As if anything would answer me.

My fingertips felt the bumps swelling on my face. Each new mound sent a shockwave of fire through my nerves. Take my hands away, I found watery blood coating my fingers. I didn’t need to go to the hospital at least; just had to hope the monster was done.

Once my checkup had finished, I bent over to open my case. The dim light of my room reflected off the instrument. Each peg shined brightly with the lamp’s soft life.

Examining the guitar was my first priority after myself. I had only checked myself with my hands, and that was good enough. I hadn’t gone blind, I hadn’t lost teeth, and I hadn’t lost a lot of blood… I was fine.

As fine as I could be, given the circumstances.

It was fine.

Black, unscathed, intact. It was a blessing that the wretch hadn’t taken it away from me. The single most important item of my passions.

I slipped the guitar back into the bag and placed it on the floor at the end of my bed. As I knelt down with my property, I heard the footsteps of those tormentors beyond my walls. I knew not who strolled in the darkness near my door, but any possible option was one I feared.

Was my blood not enough? Was my soul their intent? Would it be best…

I should die.

There it was. That single thought. Many have it, but overcoming it is our natural instinct. Self-preservation friends. Sadness is temporary, and to give into the hopeless moments of now forgoes all gladness that may balance or relinquish it.

I’d be better off dead.

But still I walked on the tips of my toes to the handle of my door. A poster of Ozzy stood with arms outstretched against the wooden barrier. To his left, I reached out and slowly turned the lock.

It won’t matter. She’ll get through if she wants.

At least a moment more. At least a moment to act against her was enough… or maybe it wasn’t.

I don’t know. Even thinking back is hard. The thoughts of worthlessness and despair began to force my body into a cold sweat. The cold fingers needn’t touch me—the shiver had found its way into my spine by means of human hands.

One of my towels from the drawer soaked up the liquids.

I can’t stand it here. I want to die. Just die.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I leaned against my arms which propped me up against my legs. The warmth on my face was gradually removed at the less-than-gentle touch of the red towel. Easy enough to hide the stains.

Once dried of my own tears and blood, I threw the towel to the ground and removed my jacket. Swapping out my uniform for comfortable clothes, I laid on my bed and stared at the ceiling.

If I was with her. We could be happy.

I turned my head to see the photo of my mother smiling at me. Those happy eyes which still held life—back from when she could still remember my face and name.

I should be with you.

The chain around my neck fell in reaction to natural gravity (I’d assume). Out from beneath the black shirt came the circled medallion of my mother’s favorite, heavenly soldier. Swirling as it fell, the metal stopped with his feet at the base of my neck and his flaming weapon drawn upward and away from me.

Do it. I thought this as if he’d perform the act himself. Wishing for another’s hand to carry out your execution is some of the easiest to consider. What are you waiting for? Why do yourself what you can manipulate others to?

No words or rays of blinding lights. Only the simple metallic relic of a dead woman.

You’ve done nothing.

Ravens had gathered to examine me.

What good are you?!

I’d felt the strikes of she who was charged with my care and development.

Screw you!

I began to roll violently as I struggled to remove the necklace. The chain dragged against the tender skin of my cheeks, but the pain was worth the satisfaction of being freed from the eyes of the apathetic warrior.

My hand, once fully extended, released the metal so that it flew through my room. Bouncing off the wall with a loud bang, it twisted around itself and fell into the shadows at the far side of my room. I watched it drop beyond the edge of my bed and sight.

Screw you.

A soft whine came from the room next to mine. I sat still wishing Dillon back to sleep. I exhaled after a few moments of silence.

I turned to my mother’s photo. No loving arms would shield me from the world of man and Death. Ravens would swarm and people would hurt—themselves and others.

She was gone and at peace. Death had taken her beyond the world of suffering. It was a thought that brought back that hope.

Death had freed her.

Death had opened up the universe to the debauched consciousness of a single woman. He had provided a miracle of life beyond life. Death was the savior.

I want to be with you.

I did not pray. I didn’t say her name or think it.

Instead, I reached out and pulled her photo closer. Perhaps tomorrow would be my last day. The concept eased the physical pain. Hoping the horrific pain I felt welling up inside would end brought more tears.

Sobbing and exhausted, I expended all I had left until I slept. The world had shown me enough to hate, and my soul found fear bloomed as roses within this loathing. Eyes were always watching, judging, and extorting.

Terror of living and life had grown within me. It took root as a sickness. With bark covered in thorns and limbs which strangled, the plant took hold of who I was.

No longer did I need to walk through the Valley of Death.

I needed only exist in the world of the living.

Chapter 20

I dreamt. Darkness was all that existed. Each of the other Horsemen will tell you the same. We’ve all found our beginnings in darkness… darkness isn’t to be feared. It is what calls darkness home which breeds nightmares with Hell.

I walked on through empty space. Just solid nothing. Only the lifeless void carried on in all directions as I moved toward an unknown destination.

My own body was visible. I wore my sweatshirt and leather jacket as I had during the day. Jeans and my shoes covered my lower half. I lifted the hood of the sweatshirt. It wasn’t cold or warm, but the world’s blackness was like a pressure. I tried to block it out.

Blinding myself at the edges, I sought from beneath my shawl. Blinding myself to the darkness was more bearable. So, step after step brought me further into infinity.

Just as my first dream of the world beyond, I found time moved by rather slowly. It could have been days or simply minutes. In dreams we have purpose we don’t understand. Thoughts are almost nonexistent. We move because it is as the subconscious dictates—or something else entirely.

Often an enjoyable relief from the world of the living, we take on the mindless tasks of our sleeping selves. Fly through the air, bathe in the seas flowing uphill, drink fire, and change forms as if we’d always been capable of doing so.

This time went by. No worries or cares. I’d put on my blinders and trotted on. A lumbering golem marching to the beat of the silent world.

In this eternity, loneliness became an adequate companion. It wasn’t until something else came into the world that I minded being in solitude. A disembodied squawk interrupted the fragile tranquility.

A raven, I am sure, called out to me from somewhere in the universe. Blending into the backdrop kept the bird safe. No predators as far as I could see, but slithering and crawling creatures beyond the reach of light remained feasible.

“Where am I?” The bird’s call brought a portion of my conscious mind into the front. Enough to answer his call, but not enough for emotional turmoil to immobilize me.

There was a lasting silence as I hustled myself. Wherever it came from, the bird was the messenger. My dreams had shown me that, and something worth finding had to be out there. It had to be better than the eternity I had been placed in.

From my right came another squawk. Far in the distance of the world without horizon. It sounded as if the beak were pointed away from me.

Both legs spun me toward the sound, and I sped into a jog. No one stopped me, no stones blocked my way, and not a single eye froze my body with hypnotic stares. There was only the black of the world, the black of my hood, and the infrequent call of the leading bird.

Soon the bird’s voice called directly to me. From somewhere ahead, it awaited me. No cares, just keep running. As if chased by the soul of the immense darkness behind me, I fled from where I’d been to the unknown.

That feeling that something will grab you from under your car at night… or perhaps, something is just behind your closet door. That’s what it was like. That constant feeling that something, or someone, dangerous had found its way behind you or just around the corner. You feel it as your ass clenches and your legs begin moving in front of your body. You hurry and hope you outrun the horrors.

Running in silence, I came upon the bird. Unable to see him well in his camouflage, his body lifted off the ground to hop and squawk that I cease. Suddenly coming to a stop, I slid a bit on the odd floor.

“There you are,” I talked down to the creature that cocked its head from one side to the other. I wasn’t exhausted or out of breath. Happiness to find something other than myself overcame me. “What is it?”

The raven hopped back twice and looked me up and down. It opened its beak and spoke.

“You aren’t going to school tomorrow.”

Well, the joy left. It rushed out of me as if my gasp had expelled it. I took two steps back in response.

“You’d be better off dead.” Spoken exactly as the drunken wretch had.

I shook my head and continued a slow retreat.

“We’d be better off.”

I was about to turn and run. I was going to sprint away from the little, mocking bastard until I turned and he squawked out his next line.

“I can’t stand it here. I want to die. Just die.” A voice that didn’t sound like mine, but I knew it at once. The voice inside our heads is different. It speaks peculiarly at times, and it’s not restricted to the vocal chords our bodies are. It is truth and imaginative. My own mind was speaking.

Gradual steps spun me to face the bird again. My hands were prepared to shield myself if it attacked. I was unable to determine if its intentions were aggressive or that of an ambassador.

“I want to be with you.” The raven hopped toward me.

I recoiled a bit. It’s mimicking had been spot-on. The memories of those words were not as clear as his wide-open beak could reproduce.

“What do you want?”

“I want to be with you.” Same words, but the voice was softer. He kept his wings at his side and his body horizontal over his bent legs. Both sides of his beak were separated to let the voices be heard.

Shaking my head and shivering a bit at the thought; the only living thing in the world, besides myself, was freaking me the Hell out. It cocked its head again and again to gauge my reaction. It hopped excitedly. Anticipation of our conversation caused the bird to move about energetically and click its beak together.

“I don’t,” I thought my answer would cause an issue. “Why did you say those things?”

“I want to be with you.” The same answer gave me the same chill.

A numbed mind, eased of that deadly terror, let me drop to my haunches and cock my head at the bird. Copying his movements so our eyes stayed on each other’s. We moved back and forth in unison.

“Why,” I did my best to ignore the chill that leapt up my vertebrae with every word. “Why do you want to be with me?”

“What good are you?” The words weren’t harsh. Setting the connection, its recorded sentence brought the image of the pendant. Once I nodded and the image of the angel was perfectly formed in my head (sword held above me and feet coming to my throat) the bird continued, “Screw you!”

I chuckled. It seemed logical at the time he understood my thoughts. He was using them to speak after all. Don’t think too hard about the dreams you have, but let them happen and do your best to interpret them later… if you can remember them, that is.

“Right?” I felt myself relax as my backside slide from my legs and onto the darkness. “You hit the nail on the head, buddy.”

He kept turning his head like the hands of a clock, but I found myself enjoying the company and found a comfortable position. I leaned over my knees with both arms making a ledge for my chin. I watched the raven’s jittery movements. I enjoyed them as one may find delight in the act of a jester or magician.

“Where are we?” I spoke with a quiet voice as to not disrupt my feathered friend.

“Dead.” The word was spoken in the voice of my stepmother and my inner-self.

“Dead?” I only let my eyes examine the world for a moment before they pulled back to the bird. “I don’t believe that. I’m just dreaming.”

The bird froze and then straightened. It locked its knees and looked at me with the confidence of the eagles that prey upon vermin and fish.

“Dead.” This voice was only mine. It was a voice that possessed the severity of my desire and intent.

“That’s scary.” I smiled at the glaring raven. “If I’m dead, that means this is my time to move beyond. Is your master coming?”

“Messengers of secrets and Death,” his beak let my own words come out.

“So, I’m to wait here? I’ve died in my sleep? That doesn’t seem likely,” the bird flapped its wings momentarily. It resumed standing as a horizontal dart made of feathers and a beak.

“Reap,” for the first time in the entire conversation, my dialogue was reciprocated by a genuine voice. The bird spoke once in a screeching tone I’d imagined while reading the online poem. “Reap.”

“I know your master is the Reaper.” My eyes were narrowed in relaxation and my voice was drawn out in the tranquil dream. “Where is he? Where is Death?”

He hopped once, twice, and a third time for the perfect landing. He pushed himself over his own legs with an extended neck. His beak was only feet from me, and he opened wide to call out his demands.

“Reap!”

“What are you on about?” My head only shook a bit from one side to the other, but I think he got my point. I exhaled a deep breath and closed my eyes. “Guess there wasn’t anything to learn this time around. Too bad. I was hoping for more roses.”

“Reap!”

“Don’t you have music for me? Something that can help?” I exhaled again. “Thought these dreams would help me get through it all. Guess I can’t expect too much.”

“Purpose!” It hopped up in place and drove out a scream to be heard.

“Death isn’t coming, is he?”

“Reap!”

“Why don’t you answer me?”

“Reap!”

“Am I really dead? I can’t be. I’m asleep.”

“Reap!”

“Enough!” I lifted my head from rest and shouted at the messenger. “I’ve heard enough. I don’t need this! I’ve got enough to deal with out there! Do you have anything useful for me?” My dreams should provide answers, damn it! I should at least have something!

My raven companion kept still. He looked at me with unblinking eyes. Slick feathers as dark as the universe contained the inner miracle of Death’s own hands, and yet this creature gave no assistance… none that his prerecorded words could be interpreted into.

Why am I here? Why not the field again? That was at least nice.

“Purpose.” The bird almost growled the single word. It was a low voice; one uncommon of the high-pitched notes ravens utilized.

“What’s the purpose then? Can you tell me that?”

“Conquest.” This word startled me. It came from the bird, but the voice was of a man. I had never heard that voice before; and, although spoken as one may speak to family, it was a voice of more than a simple human. There was caring and power in that voice. It would have been the voice I’d expect an angel to have.

“What? Conquest? Conquest of what?”

“I am War!” This voice came out in an explosive wave of anger. There was hatred, a deep sense of bloodlust, in it. It was that of another man… one I would never wish to make an enemy of.

I gathered myself from jumping at the cry. Leaning back over my legs, I continued, “You are War? Who’s War? What the Hell are you—.”

“Famine.” A woman’s voice. It sounded cocky. She was ending her sentence with the word. It seemed as though she were preparing for a battle she anticipated… even found gladness in. Her voice would have made any beating worse; the higher tone of devilish pleasure.

“Conquest? War? Famine?” I shook my head and put one hand against the flesh of my face; free of blemish or wound in the world of my dreams. “What are you talking about?”

“Reap!”

“I said enough of that!” I rose to my feet and pointed down to the bird (now looking up to me in the same fashion of a living projectile). “How could I understand you! Damn bird! I thought I’d find an answer to my problems. I thought I had a chance at something more. But you’re wasting my time. Even my dreams are worthless!”

I spoke out against the world of my subconscious in a way my conscious throat wouldn’t allow. The pointless pointing and blaming carried no weight. I found myself spinning and letting the frustration bloom into anger.

“Why don’t you tell me one useful thing? One! I’ll be happy with that! Just one damn thing!”

“Purpose.”

“You are not a damn bit of help, are you?”

The raven opened its wings and flapped its way to hover at head level—his wings now as silent as an owl’s. I didn’t flinch or run, but I turned to face the creature as if we were about to have a normal conversation. All rage vanished, and we were back to our pleasant palaver.

“Reap.” This time the word was not squawked. It wasn’t screeched. No.

This word was spoken by a voice of something beyond us all. A divine growl of fortitude and compassion. This single word shook the existence I’d found myself a part of. All the darkness quaked at the word, and still I stood still to listen.

Had it been spoken in the world of the living, I am sure the world’s population would have paused in unity. All would heed that voice, by force or by willingly opening themselves.

“With what?” In a state of blissful numbness, I awaited my answer.

The raven beat its wings against the darkness to remain even with my eyes. It opened its beak, but no sounds came from it.

There was light.

A light for the first time since I’d come to the world of nothing. It opened wide and from within its throat came a spark. It flittered in the windless air and died out on its way to the ground. Another spark followed its exit to lift up and sputter out to my left.

From within, the raven was sending embers forth. Soon, there were too many to count as a flurry of burning orbs depleted themselves in combat against the blackness. I watched on without blinking.

The raven lurched and sent a whip of fire our and around itself. Another, like a tentacle, lashed out and swung about the bird. Both limbs of flame struck at the darkness around us.

Fire erupted and spread. Skin, clothes, feathers… the beings of life survived the soulless destruction of all that was never there. Air opened up and burned away as if I stood in a dense fog of semi-flammable gasses.

Bubbles of another world were opened. In each hole torn into the universe, I could see places I’d never been. Searing edges of the openings were widening as their contained plains came into view.

A dessert of reflective sands, a snowy mountain with storms covering its mass, rivers running through a grassland, trees as tall as buildings, worlds I’d never seen and life I’d never known to exist. Creatures that defied natural orders, physics that boggled the mind, and even worlds like Eldritch temples were revealed.

The largest portal was the one directly before me. It was of an island, simple and deserted, that sat within a darkened ocean. It was covered with lush flora and the remains of some unknown peoples, and the white sands of the beach seemed a paradise.

Fire raged around us. The bird and I watched as all creation was viewed in thousands of shredded portals. A message had been sent, and I gazed upon the wonder gifted by the dragon-like raven.

In minutes, all I stood on and all that was present was engulfed in the flame. I could see worlds, but they were blurred through the tongues of fire which rose in all directions. Red and yellow had become my world.

I watched on with calm eyes as the raven closed his beak. We remained facing one another as all of reality, every reality, was touched by the breath of Death.

Then, I did not fear. I accepted the ravishing flames as they bred uncontrollably about me. There was no need to fear what caused me no harm. It licked at my arms and face, but no scorching or peeling to cause me suffering.

Beak open, the bird squawked once more.

I woke up in my bed before the Sun had shown itself through my window. The dream had been lived, but the intent was hazy. I hadn’t a freaking clue what it meant.

Sitting up and on the edge of my bed, I looked over to the picture of the woman I’d kept close. She still smiled as if all the world was perfect. Framed to do so forever.

Beside her, metal rested silently, there was the necklace which, from time to time, had shown with a blue light. The angel laid beside her with his weapon drawn.

The sword of fire.

Chapter 21

I waited in my room until the door downstairs opened and shut three times. A bit of time was spent beside the door; ear pressed against the wood beside the poster to listen for any footsteps. Kept inside a cage like an animal that fears the beasts who lick their chops at the first sight of me.

I could have gone to school and outed them… but them included my dad. And no matter how much of a P.O.S. he let himself become, he was still my dad. I knew that man I adored was in there.

Somewhere below the years of alcohol-soaked skin was a man which taught his beloved son how to ride a bike. There was a man which provided lessons and teachings that none could speak with such certainty as he. His word was a voice of absolute law and reason in my mind. At least… he was.

Showing my swollen face to the teachers without an excuse would mean his name and picture be dragged through the dirt. Even worse, he’d be the first one they accused of the act. His hands may have destroyed many a bottle, but not once in my life had he struck me.

It was that bitch he married. His dependencies left him a man of little resolve. His ideals were present, but only enforced with whimpers and slurred groans. I felt sorry for the man. Or rather, the pathetic creature he’d become.

So fine. Screw it. I didn’t need school. I’d see Cage over the weekend… I hoped.

Tucked in my pocket was an uncashed check. A nice little chunk of change just ripe for the spending. If I wasn’t allowed to go to school, I sure as hell was going to get what I’d been working for. Some ray of happiness was going to be mine.

Once the silence convinced me of an empty house, I prepped myself for the day. Jeans with the check in it, my sweatshirt and jacket, and all the usual things I needed (wallet and the like). Opening the door let in the chill of the house.

Isolation was my punishment for my abuse, but without a warden I was free to roam as I pleased. Suck it. I grabbed myself an apple off the table, a wooden bowl with greens and reds shining with delightful juiciness, and walked straight to the garage.

We left that door unlocked because you needed the code for the garage opener on the outside wall. Unless you had that, you couldn’t even get into the house. No need for house keys to weigh down our pockets. I only had the key for my bike chain beside the wallet.

My bike was waiting for me. A nice black frame and fully aired tires. It did well as my only means of transportation. Not like we had an extra car lying around… and Sam would undoubtedly get it if we did.

Adjusting eyes narrowed even behind my risen hand. The garage let in the growing body of light. It stung my face to squint, but it was a choice of blindness or being uncomfortable. I chose the latter, as I was quite fond of my eyes.

I grabbed my bike by the handle and looked into the mirror dad had placed on the edge of the garage. My bike was propped against the edge of his workbench, and just over my bike hung the dusty glass.

“Pretty good paint job,” I said as I traced the marks across my face. There was a nice lump on the left side where the numerous first strikes had shocked the system.

This made me think of the dream where I wasn’t harmed. Fire had taken over me, and yet I walked unscathed. I looked into the eyes of destruction (or the Hellish mouth of a raven) and saw worlds beyond my own.

We have such sights to show you!

My waking mind couldn’t recall every detail. I couldn’t even remember some of the odd creatures I saw, and you’d think that would be something that stays with you. My right hand pressed against my temples to ease the tension between recollection and the pulse my wounds sent into my skull.

When I was done, I looked into that image again. I glared at myself from beneath my hood; a pitiful boy broken by the hands of his caretaker. Some would have grown from that moment. Not me. Nope. I let it hurt me, made my jokes, and just tried my best to keep smiling.

Smiling hurt.

She’ll try to stop my smiling. I poked at my lip where a scab had ceased the blood. She’ll keep doing it.

I decided against hurting her. It would only lead to more issues, right? I wasn’t at fault. I knew that much, and so I could at least keep smiling.

Turning from the mirror was the best choice. If I didn’t have to look at myself or see her handiwork, I’d be just fine. I could let my mind wander and the thoughts fade. So, I jumped on the bike, closed the garage, and set out with the memories of a speaking raven.

The bank we used was on the other side of town, but I didn’t have anywhere else to be. School would continue on as normal—except the momentary loss of one musician.

No ravens were around. Clear skies exhaled gusts of cold wind through the streets. I biked along the sidewalks with my hood up. Keeping my wounds from the world as best I could until it became necessary to fill my dreams of the day.

“Stay home today,” I spoke with my head pulled into my neck and tongue out. “Don’t blow our life.” I spit to the side and felt a bit of the scab breaking loose. I could have kept talking to myself about how, I’ll show them. I’ll be better. I’ll make them see how dumb they are!

“Bitch-nuts, donkey dick!” I just started swearing into the air. I was far enough away that the houses, had they any people in them during the weekday, were owned by people that wouldn’t find it necessary to track down my parents and rat on me. So, I just kept swearing. “Thundering cunt nugget!” Random assortments of profanities which made no sense.

But damn does it make you feel better!

Don’t question it, just try it! Not around people… wouldn’t recommend that.

But anyways, it made me feel at ease. I calmed down enough that I could think through the dream with a steady flow of blood in my brain.

Reap. The word was repeated as if I’d understand. The raven had taken its time to speak with me, but I wasn’t exactly sure what he’d been speaking of.

Reap.

Purpose.

Conquest.

War.

Famine.

Reap.

I shrugged to myself. More research when I get back. I kept my speed toward the bank. Maybe it was my subconscious telling me what to do about this, I tapped on my face as if explaining it to someone who hadn’t attended the previous night’s one-sided prize fight.

Ravens speaking wasn’t too far out there for a dream, but he used my own words and those of others. It used words I’d heard that night and words I’ve never heard in person. I couldn’t even think of any song or movie I’d seen where those names and phrases were used.

Conquest, War, and Famine.

They had to be names. Labels given as honors or at least a pity metal.

There was something there alright. I knew they’d bring up a lot of search results on the internet. Pretty correct, I’d say. You put even two of the four into the internet and it’ll bring them up. Apparently, they are pretty well known.

Call me ignorant, I guess.

I had no freaking clue about these guys. Maybe, had I stayed in religious classes as my parents use to demand, I’d have been taught about the times to come. I learned about other religion’s stories because it was interesting, but since most of the bible was about a guy preaching peace and love… it didn’t really vibe right with the illogical mind of a teenager.

We are violent. Humanity wants violence. Don’t lie to yourself.

I’m a good person. I don’t like death and violence.

You aren’t bad. You’re human. The Greeks and the Norse had some badass gods and tales of glorious battle. Jesus beat Death (more like got a pass from a willing uncle), but Thor kicked some frost giant ass. Zeus had women to spare. Odin tore out his own eye for the gift of future-sight!

The list goes on. People learn about it because it’s interesting. Spawning games, books, movies, shows, music… every form of media has mentioned or portrayed these delightful psychopaths. It doesn’t go against the Creator to appreciate what He… She… It created.

O.K.

Off track a bit, but I didn’t know.

I didn’t read about the Horsemen. I didn’t get the obvious implication which the raven had brought me. Fire was my main focus. I thought it over and questioned the reason for the raven to spew embers and raging flames. No real correlation I could ascertain. It was all just some weird shit my sleeping brain spewed.

Brick walls and glass doors snapped me out of my own imagination. Putting the pieces together was hard work, and it passed the time effectively. Chaining my bike to the racks at the bank’s front wall, I prepared myself to enter the temple of greed.

An entire building dedicated to taking and distributing money. Greed isn’t a bad thing. It’s what keeps us driven. We want more for ourselves and others. We want the most we can get, and greed is that fuel that propels our beings into action.

I pulled my hood as far as I could over my face without seeming like I was about to rob the place. That’s a real problem, when greed becomes a negative force in someone’s life. That simple emotion can morph into avarice and amplify whispers into a raging inferno of hatred and violence.

Nothing close to that point, I just wanted to cash my compensation for hours in that grease trap of a burger shack. Really, it was unfair reparations for the hard work I put in while others showed up high or screwed off. But that’s a different topic, and we all know life isn’t exactly the posterchild of fairness.

The young woman behind the counter was looking down at her stack of cash… or rather, the bank’s heap of bills. Cameras kept surveillance from all directions. She was recorded by electric eyes all over the building, as if a robotic creature had wired itself through the walls and pipes.

It was a living place. The altar of people devoted to their greed or trying to subdue it. I crossed the shrine’s tile floor until I was at the counter. She didn’t look up from her bills. Counting out twenties in quick succession; silently tallying her total.

“One minute, sir.” I smiled at her act of respect and emotionless face. She’d spoken the words, but I don’t believe anyone on my side of the counter was really worth it in her mind. Maybe I’m just cynical.

“Not a problem.” I took out the check, a bit over a hundred, and set it down. Producing my wallet meant a quick counting of the bills within. A larger sum was inside, and, thinking back, I shouldn’t have kept quantities of easily stolen bills with me over the previous weeks. Ours wasn’t a bad neighborhood, but it just seemed like common sense.

Once finished counting out hundreds of dollars, the woman turned to place the pile next to another just like it. Her left hand rose to swipe the blonde hair over her shoulder. It fell onto her back like waves across the rocks on a beach. Her light complexion was brightened by her blue eyes.

I read her nametag before she fully turned—although in honesty, learning her name was just a perk. Our ages couldn’t have been too far off. She faced me with a smile before our eyes met. Once they did, well I’m sure you know the reaction of seeing someone who looked as if they’d just gotten their ass kicked.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Her startled reaction amused me. Not sure if she actually cared about my wellbeing as one person would care for a stranger, but she almost looked ashamed for acting normal.

“Don’t worry about it,” I grinned with open lips in return. The act brought back the needles under my skin. “Got into an accident.” I pointed to my face with one hand but pushed the check forward with the other. “Just cashing this.”

“Right away,” she took it with gentle fingers pressing onto the farthest edge away from me. Her fingers never came close to mine. Normal. I didn’t know her, but you always hope for that stupid movie shit. I watched her hand drag the paper away from me just to replace it with more of the fragile material, but at least that material would purchase what I’d worked so hard for. “How would you like it?”

The boyish giggles in me (ah, to be a teenager again) widened my grin. “Largest bills possible. I won’t get to enjoy having it long.”

“Yeah? What’s Benjamin going to?” She asked while taking the top hundred out of a drawer. Then she gathered up the smaller bills.

“MP3 player. ‘Bout time I had one.” I was filled with a bit of pride. Another item I’d worked hard to acquire. Took me some time, but at last I was going to have music on the go.

“Nice.” She didn’t give a damn, but I did. I enjoyed her genuine smile and the conversation. A good day in all.

Thin and gorgeous fingers reached over the counter to reward me my dues. Examining her feminine movements was worth the trip in itself. If only I had the face of Cage and not the beaten stepchild.

“Thanks. You have a great day,” I nodded slightly and pulled my grin to one side. Trying to look attractive was a chore for me, but doing so with fresh wounds made it impossible. I didn’t live in the days where Vikings with new scars were the sign of success.

Nope.

Twenty-first century U.S.A. Where perfection is found in bottles and under the surgeon’s knife. I had neither. I had to wink like a dork and hope for the best like everyone else.

But beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Cliché, I know. But it’s true.

This girl… Jessica, I believe was her name, was a wonder. She actually smiled back. Not just that “you too” sort of smile. Her eyebrows lifted, her cheeks pushed up, her back straightened, and her eyes almost created their own light. Her response was beauty; a living art.

I have to give the Creator a thumbs-up for such work.

“Enjoy your music.” Her hands both lifted to wave out our parting.

That sounds cheesy, right? She waved farewell? She just waved.

But that was kindness. She showed me some happiness that day. Enough that I didn’t think about joining my mother. Enough that I didn’t want to follow the ravens.

It doesn’t take much. Just a stranger talking to you or the pleasant smile they flash your way. She made it better by being, to my ideals, stunning. Her enjoyable voice revitalized me. Not enough to stay and talk to her; or even ask her out (God forbid).

Just enough for me to remember there was worth in the world. The blackness with the raven wasn’t exactly scenic, and such women weren’t anywhere to be seen in that world.

Stepping into the sunlight was a new sort of teen. Joy had overtaken me. Nothing could have gone wrong that day. I would finish up my errands before the family even returned home.

Let’s skip over getting my new toy. I biked there, handed over almost all my cash, hurried out of the store, and smiled like a goof at the purchase. It was uneventful and splendid. The journey was more important than the destination—the reward even more so.

The cuts and bruises still hurt. I can remember that. Touching them sent jolts through the screaming nerves. Brisk drafts galloped over concrete and between drowsy leaves to cool the skin.

Midday was cooled by battle of glaring sunlight and audacious currents. Every so often the sky would spout waves of gelid breath. In the light of day, the unsympathetic world found a more balanced atmosphere. It was a pleasant ride back. Experiencing both freezing and warm, my trip was uplifting.

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, and so I saw the world as it was.

And it was good.

People kept themselves at an enjoyable distance, the flora began their preparations of seasonal rest with an array of hues, and everything around me played together in the symphony of life. It was good.

I could appreciate existing in the world of man; as long as few people were near me. Peaceful miles passed by in the embracing arms of my world. It is a world worth giving much for.

Purpose.

Incapable of answering my own questions frustrated me; however, it is difficult to remain in that state while all the sky and Earth brings you satisfaction. Alone in the best sort of way. Listening to nature and the distant creations of mankind roar with life… with purpose.

Only one thing, the sole obsession, which could make it perfection was in my pocket. I couldn’t use it then; not yet. But when I returned home, separating myself from the ordinary and entering perdition of one, the computer would give me what I needed.

It was a need.

It was a desire unlike any other.

A fetter of the mind, hindering all outside stimuli. My headphones detached from the computer and were plugged into the top of my little black box in anticipation. A white cord bound the two machines of my most common pastimes.

Locking myself in the abode within Hell protected me from interrupting devils. Hours were spent clicking and dragging files. CDs all ripped to the hard drive became a block inside the box.

One after another, the supreme provocation built itself with the collective bodies of many. Hundreds joined into a single strand of data. Every byte holding another secret. Milliseconds became hours—music to last a lifetime.

By the time you ended the whole, restarting the playlist was almost like hearing it all for the first time. Thousands of songs were loaded into the tiny device. Finished sating its hunger for data, the synchronizing was done.

Unplugging just in time. I could hear the footsteps of the bellicose tribe beyond my walls. They would remain out of sight and out of mind. The instrument of my delight had been readied!

I turned my chair to face my room. Headphones wrapped over my scalp. Ears snugged into place around padded speakers. My finger clicked on the box and began scrolling through my choices.

The first song that started to play was a Godsend.

As if drugs had been poured directly into my veins, I became intoxicated with the sounds.

Chapter 22

There was darkness. I opened my eyes to a foggy landscape. Trees reached out like the petrified webbings of Shelob. There was one thing different from the last time… there was a noise.

Tintinnabulation produced beyond any direction’s horizon echoed through the dense fog which lingered about waist-high. My ears couldn’t make out the chorus of sounds. Random ringing of metal and a disconnected twang of some string instrument bounced off the trees and made my head spin. Disorientating as it was, I found some form of aid as I turned.

Nothing.

There wasn’t shit in any direction. There was only the fog, the insidious noises from beyond, and those damn trees that blocked my path. It looked like Tim Burton and Alfred Hitchcock teamed up to spice up my nightmares.

“Why?” I kept spinning. The world blurred as the sounds grew louder and more disruptive. Symbols crashed, strumming shrieked, and voices cried out as if Hell’s band finally got their record deal. It kept building up until I stopped my twirling and looked to the ground.

There was no life. Not a single blade of grass grew there, but I recalled the lovely field of roses which thrived under a burning sky. Why can’t I be there? Why not roses?

I remember thinking those words. Why not roses? That’s what did it.

Cracking dirt, dry as a desert, heaped upward until it crumbled to the sides. A single stem began to sprout through the fog. The mist gave way; submitting to the presence of the bud. I took a single step backward to watch in awe.

That single stem took hold of the space I’d awoken in. It birthed buds and smaller stems from the widening body. Leaves of spectacular greens and buds of lavish crimson bloomed against the grayed world. My eyes widened to take in every second of the plant’s expansion. It shot past my height and just as wide.

Hundreds of roses spread like involute waves of a bleeding ocean. I believed beauty like that was only possible in the dreams we never breed into reality. Even in the dulled light of that grayed world, those perfect flowers shined like rubies cast into a bed of emeralds; sparkling despite the gloom.

The flowers lifted and the echoes ceased. Torturous noise didn’t angle through the trees, but it escaped the land through a new medium. Songs were played through the centers of the roses. Each vibrated forward as the bass shook the ground and a refined treble was leveled.

It was soft. I still couldn’t make out the song—now a single melody played through each flower instead of a series of horizons starting the measures at different times. My right hand led the way. Reaching out to the closest rose, I gently brushed the underside where the jewel met its stem.

Soft and fragrant, they were more real in that moment than any rose I’d known before that dream. Wafting through the air, that sweetened essence of the relaxing flora came. It’s a comforting scent; a cooled breeze pleasing to any nose.

Melodies of an unknown song beat gracefully within the bodies of the flowers. The plant’s body remained still while each bloomed ruby pulsed a tune. I leaned in to place my ear beside the flower I cupped in my hand.

There was a moment of silence as my face brushed the petal. A world of gray skies and one, lonely rosebush became still in the fog. I waited for something to come. I strained my ear to pick up the subtle notes of the plant.

“Reap!”

I damn near jumped out of my skin.

Kicking a bit, I spun in a defensive stance to see a single raven resting on a twisted branch of a tree nearest the opened circle of my awakening. Once I realized what had called out to me, I dropped my guard.

“What the hell do you want?” As if I had to ask the broken record.

“Reap.”

“Oh? That’s all?” I shrugged. “Reap what, exactly?”

The bird cocked its head so that one black eye was glaring directly into me. I felt a bit uneasy, but they hadn’t been a problem. This lucid dream seemed a safe place to stand up to the squawking bird.

I waited for him to talk again, but I guess he didn’t have much else to say. One blackened eye kept on me as if it were a hunting hawk and not a repetitive raven. The roses stillness made me feel uneasy—that dreadful silence of a grayed world which only the raven and I seemed to populate.

Fog rolled over the land like the exhaust of some terrible war machine. It stole the life from the branches and executed any promise of a future. The clouds cycled upward and down in currents. The whole of the fog seemed to breath like a single organism.

I heard a soft huff from the raven. Returning my attention to the bird, it seemed to sigh and lazily blink that black eye. Anger… no. That wasn’t it. What was the emotion that bird seemed to mimic? If he even was mimicking.

Frustration maybe. It was as if my confused face and shrugging shoulders annoyed him. I don’t know what else I’d have been able to gather from the single word. Seems like a lot to ask of someone that was new to the whole idea of the supernatural and any type of lucid dreaming.

Glaring at me proved useless. He looked up into the sky where the light source was shrouded by hazy air. His beak opened. Shrieks or yelling was what I prepared for, but instead there was a grumbling. A low mumbling gurgled in his throat as his wings gracefully extended to reveal the full size of the creature.

He was at least three times the size of a normal raven. I remember seeing him from that distance, through the dense fog, and thinking him a normal bird. How wrong I was.

Both feathery appendages dropped to lift the beast from his perch. Funnels of white were left in his place as the wings beat against the predominant brume. My body instinctively dropped so my butt hit the dirt beneath me; all completely unnecessary. The raven took flight toward the ground, but once he was visible through the murky scene, he rose over me with a natural ease. The habile flyer positioned his wings to gain altitude and project his awesome shadow over my subjected self.

I must have looked like a fool. It was just a bird, but obviously one of intelligence. He kept showing up. Trying to lead a daft horse to water must be exhausting work.

Rustling leaves made me roll to the side and crawl backwards a bit. The raven roosted atop the rosebush as if it were the padded throne of a king. His feathers puffed out, and he shook himself into a seemingly comfy position. Of course, the bush was free of thorns. Perfection within the land of nothing… or so I believed.

“You’re a big ‘ne, aren’t you?” I swallowed hard while examining the messenger of the Destroyer. He twisted his head from side to side; matching my interest in the dour dialogue. I gulped, “What do you want?” He opened his beak after a moment, but I interrupted, “And don’t say ‘Reap’!” I rolled my eyes as I imitated the bird. I don’t know why I instigate.

Both curved sides of the beak snapped shut. Shaking his head with closed eyes made me feel a bit ashamed for my tone. Then I remembered that I kept being chased by his brothers and sisters, and my brain told me I was justifiably disgruntled.

“So?”

“Conquest.”

“What?”

“War.”

“And Famine, right?” I finished his list before he could. The same things, over and over. He was a bother. No wonder prophets couldn’t get anything done in a reasonable amount of time. Any deity or spirit looking to spread their word had to be so damn cryptic. Maybe, just for future reference, make a bird able to speak in complete sentences.

That’s just my two cents.

My feathered companion nodded. He seemed pleased, at least then, that I’d taken some of his teachings to memory. If a bird could smile, I’m sure he would have been grinning. Progress, I guess.

“And, of course, reap.” I took a moment to stand up and brush my backside off. The fog was gathering about me; whirling tentacles of an intangible creature. “Messenger of Death? That’s what you are, right? Just his messenger?”

A firm, and singular, nod confirmed this. The blackened eyes of the beast looked to me and waited for me to continue.

“That’s your message? That can’t be it.” I pressed my lips together and patted my hands against my legs. “That isn’t much to go off of.”

Another sigh from the great raven. He looked up again. This time he remained with his beak upward. I took a step forward and followed his action. In the dream, it felt right to discuss. It felt normal to be there and act the way I did. Follow the leader, who was actually just an errand boy.

I didn’t hear or see anything. I just kept my head facing the gray sky waiting for some form of an answer from a being greater than the raven or myself. Guess it would have been too obvious if Heaven rippled or the Northern Lights waved serpentine overhead. There were a few minutes of silence as the raven, I could see him at the bottom of my field of vision, nodded his head and cooed.

A shrill scream of the raven took me away from the answer I didn’t understand. My gaze fell from to the raven that fussed atop the rosebush. He seemed to be investigating the foliage for a certain reason. His beak picked through stems and leaves until his eyes caught a noticeably larger rose to his right.

He hopped over from one branch to another. Black feathers fluffed as he moved; enormous tools fashioned by the flesh of the bird. An evolutionary anomaly, the considerably sized bird seemed more falcon-like in his graceful movements. Every peck and placement of the talons an artful display of composure and surety.

I had nothing to say. He’d heard something from on high where I’d seen and heard nothing. As the prophet carries out decrees given in dream and mind, the raven seemed a crazed beast hastily searching for something beyond my understanding. Had this not been a dream, I’m sure I’d have carefully attempted my escape as he buried his head in the bush.

But it was a dream. It was a simple understanding. That bird must know something. He was no crazier than those that see Hell open before them, someone flies over buildings, or even those that feel an increase in weight force them to their knees and disable them. Dreams sure are a tricky subject. One person could tell you it makes sense while the next tells you it’s just a dream… get over it, sort of thing.

It’s these dreams that you recall perfectly, with absolute detail and awe, sealing your soul in another world we need to discuss. That pit in your stomach when you wake up? Maybe you ate something the night before, but maybe, hear me out… maybe your brain and soul are trying to let you in on something. I’m not saying they are all that way. Most probably aren’t, but this was one of those that, even as I lived it, was meant to open my eyes. It led me to doors that wanted to be opened no matter how hard I tried to wall them off.

The raven continued his search while I pondered the extent of my acceptance. I could have run or tried to assault the raven, but there was a burning desire to see it through. What would the bird have for me? What would it all mean?

A snap brought me out of my mind to follow what the bird had done. He’d plucked the fully grown rose from its stem. I’d have cried if he’d thrown it down. Such beauty and grace being ended before my eyes… I couldn’t believe the messenger would do something so awful to the peaceful flower. Had giving life in the land of the dead really been punishable to such an extent?

“That doesn’t seem necessary.” I spoke in a whiny voice; almost unrecognizable to my own ears. “I know it’s a rose.”

Shaking his head, the flower flopped in his beak as he shuffled his way to the edge of the bush closest to me. The nested bush shook at the force of the mega-raven driving feet and beak through stems.

Black eyes looked at me for a moment of stillness. Once he knew my attention was on him, he swung his head back and downward at a cocked angle. The rose’s mutilated stem jabbed into the living branches of the bush. A purple light flickered from the location.

I shielded my eyes at first, but soon I moved forward to examine the rose. With the beak removed and taking a few steps back, the raven took a rest atop the bush with black feathers enveloping his powerful legs. He watched with those black eyes as I lifted my hands to the beautiful petals.

My fingers pushed the rose gently to one side and then the other. Under the emerald leaves, I saw the stem perfectly connected to another stem as if they’d grown as one. That purple light fell from my thought. The bird had killed one blessed rose, but granted it life alongside another of its kind. A seamless transplant of perfection; saving what once might have died.

“Wonderful work. Quite the green thumb… er, wing.” I nodded while petting the rose. It sparkled as a bloodied jewel. “Not sure what this means. I’m sure my English teacher could give you a hundred different meanings. Why don’t you go get her, and we’ll pick this up next week?”

Then the squawking came. Guess Death’s pets don’t really have a sense of humor. Sarcasm isn’t exactly the best attribute for making friends, but what else should I have done. Yup, that’s a rose. That’s truly all I had.

Black eyes narrowed at me. I pinched my lips together and returned to the rose. Carefully tracing the petals with my eyes, I noticed that two of the crimson limbs were standing straight up and down inside the center of the flower. Glancing from the odd formation to the raven, the bird nodded and sighed at me. So, I narrowed my eyes and thought as best I could about the meaning.

Gray skies continued to crawl above as the fog beneath. The raven kept sentry atop his nest of gems. Pondering the flower for some time, I placed a hand against my chin and forced my hazy mind to make every connection I could to the symbol. Two lines around a circle.

I looked up to the raven. His eyes widened, and he nodded as I opened my mouth. My hands moved out in front of me as I shared my epiphany.

“I have no clue.”

That bird was ready to pick me up and feed me to his young… her young. I don’t know. Do the Reaper’s birds even have genders? I’m getting off topic. The bird wasn’t pleased.

A large beak lifted and began pecking another rose that was near him. He jabbed the crimson in the center and looked at me after several red petals were thrown into the air. Palms up, I lowered my hands gradually until I had the them at rose level.

I took my right pointer finger and pushed carefully into the center of the rose. Petals morphed about my finger. Panicking, I withdrew my finger as if something harmful would lunge out.

The two vertical lines, made by the two center petals, arched and spun within the center. One overlapped the other on the left side to make a vertical line while the top and bottom angled toward the center point on the right. A triangle pointing to my right.

I jumped to my left and turned to find the source of a loud crash where the rose pointed. It wasn’t something entering the world of gray death. It was music; loud and familiar. The roses swelled with the musical currents; revealing the power of the drums and guitar that were carried into this world through jeweled stems.

My companion shrieked with glee that I’d finally figured out the puzzle. A play button informed me that the roses were functioning. Those crimson petals pulsed with the beat. I stood and listened to the crystal-clear tune that the plants played—the final verse spiraling into a finale.

“What does this have to do with what you said? Reap?” I questioned the bird. I was slightly annoyed. Another puzzle made of pieces that didn’t fit. Like trying to solve a Rubik’s cube with your knees while blindfolded. “Just tell me what the hell you mean.”

That’s never the way it works. It’d be too easy. Spoiling a child does them no good in the future. My mother knew that. My mistakes made me who I am, and if someone would have just handled it all for me I’d probably have never accomplished anything.

The raven’s eyes told me that. He wasn’t going to help me again. I was on my own (at least at that point). Crimson stared at me from many faces. I examined them in hopes some epiphany would hit; more like a crumpled paper and not a bus. If I couldn’t solve the puzzle, I feared the bird had the intent to correct me with the force of a speeding car.

Music had quieted while the plant determined the next song in the playlist. I waited for the next to come, but perhaps an overwhelming number of options caused some lag in the selection. I waited as patiently as I could for the next to come.

I tapped my chin and scrutinized the audio-buds. “Reap?”

A loud strum of an electric guitar made me tense up. The raven seemed startled by my sudden reaction to the noise. I knew the melody almost immediately. A few bars in and the drums joined in with the very subtle accompaniment of a cowbell.

“Don’t fear the Reaper?” I looked to my companion for confirmation. Was it the answer? Blue Oyster Cult rang out as the soothing voice assured me of the beauty in life—all to be enjoyed now. Passing time will inevitably lead to the Reaper, but to worry of the end is to forsake the now.

The raven nodded once. It hopped a bit and lifted its head in quick succession a few times. I felt as if a few corner pieces of the puzzle had been found, but the whole was still missing.

A crimson play button was in the center flower. Many other blooming jewels faced me, and the idea just came to me. My right hand left my chin to extend toward the petals to the right of the center. That flower, once touched, seemed to click.

The American rock band from Long Island cut off their song as if someone would actually demand the sudden end to their performance. Loading took a few seconds, but my next clue came with the heavy beating of drums and hastened striking of the guitar.

A howl of sorts echoed out every few bars until finally a growling voice cried out over the perpetually dying world. Words that many would consider unintelligible, I smiled as one of my favorite songs shook the plant with metal-rage.

My raven nodded slowly with the passing measures. I took it as headbanging. Good enough for me to feel content in the song choice. I found it relatable to the Reaper in that the song speaks of an end; silencing emotions and the end drawing near.

“I’m going to die?!” I looked up to my envoy of the Destroyer.

A quick series of shakes told me my assumption was false. You don’t really worry about that kind of thing until a bird confirms it in your dreams… or at least I didn’t.

“My apocalypse is near!” The growling voice of the song shouted at me. I exhaled in joy of my extended time among the living, and I may have missed the importance of that line. The demonic voice of a lovely lady shrieked on of the approaching finale. I continued to focus on the favored tune with a sense of lasting youth.

A cawing raven broke me from the enjoyment to study; pretty similar to any day in school if you replaced the bird with an older lady. Odd that the voices were still similar.

Verse two was finishing up and sending that euphoric jolt through me. A song you really jive with, one that drives the soul, can make the anxious spirit rest or the fearful body don sword and shield. This song made me clench my fists and prepare myself for whatever would come.

Or, at least it made me feel I could take on the world as it was… I wouldn’t have felt so prepared if I’d heard the specific line the flying monster put such importance on.

“My apocalypse is near!” The second time, I heard it clearly. Resonating in me like a tuning fork, I absorbed the provided clue to complete the inner pieces of my puzzle.

“Reaper and The Apocalypse. I missed that day in class. They mean what exactly?”

The raven gave up on me. I beat the dreamt diplomat of Death in a battle of will, and I stood while the beast laid upon the bush. Both eyes drooped and a heavy breath escaped its throat. Pathetic to see. Damn my soft heart, I felt as if I was to blame for this.

“Well sorry you come to me in my dreams. I’m pretty useless without a computer.” I tapped my sides to the beat of the song. I wasn’t going to let the tasty licks of Arch Enemy go to waste. “If I actually remember this dream, I swear I’ll do some research.”

Both shoulders lifted and fell on the bird. Almost as if it was saying, “Screw it. Do whatever.”

I nodded as if that were good enough to warrant verbal-agreement with the messenger of Death. “Death and The Apocalypse. Conquest, War, Famine, Death and The Apocalypse. That’ll be an interesting read. I hope I can find some good material online.” I spoke that bit of ignorance not realizing just how many self-proclaimed prophets twist The End Times to fit their own beliefs. Not many things bring the aspiring fanfiction writer out in people like the infinite possibilities of a catastrophic forking of humanities future.

Wondering about the connections laid plain before me, I had not a single clue on what it all meant. Most of those who hear my tale will probably be thinking I’m an idiot. You very well could be correct; that’s for you to decide at the end of it all.

Time went by and the music played on. I nodded along with the beats and tapped my fingers on my chin to the rhythm of the guitars. All was peaceful in that moment. That is, until the raven broke the silence with another call. It laid still atop the bush of pulsing music; only opening its beak wide enough to yank me back into the land of death and fog.

My music died out as the song finished, and so my time beside the monstrous bird ended—at least for that night. I stood still as the raven nestled within the bush of jeweled flowers. It rested itself upon completion of its task, and I was no longer meant for that world.

“Wait, what else?” I shook my head while trying to piece together the whole of the puzzle, but my mentor simply gave a drawn-out yawn in response. The music began again, in the final moments of my slumber, with a choir of men crying out in unison.

“Carry on my wayward son,” I lipped these words as the voices called out toward the grounds toured by many wandering souls. “For there’ll be peace when you are done.”

Roses pulsed on with the vocals of Kansas.

“Lay your weary head to rest,” softly singing these words soothed me. Their intent and force sent the familiar chill up my spine. I embraced it in the gray of an alien terrain. My raven companion closed its eyes to sleep atop the amplified perfection that was the shimmering bush—a frozen inferno branching out to hallow the grounds.

“Don’t you cry no more.”

I awoke in my bed; leaping forward from the return to my own plane. To the side of my bed, I stood with my arms crossed over my head with rapid breaths failing to ease. I couldn’t hear my exhaling. Tense muscles in my chest sent sparks of agony through my chest as the lungs attempted to fill; as if they’d been sealed for hours.

Plastic brushed across my arm. A surprise, but I steadied myself as I traced it down to my newest purchase resting near the edge of my bed. I’d almost tossed the shiny new technology to the floor. That would have been the perfect end to such a shitty week.

However, I was lucky enough that the cord was long enough to merely tug it toward me. I picked it up and noticed it was still playing—still functional after the sudden jolt.

My finger clicked the button in the center of the circular pad to illuminate the screen. The music was soft, but I began to recognize it in my groggy state. The first verse was just beginning; the instruments backing off slightly so the singer’s lesson could be taught.

“Once I rose above the noise and confusion.”

I listened to the remainder of the song. Just standing there. I didn’t feel like sleeping quite yet. The words a father may speak to his son, words I’d never hear in conversation, gently flowed into me. The wonders of technology produced the ability for millions to hear that which they’d never hear from those they needed most to hear it from.

My mother’s eyes stared at me in my moment of bliss amongst the devils of that house. They slumbered to regain their hellish energies, but I found peace in her picture and the sounds of a caring companion.

Blue orbs, tiny and spectacular, sporadically lifted around the photo. I rubbed my eyes to clear the stars I believed them to be, but a few remained. They lifted and fell around her face.

A lone ball of brilliant blue turned near her face and fell back to the start. Metal almost glowed in the darkness of my room. Michael’s form faced upward as the necklace cast energy into the world.

I let the music finish and removed my earbuds. I placed my grandest possession to the side of my mother’s picture. I then turned the emblem of the archangel over so his curved canvas rested evenly on the chain he was bound to.

Sleep would not come for me again that night. The raven and roses were fresh in my mind, and I was going to start the research I agreed to do. Lights flicked on as the screen of my computer opened its shining eyes. My computer roared to life as the fans spun and electricity ran through organized halls.

Painting quite the masterpiece, huh?

You get it. I can get into it when I want to.

The night carried on with this wayward son searching the web for the names of my future kin.

Conquest.

War.

Famine.

Reap. Death. The End. The Great Destroyer. Twin of the Creator.

Well, the other names for Death would come later, but I found the commonality of these names. The Apocalypse was revealed to me with abundant works to compare and study. Some were interesting, some were boring, and some were more frightening than the best Hollywood has to offer. To think God would create such a world to see it tested against the very teeth of Hell… or into the ravenous gullet of humanity’s finest. It drives philosophers toward exhaustion.

The sun rose long after I’d begun to submerge myself in the concepts of this eternal debate. I sat there, knowing I’d be safe to study throughout the day, and took in all the internet claimed as truth. The numerous prophets of the web assisted in locating these doors within… and so the door was found.

So, it was knocked upon.

So, it knocked back.

Damn those pundit bastards for their deeds.

Chapter 23

“Man, we missed you at school.”

“We?” I hesitated at the claim. Cage called me to see how sick I was. I must have been awfully sick to miss a couple of days at school. No ravens to chase me toward the imprisoning structure; at least that part was relieving. Small victories.

“David and Luis were looking forward to getting some band practice going.” Cage sounded disappointed that the plans were cancelled. My dad wouldn’t have let me go.

I did try to leave that morning; just to get some air. Dad cleared his throat from his tomb which wreaked of stale beer and body odor. It was as if he had died. To let yourself live within the filth, when cleanliness is but a trashcan and shower away, seems a sin to offend both man and gods.

My hand fell from the doorknob to look through the wooden posts that mimicked a cell rising from a chest high wall around the living room. These poles curved outward in beads along the length. They rippled inward and outward to create some sense of status within the design of the home.

The darkness on the other side of the wooden poles twisted with the light cast from the television. My father removed himself from his chair, the light arching around his shadow, to speak to me. He did not leave the room. He but leaned to the side so that his hidden face could examine me in the light of the soul-stealing box he’d given his life to.

“You shouldn’t leave like that.”

The bristles on his face caught rays of light as they tried to speed by, but they were strangled in the unkempt hair of the man’s stony form. He spoke plainly, as if what he saw on my face was a sore brought about by my own shame. It was the mark of a whore… just not a whore I’d ever enjoyed.

“Should I ever?”

“Go to your room. Should be good by tomorrow.” He lifted one shadowed arm to bring an almost empty can to his lips. I could hear the sloshing liquid slap the sides like a pitiful wave against a boat. All this to bring the sailor a bit closer to exhausted sleep.

“Yeah. I’m sure all the evidence will be gone by then.” I readjusted my guitar case and began walking back toward my welcomed cell.

“Stop.” His voice was stern and emotional for the first time in years. I had almost believed him a reanimated corpse, but the heart was still beating in there. “Times are hard on everyone. You’re no exception.”

“Think that lesson’s already sunken in. It’s almost healed to.” I tapped my face with my free hand, but I couldn’t look toward the shadows. I couldn’t bring myself to gaze into the madness of that room. “Tomorrow may bring another lesson.”

“That’s enough!” My father rose his voice to silence all else in the house. Luckily for me, the women of the house were out for the night; shopping or God knows what with their free time. The only person left in the house that I didn’t believe hated me was now yelling at me. What a life. “You get punished when you don’t listen. That’s life.”

I was stunned. He’d defended her again. Again, and again! He defended a woman that beat his son without cause. He stands sentinel for the harlot who lashes the meek.

“It hasn’t been much of a life for some time now.” I said this with eyes dropped and voice low.

“I know.”

This part caught me off guard. The way he’d said it… almost as if a father speaking to a son. It was the very tone I’d hoped to hear as a young man getting a lesson from mother and father. This day came with one piece missing.

“This isn’t what I wanted.” He hesitated with the can near his lips, but eventually the drink found its way to his throat. Downing the last of his beverage, he replaced the can on the small end table near his chair. He took up another can and pushed his finger beneath the tab, “All we’ve suffered.” That satisfying hiss of a freshly opened can must have caused his mouth to water. He licked his lips and sipped that first, crisp gulp. “Even this doesn’t stop the pain.”

“Dad,” I felt for him. The damn fool was a good man beneath it all, but no one was there to pick him up. An only child with parents beyond this world, he found himself crushed beneath the weight of a trial beyond him. I would have shared his burden, but he believed himself the sole slave to the memories.

“Go upstairs. By tomorrow, you should be able to go out and see Caleb.” Wrong name, but he deemed my sentence to end the next morning. I thanked him for that; not with words, but a nod that we both understood a deal being sealed. “Sweet dreams, bud.”

It’d been a name I’d not heard since I was a kid. Being tucked in as a child meant dad patting my head, calling me “bud”, mom reading me a story, and a kiss on the forehead to end my day. He turned back to the important business the television had to deliver.

Peter fell with surprising control back into his chair with his beer in hand. He’d bid me goodnight, and I thanked Heaven I could escape the scent of the man’s abode. The light faded as I walked back up the stairs. His world was trapped within the box and can, and mine was built into the upper story. Truly, it was a land of plentiful bounty.

“You there?” I snapped out of my memory to hear Cage’s voice. “When are we going to be able to practice? The talent show isn’t too far out. We’d better get jamming!”

I did smile. I recall that. I’d been given a night in my room instead of chores, I spoke to a friend excited for our debut, and I had good news for him. “Tomorrow if you can.”

“Excellent.” Cage started babbling about his ideas for a playlist as if we’d be the only talent at the show. Encore after encore. We’d have to give the crowd what they wanted and play for over an hour. The set he had planned extended into two, almost three, CDs worth of music.

“Hold on there. We only get two songs, man.” I chuckled as I interrupted his ranting.

There was a moment of silence. “I know, but this is going to be amazing. I can’t wait to get up there with you. Everyone’s going to love it.” Metal music for a bunch of high schoolers? Love it they would. Counselors on double duty the next day, I’m sure.

“When I get there tomorrow, we’ll pick the songs. I’ll think of the one’s I know best and all that.”

“Be sure to pick a song with a good solo.” I was a bit taken aback. “Everyone’s got to see those fingers diddle those strings.” We both shared in a laugh. A compliment that meant the world to me. A solo? For me? I wouldn’t disappoint.

“Sure. But the song’s going to need a prime bass part. I wouldn’t leave you hanging.”

“For sure, man. Well, I have to get going. Parents need some stuff done tonight. I’ll see you at my house around one?” The weekend would offer me ample time to wake up late and get over there.

“You got it.” Goodbyes were exchanged and the phone was set aside. My door remained locked for the remainder of the night. My stepmom and her replica child were home at that time. I didn’t want to invoke any wrath or belittlement after such a promising night. I just needed my face to heal up a bit more and avoid the beasts until the next day.

My computer offered the escape. Headphones in and mouse skimming pages, my night was planned out as research and music. The combination kept me in good spirits. Opening my eyes to a world of spirituality was enjoyable in conceptual reading, but it’s what these works brought about later I regret.

Bands played a show for only one fan as the articles and blogs about The Horsemen and The Apocalypse grew in numbers. Every page on my search changed from the ignorant blue to the recognized red. Each one skimmed for the exciting details of many people’s ideas toward these end times.

With the blinds down, I could see the beams of orange light trying to violate my sanctum, but they fell short. Several dots of orange bounced along my wall near the door; musicians gazed out into the blinding lights that swung about them as if they were preparing for the show.

Little did I know, I’d be the show they were waiting to see. I continued to read through the articles of The Horsemen and found some interesting conspiracy sites. Some said that these mystical soldiers were already among us. I couldn’t help but entertain the idea that the world, filled with terror and atrocity, was the way it was because supernatural forces replaced the human villains. Even now, that idea would be preferred… if only it were something other than mankind screwing mankind over.

But I read on. One site even claimed to have video evidence. It was fuzzy like the usual Bigfoot sighting, but it was a man atop a white horse. The man wore a wonderful suit of white—the horse wore armor of gold. The two were along a roadside in what seemed to be a warzone. Dust was blocking a lot of the image and the sounds of distant explosions and rounds being shot off made it almost impossible to understand the witness (if he was even speaking my language).

The video was a few seconds long, because after some time the man turned toward the camera and they both vanished. You could see blurred lines reaching toward the right side of the camera. I paused the video and dragged the timer back. Slow motion, as best the video could offer, was enough to see the lines from the image. At the distance filmed, the interference, the noise pollution and everything else… I blew it off as edited.

I wonder how many people did get evidence of my brothers and sister before the war started. How many of them were paid off by religious or world leaders? I hadn’t thought of it then. Just someone wanting to get some quick views with a questionable video sure to spark a debate with anyone watching.

So, my clicking continued. I found myself a good list of random pages. I saved a few, copied a few lines from some to a word document, and saved a few images I found cool. There was even a sweet picture of the Four Horsemen riding beside one another.

War was a living suit of organic metal; skulls of the screaming dead gazing from his carved shell with eyes set ablaze. His steed marched on with similar decorations and fire erupting from its hooves and mane. An enormous sword swung at his side as if light as air in his hands. He stood a titan beside his kin; an unmovable object with unstoppable force. The perfect perception of war personified.

Death rested atop a rearing beast without a head; the neck morphed into a mist of shrieking souls. The faces of those lost to war’s armor found their spirit twisted in the aura of Death’s might. She seemed fragile; an interesting interpretation of the End of All. Her simple staff hung to her right with a thin blade reaching beyond War’s beast. The horse and rider both stared at the viewer with the endless depth of The Well of Souls.

Conquest was the next in line. His face remained beneath a helmet which served as his crown. His bow rested at his side as if none he rode toward were deemed a threat or worthy of his consideration. The armor of the wandering conqueror twisted with etched skulls of beasts beyond the world of man—art formed with the fallen remains of his victories. The beast he sat on marched on with fury and armor to give it the image of a demon with multiple mouths; each more terrifying than the one above it.

Famine was the final to the right. His broad shoulders pulled back in casual superiority. A scale with spikes lifted to his left. It was another example of how the Horsemen wield their tools as another piece of themselves; no more effort than lifting a finger toward the sky. His body seemed to be formed of flesh solidified beneath a dripping blackness. One eye of green shined on from beneath his cloak while a green flame answered his stare atop the horse’s head. The beast cried out from inside the wrappings of dark cloth which covered it. This creature’s hooves were replaced by curved claws; a terrifying addition to the steed which breathes poison and swallows disease.

These were interesting representations. Only a few details were wrong. The female rider wouldn’t end up being Death; you’ve already heard my sister’s tale. Yet, she carries herself with far more presence than the flattened image of the artist’s Famine. Though she looks fragile and human, her fury would put the pixelated Horseman’s power to shame.

Confidence poured out of all The Horsemen in that photo, but that isn’t exactly how we are. Conquest, rough around the edges, definitely possessed that undesirable trait. Death was confident but empathetic toward others. Famine was usually quiet, but her aura dripped with the sureness of her power.

These are past thoughts as well. They all became my family, but it didn’t happen overnight. I’d be damned if I said I even enjoyed them the first time we met, but I get ahead of myself. Let’s keep this chronologically sound, shall we?

So, I stared at these pictures, and I listened to music that set my heart ablaze. My desire and passion for the vibrations of sound bled into the subject of my studies. What wondrous tales and interpretations! It was something people could write amazing lyrics for; brutal and heavy. I might have even enjoyed some form of religious education if subjects like this were discussed at great length.

The hours must have sped by, because I didn’t cease my reading until my stomach started to growl and my eyelids began to slide over my eyes like heavy curtains signaling the opera’s finale. I didn’t want to leave for food. My computer told me it was almost midnight, and that meant that the two harpies were definitely home. Even if they were sleeping, my moving about could stir them from their peaceful slumber and set them toward hunting. Don’t feed the animals. I’d go hungry that night. One night wouldn’t kill a guy with extra fluff like the me of the time.

Sleep seemed to be the enemy—it called me to leave my computer as if I were in league with the venomous females of the house. It felt as if everything were against me. I just wanted to relax with my new hobby and my everlasting love. Earbuds continued to pump out the nourishment for my soul while the internet produced the nectar for my brain.

I would have chosen to remain awake the entire night, but there was an event that drove me to cower. Covers provide the unbreakable shield for the weak. A child may find shelter beneath the cloth so that nothing from beneath the bed or within the closet could harm them. Even the aging child or young adult seeks refuge there when their reality is questioned, and mine was all but destroyed as I read an article about the most important Horseman (in my own opinion). I followed along the quoting and construing of a book I never found much use for; however, I should have studied its later chapters to ease my suffering when the time came.

‘And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.’ Hell will climb from the bowels of the universe to strip flesh and spill blood in the name of their king—whomever the demon be which holds the crown. None shall stop them, but instead prevent a hastened end. Drawing out such prophecy will promise none suffering’s ceasing. Speculating eyes will form plans, and yet Hell has already planned for such things. The souls of mankind are bound to the ignorant flesh of youthful promise, but the eternal spirits of vengeance scheme with absolute purpose and obedience. These creatures of hypocrisy have found themselves at the end of a whip to place mankind beneath heel. Once proud enough to forsake their security in the Heavens, they now bow to a monstrous monarch of many faces and childish desires. Know that it is this undying rage, this bloodlust which feeds the hunger of heart and mind, this loss of paradise and birthright… it is all these things to culminate our end. We live to find our ways to Death, and it is his hands we seek out nearest the end; his hands are preparing to wrap around the throat of Earth. His hands will wring milk from the lands, strip the air of breath, and flay the very hope from our hearts—but it is a blessing. Let the end be quick. Let the fallen gain their holy lands of decay and ash. Let humanity walk beside Death until we find blessed promises filled by Son and Father. Come, oh Death. Come and grant us peace.

Death was the savior of this person’s thoughts. Perhaps the God they believed in set the cogs to turn and the pawns to play their parts in the End Times, but the kin of The Creator took to the stage’s front to nail the role of the act’s protagonist. If Death did exist, I thought at the time, He… She… It would be the most brutal thing in all of existence. To not be the killer, but that which claims the murder and the murdered.

Then the chill came. That grip, as if winter had snuck its hand up the back of my shirt, wrapped itself around my spine and tugged gently enough to let me know who was boss. I leapt forward in my chair, chest hitting the desk’s edge, and turned myself to face the empty room. Darkness claimed every corner except the few beams cast by the monitor. My back was tingling as if someone were right behind me; their eyes plastered to my back as they studied my every move and breath.

“Who?” I whispered in hopes that they wouldn’t hear me; and therefore, unable to answer my question. An answer did come. The unwelcomed spirit residing within my sanctuary moved.

I couldn’t see it exactly, but that sense of it moving was overwhelming. It was as if feeling something crawling over your skin. The thing was in the middle of the room, but goosebumps still perked up over my arms and neck at the chilling experience.

The damn thing walked from the center of the room, behind my chair, to the stand beside my bed. I waited with wide eyes; screaming or running may only have angered it. Instead, I watched in horror as this sensation of an intelligent being skulked through my room. Watching it did produce results. Shimmering darkness took a rough form of a humanoid.

Looking back, I’m sure I had a stupid look on my face. Open mouth and bulging eyes, that sort of cartoon surprise that gets the chuckles. This apparition stood as a blur of the blackness in the room; it absorbed and cast darkness in each direction. It was an impossibly elaborate moment of understanding and questioning—what I’d expect the human mind to do when confronted with the illogical nature of the supernatural.

Hell, supernatural’s big brother that lifted weights and thought Nam was a vacation.

A limb, I believed it to be an arm, lifted gradually over the stand and its contents. This hazy cloud of something beyond matter shifted in and out of existence; shimmering shadows of a bright black. I felt as if my heart were being pulled from my chest. Maybe I should have removed my shoes and socks, for the chair I sat on rest on holy grounds… I didn’t know, but it was the feeling.

Some call it a type of sensitive. Others may call it a blessing to see beyond the veil. I call it a bunch of horrifying bullshit.

This figure kept its arm over the picture and the metal on the stand. It’s face of shadows and light aimed toward the objects nearest its hand… handy area. That dark tendril pulled at the world like a blackhole sucking in the emotion and power around it.

I felt my heart hasten and my body grow weaker while staring at it. The thing was taking in all that was around it—the air, the trees beyond the walls, the electricity in the wires, the very world about us pulled toward it as if to stretch and feast upon every morsel. Orbs and streams of the visible spectrum funneled from every direction toward the blackened monster.

A shadowy appendage felt along the frame of my mother’s memory. It stopped midway and ceased. That face of an eternal emptiness turned; I could feel the eyes… the intelligence of it aimed toward me. It released the photo and turned. It’s arm then moved to point at me.

I saw this, I felt this… I must have forgotten to breath. It was the first time I felt my soul. Energy of the true self attempted to escape the fleshy prison. I looked through my reaching spirit to the terrific horror of the being in my room.

It called me, the real me, to come closer. I fear that my emptied lungs and exhausted spirit gave in. All the world faded and the floor became my bed for the night.

Chapter 24

I woke to saliva-soaked carpet brushing my face. It took a moment to recall the previous night. An odd, foggy sense barricaded me. A dream that taps you on the right shoulder, but it’s on the left and tries to hide.

My body felt heavy; as if I’d gained about fifty pounds in a matter of hours. Both arms tried to push against the ground, but they shook and gave out. There was an emptiness in my head. It wasn’t like a migraine. It was more of vertigo one might get from inhaling certain substances and holding their breath for too long.

Fumbling around on the ground a bit to regain my composure, I eventually found the strength to get to my feet. Everything felt as if it were spinning. The chair at my desk served as a stable point to secure myself from a second tumble.

Light was coming through the shades. I squinted even in the dull embrace of daylight. “What,” I looked over to the photo of my mother and felt the emptiness swell. I usually felt some powerful pull when gazing at her immortal self, but I just felt as I were peering down a bottomless pit. The memory brought no pain, and the events of the night before slipped into that unclear boundary between dream and unsure thoughts.

Did I, my inner voice momentarily revived the suspicion of phenomena. Turning my face to look at the computer screen shattered my dreamlike wonder.

“Shit!” It was already past noon. That little clock in the corner of the screen told me I had already wasted most of my day passed out on the floor—a dreamless slumber to rattle my brain and leave me unrested.

I didn’t bother to change; I’d done nothing worth a shower or a change of clothes in the last twenty-four hours. And I was a teenager, get off my back.

The guitar case was the first to be grabbed and prepared. I made sure I had all the necessities for the day’s practice. My music player was taken from the desk with the earbuds wound tightly around the metallic body. The sweatshirt and jacket combo went on next. The rest of what I might have needed was already in my pockets. Off to Cage’s.

Shimmers stole my attention. My warped sense of the world seemed to stabilize when I focused on the metal. Michael’s victorious stance offered me security in the rippling universe. It was almost like instinct; an animal climbing a tree for escape, a cub suckling on its mother’s tit, a dying man without faith clasping his hands together with soft words… you get the idea. I grabbed the chain and pulled it over my head. Tucking the metal into my shirt, I felt the weight lift the heaviness from me.

Maybe it’s that natural state of one who lets their door swing open. My mind was accepting the vastness of our world without me knowing it, and so my questioning of the things around me seemed superfluous.

I think it more likely that I was in a stupor unlike any of the druggies at my school could claim to have comprehended. That strikes me as the better explanation. I should have questioned it. I shouldn’t have left. Sitting in my room with my guitar by myself would have soothed the door shut… okay, probably not. But I will always wonder what it would have been like to lock that door and continue with life normally.

Instead, I walked toward the door and my decline. First day with a band. It was a dream come true, and it was one I’d spend with my best friend. Maybe I’ll make more friends and start being a cool guy! That’s the kind of hopeful shit that went through my head. What an idiot, am I right?

The doorknob turned and the safety of my room was opened wide to the Hell of the house. I shut the door behind me. Everything I cherished was on my person except the single photo on the nightstand. I bid my sanctuary farewell and hurried down the stairs.

“You actually got a call.” Sam was looking through a magazine at the kitchen table. I could see her to the right over the handrail of the staircase. Ahead of me, my father remained planted in front of his television—I couldn’t tell if he was awake or not.

“Cage?” I was trying to move as quickly as possible with the bulky guitar case at my side.

She sighed and rolled her eyes at me. What an endearing trait. “I don’t know. He asked for you, and you didn’t come when we called up to you.” She shrugged a bit but kept on reading, “Thought you had something better to do.”

“Thanks.” I moved by her and got myself an apple from the fridge. I recall it being a nice, red, juicy one. Something sweet to fill my stomach and hopefully balance out the mind. “Have a good one.”

“Mom was waiting for you.” Sam’s emotionless words stopped me at the door.

“And?”

“Don’t know.” She inhaled deeply and sighed again. “You probably screwed up on something.” How spiteful can one teenage girl be? Science still searches for an answer.

“Well, I’ll be heading out then.” The door to the garage opened and my escape was almost complete. The garage door lifted slowly while I prepared the bike for the trip. Squeaking wheels ran along the track until the exit was clear. I was out and into the world.

The ride was calm. A soft breeze at my back, tasty apple bites between balancing myself on the bike, and not a single raven in sight to induce panic. There really wasn’t anything but the destination. Every street and face zipped by and into that damned area of the mind to stand beside the memories of a night my subconscious fought to keep under wraps.

Minutes went by in an instant. I was there before I realized how far I’d traveled. Cage’s impressive home seemed simple enough in a cozy area of town. You didn’t have to worry about walking down their street at night. Cream siding and white shutters reflected the cleanliness of the neighborhood. Every home in the area was softly colored and impressive.

His mother’s minivan sat quietly on the right side of the driveway. His father’s mustang, a pretty blue that caught the sunlight spectacularly, slept in the left side of the garage—kept safe from the dangerous environment of their neighborhood.

There was another vehicle, one I’d not seen before at their place. It was parked on the street next to their mailbox. It was a purple Grand Am with just a few discolored patches around the back bumper. It wasn’t a high-end, luxurious model, but I’m sure it did the daily tasks more efficiently than a bike.

I took to my usual place in the garage. The bike was placed against the wall that connected with the home; right next to the workbench with every tool needed to keep the mustang galloping. I always took a breath before entering the castle dirty or winded.

My chest normally would have hurt; speeding as quickly as I felt I had. Instead, I felt quiescent. It was as if I was breathing heavier out of habit. The guitar case in my left hand felt light as I prepared to meet the band for the first time. It was something I thought I’d be excited for.

Emptiness was still there. The apple I’d finished on the way and thrown to a random curb did little to energize me. The fresh air didn’t wake me up. I just felt… stilled as I stood in the garage of my best friend’s home. A plastic bag just floating on the waves waiting for some poor sea turtle to swim into me.

I remember the first time I visited his family. I stood in that same spot and waited for my heart to cease its pounding. Like waiting to stand before a jury and hear the verdict, I assured myself it would be okay. It eventually was. I’d gotten along with his family and became the usual visitor they expected in their home.

No feelings of warmth welcomes or chills of anticipation were in me at this point. I just stood there in the dimmed garage and tried to think. Nothing stuck. It was a parade of concepts moving through my brain. Each was visible and waved slowly until it was gone a few seconds later; replaced by the next new and flashy float.

Except none of these thoughts got the energy flowing. His family, my friends, the music… the phantom in my waking nightmare, it all seemed distant. As if I stood at the edge of some vastness I’d never be able to return from. There was no real reason for it; stress and hormones cause issues in all teens… yet I stood there feeling that emptiness in me fester and eat outward.

“What the hell are you doing?” I looked up to see Cage leaning out of the door which led to his family’s kitchen. I looked at him from beneath my drawn hood; careful to keep myself retreated. “How long have you been standing out here man? We’ve been waiting.” I wasn’t sure. It felt as if I’d been standing there for a few seconds, but my mind felt as if I’d been awake for a week straight. “Luis and David are waiting. We got everything set up downstairs.”

I nodded without trying to open my mouth. It felt right to remain silent.

“Oh. Tom. How’re you?” His mother greeted me while she worked on some platter. They often held little get togethers at their house for the weekly sports events. People wore uniforms for each game—supporting the team of their choice. Hers was tight fitting. She had that same tan skin as Cage; a nice tone framed by frizzy, black hair. She didn’t look a day over twenty.

“Hello,” I broke my silence as to not seem out of the ordinary. Just get to the music, I kept telling myself.

“Would you like some snacks?” She turned to offer me some food from the platter of assorted cheeses and sausages she’d placed in a circular platter for the game. “We have plenty.” She sort of bounced while talking. I just stared at the food with a pit in my stomach.

“I’ll take some down for everyone.” Cage lunged forward to grab the remaining scraps of food she didn’t place on the tray. She narrowed her eyes at him but smiled. “Thanks mom! Love you!” He held the food in one hand and slapped my shoulder with the other. “Get ready man. They’re waiting.”

“Don’t be too loud, the neighbors will be over in an hour.” She started to walk away. I’d normally strain to see that, but I just turned toward the basement’s stairs. Down the wooden steps, I went. Two voices were discussing music. I could hear song titles and bands being named and expressions on them being shared or shamed.

I got to the bottom and saw them laughing about the differences in their tastes. I only saw them in passing, but I knew which one was which. David was a short, brown-haired guy with a higher voice and glasses. He was skinny and one of the slacker-jokesters in our class. Luis was one of the guys on Cage’s baseball team. He had a thick neck and a decent build beneath some fluffiness. His voice was deeper—only adding to the intimidating body and shaved head. Once he smiled, you knew you were worrying for nothing.

David was sitting on an amp with a microphone slung around his shoulders to rest on his chest. His hands were clasped in front of him while he listened to Luis bash one of the bands they disagreed on. Luis was on the couch that rested in the middle of the room—the flat screen television was set against the wall encasing the staircase. This red couch was a distance away from the entertainment system, but you never had any trouble seeing the screen. Luis flailed his hands about with the sticks snapping against his knees and the cushions of his seat.

“Alright boys. We have an hour of loud jams. After that we go from ten to eight.” Cage laughed as he set the food on an end table.

Luis threw a stick up, caught it with the other hand so both were in his left, and grabbed some cheese before getting back to his set in the corner of the room. His drums were a sparkling black—shiny and new. The cymbals were mismatched brands, but damn did they look beautiful. “What song first?” He mumbled through his chewing.

“Some Nickleback?” We all had chuckle at that, my laughs faint but true. I respected their talent, but most of their songs didn’t do it for me. David went for the low hanging fruit on that joke.

“What do you think, Tom?” Cage didn’t look at me. He was connecting his cord to the amp. The other end would find its way into his bass; that wonderful snap of static signifying the birth of beauty. I set my case down carefully and began to prepare myself with the only thing that felt right.

Music had to be the answer. What could ring me up and settle my soul back into its rightful place if not for the glory of music? Hell, Cage’s mom gussied up like an off-duty cheerleader didn’t get the blood boiling. Metal music was my last hope.

“I’m not sure.” It was difficult to think straight. My brain was trying to bring the songs I knew to the front, but it felt like I would pop a blood vessel trying to do so. “What were you thinking? Any songs with some sick bass you were looking to show off to?” I wasn’t facing the guys. The joke landed for them, but I feared my facial expression would’ve killed the delivery.

“You said Korn might make me look good. I was looking up some of their songs.” Luckily, we lived in the time of laptops. Any song we discussed was quickly searched for the member who knew nothing of the song. Tabs were studied and the song was played once for everyone to get themselves ready. Words were printed out so David knew exactly what to sing, and the song came to life.

Cage kept my second amp at his house so we could have days just like this. My jacket and sweatshirt hit the floor so I could prepare myself. I slung my guitar over my shoulder—that feeling of the skull-designed strap lying firmly against my body was like a lighter flick which doesn’t quite spawn the flame. My fingers felt along the neck of guitar. Fine design, every other fret with dots that looked like a waxed marble. Another strike of the flint. A pick rested between my lips while I uncoiled the chord.

One plug in the amp and the other in my guitar.

That wondrous crackle of electrical inputs. It sent a shiver up my spine; I tensed until I realized I felt no fingers placed against my skin. Still, goosebumps took over my body. It felt right. It was what I’d been meant to do.

My right hand removed the pick from my lips and my left fingered the quiet strings; the dial at zero.

I did a few scales to warm up the fingers. My hand spun the dial all the way up. After that, I jumped right into a few lines from various songs to loosen me up. The first measures of “Entombment of a Machine” and then some “Thunderhorse” just for shits and giggles.

That may mean nothing to you, but to me… that’s mankind summoning a bit of God into the natural world. One freaking note at a time. When they line up, harmonize, scale, make sweet love to one another—that’s the rush up my spine that proves to me there’s more to this world than people disguised as angels or demons disguised as family.

Harmonics, the lightly tapping of my fingers, rang out from the amp and filled the room with nothing but the sounds of my heart. My warm-up was finished. I turned to the group and saw all eyes on me.

“Shit.” Luis was nodding behind his set.

David pumped his fist at his side, “That was sweet. No one’ll stand up to that at the talent show.”

Cage half smiled at me, but the grin faded.

My embarrassment at the attention morphed from the anticipation of more praise to the worry of what he was thinking.

“What happened man?”

The other two stopped their admiration to connect the meaning of his words.

I hadn’t had time to look in a mirror before rushing over. Whatever remained was enough. A blemish on my pale skin was obviously going to stand out.

“It’s nothing.” Cage didn’t buy that. He took a step closer with his hand lifting toward me. “I said,” I put out my own hand. He halted as I gave him the best half-smile I could. No matter the pain welling inside, a smile can always mask it… however fake it may be. “It’s nothing.”

Cage looked at me with narrowed eyes. Pain shared through lies. At least I saw that in them. The emotional bond of a brother. I should have thanked him for caring.

To force it along, I looked over the other two. “What songs do we play first?”

There was a moment of silence. The hesitation of teenagers not knowing what to do with the knowledge of events they don’t understand. What a world.

“We’ll start off easy,” I smiled and started to play a loud, simpler, jam from Slipknot. It didn’t take long for each to jump in and swing to our own form of a “Psychosocial”.

Chapter 25

Bottles of water were passed around as we celebrated the end of our first real band practice. My fingers traveled over the strings with that second-nature fascination. We got in some good tunes, I hit some solos, and we all laughed as if the world was nothing more than four guys and their different instruments.

I could have played any of the instruments in that room—even sang if it came down to it, but the guitar was my lover. She sang for me with each tap and strum. I don’t care how odd or creepy that sounds. That guitar was my centerfold gal, and every instrument a mistress to fool around with when the mind wandered.

Like laying a child to rest, I placed the guitar back into the case. A tightly wound cord took its place in the little fold meant to restrain it from loosening while in transit. I threw out the pick I’d used. Damn thing couldn’t keep up. I never could bring myself to buy great picks when I went through them so often. Figured it was best to buy the cheap ones and focus on good strings and accessories for the guitar.

It was only practice, but we got into it. I was exhausted. I was before getting there. Adrenaline felt like the only thing keeping me awake. That bottle of water was gone with one tip. Every emptied container crinkled as the boys squeezed the last drops out.

“No way we can lose.” David shook his head and fell into the couch. “No way.”

“We’ll have to make our choice this week. Start knocking out those two or three songs to perfection.” Cage finished the sentence with pinched fingers to his lips. He then kissed them into the air and spread his hand as if confetti would shoot out.

“I think we’ve earned a reward.” Luis was fidgeting behind his set. He’d rolled his short sleeves up as high as they’d go. Sweat dripped from his head as if he’d done a military obstacle course.

“Sounds good man.” Cage put up a finger. He turned and ran down the hallway to his bedroom at the end of a thin hallway. I took a seat on the floor after my instrument was all bundled tightly into the case. He returned just as quickly as he’d left with his hands falling into his back pocket. “Your car?”

“Of course.” Luis was still working on something. His eyes were aimed toward his lap. I thought his phone must had stolen his full attention. “Whenever.”

“I could use it.” David sprawled out and moaned a bit. “My throat’s already fucked up.”

“You down, Tom?” Cage smiled at me and popped a thumb up.

“Where’re we going?” I was fine sitting on the floor, but Cage often led the way of our group. Where he went, I followed.

“Luis’s going to take us for a ride.”

Shrugging, I sighed at the thought of having to get back up after the thrashing, “Sure. I don’t have anywhere to be.”

My limbs felt flimsy. Playing in my room by myself only seemed to cramp the hands after some time, but matching the energy of the group was a necessity as each tried to outdo the last. One headbangs, the next jumps with a kick, the next spreads their stance and swings, and so I had to lean into the guitar while swinging my head around. That’s the nature of the beast. By trying to best the guy next to you, we all played harder and pushed the skills to make the best music I’ve ever had the pleasure of being a part of.

The memories were fresh in my head then. Even now, that might have been one of the best days in my life. Nothing beyond the concrete walls mattered. Just a couple of guys jamming out to their hearts’ content. It didn’t matter that some were a bit off key or tempos got mixed up… it was perfect.

Both the sweatshirt and jacket were grabbed, but I refused to put them on until we were outside. That chilling air was something to look forward to.

“Just the park?” David asked as he kicked around on the couch until he forced himself to get up. “I can’t be out all night.”

“You guys are welcome to crash here. We got the downstairs to ourselves.” He showed off the mancave his dad surely had a meant for himself.

“We’ll see. Got to help my dad tomorrow morning. First things first.” David started walking toward the stairs.

The rest of us followed. We moved up and into the kitchen toward the garage. Cage’s mom came into the kitchen to say goodbye. She gave that lovely smile she had whenever guests were near. The music revitalized me enough to enjoy it.

Her sports merchandise was appealing, but I knew it’d be rude to stare. Got to catch those images from the corners of your eyes or when everyone’s attention is pointed in a direction that isn’t yours. It did my heart some good.

“We could hear you up here guys. I was going to tell you all to quiet down, but it wasn’t half-bad.” She smiled and leaned her side against the counter. “Kyle tells me there’s a talent show coming up.”

“Oh yeah.” Luis smirked. “We’ve got it for sure.”

“Keep playing like that, and I would agree.” Spoken like a mom.

I wondered what my gracious stepmom would have said after hearing us.

I guess cancer can be audible. No, that’d be too witty. Music isn’t supposed to make you sick. A waste of time for a waste of air. That’s something I could see her saying. At least one woman was decent enough to take the role seriously.

“Thanks mom.” Cage moved in front of the group to give his mom a hug. She kissed him on the cheek and released him back to his pack.

Lucky bastard.

“Where are you all heading?” We heard cheering coming from the other room. Her attention was split as she began to lean back and attempt to see the television from behind the kitchen walls.

“Going to the park for a bit. Just want to relax and cool off. We’ll be back later. Cool if some of the guys stay over tonight?” Cage asked while moving toward the door.

“Yeah. Don’t be too late. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” Cage opened the door and released us into the garage where the cooled air of fall welcomed us into a soothing embrace. I couldn’t tell if, in that moment, the air was preferable over taking Cage’s place in that hug.

“Love you.” Luis mocked Cage—after the door was shut.

“Hey, screw you. I love my parents. Sucks you don’t.” He chuckled and hit Luis on the back. He turned to me.

I felt awful.

Not because what he said, but how he looked at me. The smile had vanished and there was something else in those eyes. It wasn’t a form of empathy… it was pity. As if he’d wounded a fragile animal, and now he had to right the wrong.

“I,” I waved it off and pressed my lips together tightly; cutting Cage off.

“It’s fine,” the words were soft. No one else needed to know. They didn’t need to be burdened with the sorrows of a life not tethered to their own in any significant way. Perhaps in time, those two would have been branded my brothers. Perhaps, had time continued on as usual, I’d have had the chance to know them.

The other two were ahead of us. David and Luis were already getting into the car. “You guys coming?” David shouted from the passenger seat. He did call “shotgun” after all.

Cage and I took our places in the backseat. The two-door vehicle forced us to push up the front seats to duck into the back. Plopping myself into the right side’s back, I buckled up and prepared for the trip. I placed my sweatshirt and jacket in the remaining seat between Cage and myself.

Roaring to life, the car cried out as if it costed twenty times what it appeared to be worth. I couldn’t tell if that was a sign of delicate work, ignorant neglect, or the lasting marks of time’s ticking rage. No matter the reason, it was better than the guys all standing on the back of my bike while I pedaled.

“Wait until we get out of the subdivision.” Cage didn’t bother buckling himself up. I guess no one else did either. Just a couple of guys out for a drive.

I didn’t question what he meant. Luis turned a bit and nodded. Then the vehicle shifted into drive. The celebration of our new beginnings began. I guess I didn’t understand how the others celebrated.

The windows of both the driver and passenger were rolled a quarter of their way down. Just enough of a breeze from the speed to chill our overheated bodies. I closed my eyes to focus on the stream of cooled air rushing against my face.

“You got the lighter?” David twisted in his seat to nab the device from Cage’s hands.

“Of course.” I opened my eyes to see him give it up gladly. “Go counter.” He spun his hand in the direction of David to Luis and then himself.

“For what?”

Cage looked at me with that renaissance smile. Surely, he’d be the subject of paintings in his time. That bronze bastard. I’m not gay, but you don’t have to be to appreciate beauty—and that smile was something to appreciate.

“Luis always has the best weed.”

Now, this gave me a mixture of emotions. Faced with the choice of being part of the ring or denying entry. What will they think if I say no? I’ve never done it. What if I cough a bunch? Maybe I should? What do I do? That sort of anxiety is basic. Then you get deeper.

What would my father think?

What does it matter what he thinks? My stepmother would hate it. That’s worth it in itself.

Mother would have disapproved.

Would she? She never told me otherwise. Bet she tried it. I have the internet. Name one successful musician that didn’t drink or do drugs. If you did manage to name one claiming they haven’t, I bet they’re just a decent liar.

So, it’s okay as long as others do it? Don’t be so much of an individual.

Screw you… me.

And then I found myself back in the moment. It was already Cage’s turn. He pressed his lips tightly against the brown wrapping of the blunt. There was a slow, silent suck as his cheeks sunk inward. The smoldering end of the wrap burned brightly as he drew it inward. He then inhaled and some of the smoke was released from the far end. He moved it away from his mouth to take in a breath. He sat a moment and pulled in another breath without exhaling. After a few seconds, he coughed out the small cloud. The coughing stopped quickly as he went for a second pull.

As he moved it away from his mouth and inhaled, he offered the joint to me. I took it between my index and middle finger. It felt as if I’d been holding a knife or other weapon. Everything school taught us told me the devil’s dick was in that thing. One puff would make me want heroin, and a second puff would mean my life would inevitably end in the downward spiral of self-destruction. You’ll go from eating an entire bag of chips to human flesh!

“You don’t have to,” Cage spoke in a hoarse voice as he attempted to retain the smoke for a moment longer. His words were accompanied by small puffs of white until he exhaled toward the open window to his left. “Up to you, man. Honestly, I couldn’t remember if you said you ever did it. I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

The aroma is an acquired taste. I just held it while considering the implications of a test. Don’t waste it. Pass or partake. I tried to think it over while the scent began to drive into my brain. Like a skunk and fox had a litter of mutts all trying to spray me.

“Don’t inhale too much. It’s pretty strong.” Luis was relaxed behind the wheel; at least I knew that driving while smoking wasn’t right. I should have said something about that. At least I was buckled up.

What would mother think?

I pressed it to my lips and drew in. Ignoring the wise words of Luis, I began coughing immediately and watched through watery eyes as the smoke dissipated around my balled first. Cage was quick to offer me his bottle of water—not finished and ready for the trip.

“Welcome to the group then. Try a little less next time. You take two and pass.” I nodded and did as he instructed. That second inhale was enough to feel the scratching smoke travel down my throat and begin to claw at my lungs.

“You know it’s good when it hurts like that.” Luis was chuckling quietly behind the wheel. I passed to David and held my other hand to my mouth in hopes of keeping the smoke imprisoned.

Cage began to laugh beside me. “I think he likes it!”

“You got more?” David asked before he took his next pull.

Luis nodded while focusing on the road. We were taking the backstreets through town to get to the park that was surrounded by woods. I watched the trees passing us by beyond the reach of the cement pathways as he talked, “I could roll another when we get there if I need to.”

“You don’t mind it?” Cage leaned back in his seat and watched me from the corner of his eyes.

“No,” I sat with my left hand on my lap; clenching and releasing slowly. “I don’t really feel much yet.”

“No, but take another few hits and wait a bit.” Cage settled into comfort as the trip continued. We were close to the park. I could see signs for “Nicollet Park” zipping by. It seemed about the right pace; at least we weren’t speeding.

A block up, Luis put on his blinker and turned right into the entrance of the park. There was a winding road through a grove of trees which man had split for recreation. I could see a few metallic stands wrapped in drooping chains within the woods. No one outside throwing discs into them. The chilled winds must have kept them away. We’d have some privacy.

Well. We parked in the back of the lot. Not as if we needed to be secretive in the empty barrier between nature and men. The blunt continued around as we prepared ourselves for the climate. I’d asked how we’d hide the smell, to which Luis pulled a cheap cologne spray out from the opening in the center console.

This gave me a bit of peace as the drugs began to work their way into me. I felt a bit different. It was only a minute change at first, but it was like feeling an injection flow through your veins. Some form of painkiller being deposited right into your limbs and you’re defenseless against its spreading. It was something… numbing. I got out of the vehicle after David. Pushing the seat up took a great deal of force—at least it felt that way with arms not wanting to follow orders.

It took some getting used to. I felt, at first, like I was walking across the slanting deck of a ship. All of this should have worried me, but all I could do was smile. Like a shooting star, the anxiety of the situation vanished in a spectacular flash of burning material.

“There’s a bench back that way.” Luis began the journey which we’d follow. The park table with benches on both sides rested against the edge of a thick tree line. Streams of light could be seen struggling to reach the ground as clouds and high branches stood as sentry for the chilling ground beneath. I could feel my feet moving me to the table where we’d sit and chat, but I couldn’t take my eyes away from the forest where the trees almost made straight lines as if they’d been grown in formation to march in the name of Gaia.

“Woah there.” Cage turned and gently pushed me back. I’d snapped out of my gaze to find myself walking right into Cage as he’d tried to settle himself at the table. “You alright? Must be hitting you pretty hard.” His teeth shined and his eyes narrowed as his right hand slapped at my shoulder.

“Sorry,” I couldn’t stop it. A big grin peeled my face back tightly against my skull. “I guess so.” I took my place to his right. Both legs over, setting my ass down, and I was part of the table where many a great mind could share topics of interest.

None were had. I just mean… they could have shared some ideas there. My mind felt as if every topic was important and necessary. We could have discussed the politics of our state and the economically safe policies being implemented. We could have discussed the weather and how the physics of our world boggle the mind with seeming magic flowing through the atmosphere. We could have debated our thoughts on the perpetual war our nation seemed to bask in as both profit and population control were dominated by those signing the orders. We even could have expressed our feelings of how the flag at our school never reached above half the pole’s height—flapping flaccidly against the metal in an attempt at glory.

Girls, driving, teachers… the usual topics of high school conversation were immediately offered as content for the gathering of victorious bandmates. I did enjoy women; though my insight on the topic was sadly lacking in any particular skill or experience. Driving wasn’t something I was afforded in my household. My gracious stepmother would have my manhood if she found me behind the wheel of her precious van. Teachers was just as useless to me. I didn’t mind most, but it isn’t as entertaining to talk of those you like. Far more entertaining is the monologue of faults and humorous banter at the person’s expense.

So, I mostly listened. I tried to focus on every word the guys spoke, but I found it hard to keep eye contact when there was a continuous shimmer from behind Luis and David. Their backs were to the woods, but my entire vision was filled with the sleeping trees. The rest of the group seemed oblivious to the vastness which spread out about us.

Wind howled in my ears, rustling leaves shouted from the ground, dimmed light from a cloudy sky forced my eyes to keep partly closed, and the tingling of my limbs all combined to make my mind wander. Then the shimmering in the woods happened again. At a distance, it almost seemed as if something were moving through the faint beams of sunlight that succeeded in finding Earth.

“Alex was talking about you,” I faintly heard David speaking to Cage. I couldn’t steal my eyes away from the woods.

“Nothing worth talking about.” Cage’s usual nonchalant attitude toward his adventures. I swear there was something walking out there. Maybe a deer? There was a few of them then. I could see the light flicker as things moved about. No feet were seen; perhaps there was a swarm of… no. Butterflies and moths wouldn’t have stuck around that late in the year.

“…Party. Andria wouldn’t even look at me.” David waved his arms in the air. Momentarily blocking my vision and releasing me from the enthralling wilderness. “Oh! I guess I’m not good enough for her.” He snickered and flung his hands across the table.

“Or anyone.” Luis puckered his lips and nodded. He looked as if he’d just made the most philosophical statement of the century. This gave us all a chuckle. A friend’s words may contain pain, but the bond contorts it into something of a compliment. You can’t be true friends until you can openly bash the other and everyone grins.

Being broken from the glamourous woods, I returned to the group to join in the laughter. It was a while before we settled. Once one got laughing, the next would lose himself to the laughter. The person after him would begin to cry through the relentless giggling. Luckily, I was in the beginning of the chain, but soon it circled around until I was weeping from the laughs just as the others.

After we all settled down, Cage looked back to me. I could see his eyes flicker from my left eye, to the space left of my eye, and then down to my edge of my lips. His face pulled to the side a bit as he examined me.

“You got into a bit of a scuff, huh?” Luis saw Cage and decided to break the tension. Cage’s body stiffened so suddenly I felt the bench shake beneath me. “Thought you were sick the other day. Guess you just had to recover from the brawl. You win?”

“That’s not—”

“Hell yeah. You should see the other guy.” I held up a fist and chuckled. Cage raised an eyebrow at me, but I ignored him as I explained myself. “Some dick that my sister hangs around. He came over and was saying some stupid shit to her. He grabbed her. Had to stop it.”

“That’s pretty cool. Standing up for your sister like that. I don’t think I’d lift a finger if my brother got into some shit like that.” David began giggling again.

“In the moment, you find a reason to help. Family’s all you’ve got.” I smiled through the lies with a tinge of truth sprinkled atop. “Not important though. I just needed a day or two to heal. Still looks pretty rough though, huh?”

“Pretty impressive. Looks like you took some good hits. Didn’t go unconscious? You should try out for the wrestling team.” Luis gave me a thumbs-up for the fib’s assumptions of my physical prowess. Though, at least on the mat I’d be allowed to fight back.

“I’ll consider it. Mostly just want to keep these safe,” I twiddled my fingers. The felt like wiggling worms on my hands, and once I thought of that I had to tap my hands on the table and pretend that thought never crossed my drug-hindered mind. “Can’t afford to break something useful.”

“Guess so. Damn shame.” Luis flexed a bit. I’d seen him with his class jacket on. Even though he was a bit larger; you could see there was a layer far more solid beneath the fluff. “The gals do love the wrestlers.”

“Excuse you.” Cage interjected. “Baseball?”

“You’re the only guy on the team that’s got anything to brag about. And let me tell you, it isn’t because of how you handle a ball.” David’s hands mime lifting and dropping something cupped in his palms. He smiled while cage flipped him off.

My eyes darted from face to face in attempt to keep up with who was speaking. But wouldn’t you know it, in my eye’s movement I caught a glimpse of the shimmering. I turned to see something walking. It was still far away. Perhaps ten or fifteen trees into the woods, but I could definitely make out a human shape.

“Who’s that?” I pointed my chin with a nod in the direction.

The laughing halted just long enough for everyone to turn, real inconspicuously, in the direction I’d specified so clearly. Amazing how simple that works. Anyway, each guy turns, looks at me, and then turns back.

“Who?”

“The guy walking? He’s over there.” I tried to be discreet. I hadn’t moved my eyes from the person in the woods, but I didn’t want to point at them in case they were watching us watching them. “I can’t see his face.”

“Dude, weed doesn’t make you hallucinate.” Luis exhaled through a half-smile. “You on something else you aren’t sharing?”

There was a shape in the dimmed light. I could see it stopped in a single beam of light seeping through the branches. I swear, whoever it was, had sticks on his head. Hazy thoughts were trying to claw their way to the front. It was like seeing a familiar face after years of separation. The person just stood there while my brain tried to sober up just enough to connect the figure to memory.

I couldn’t tell if the fog clouding my thoughts was because of a failing brain, the drugs, or a mixture. I’d guess now it was the combination of the two. But at the time, I couldn’t recall the events of the previous night. It was but a dream that found itself in the oblivion of the subconscious; never permitted above the murky surface of the dark matter.

“No one’s there man. You must have seen a deer.” Cage’s hand shook me a bit. I turned to him with wide eyes. “No worries man. Maybe that fight took a bit more out of you than you thought.” He smiled with his lips, but his eyes were still.

“Yeah,” I looked over the group and licked my lips in an attempt to moisten them. Everything felt so dry. My mouth and throat were filled with sand while my brain fumbled about trying to correct my vision. I took another glance into the woods.

Nothing was there. The stream of light I’d seen was illuminating a few dead leaves on the ground. My mind swirled with the loss of reality and memory. Something was in me; trying to find its way out… the hands attempted to force open a door I’d done my best to block and lock.

“Yeah.” I put a hand to my forehead. I rubbed my temple and spoke, “Must have taken one too many hits to the head.” Once I laughed, the rest of the guys laughed with me.

Soon, the laughter overtook everything once again. No more flickering or forms in the woods. Every fragment of my unconscious memory was cast back beneath the waves of the forgotten void. Numbness had overtaken everything—as if the painkiller took all ailment and set them to sail temporarily above the sunken memories. What a wonderful feeling.

I guess it was a gateway drug for me. We all need to feel numb sometimes. We all need to forget and take a moment to enjoy the silence or laughter. In that time beside the woods and among friends, I had let all my worries slip into the darkness until the painkiller worked its way through me.

Dad would be proud.

I lost my smile, but at least the numbness endured.

Chapter 26

Hours went by, and Luis and David chose to gather their things from Cage’s place to go home for the night. I stayed. It was a home away from the house. We’d returned to Cage’s as his parent’s friends were parting. Their team had won, and many empty cans and bottles revealed the depth of their joys.

At least they drink socially. I watched as they all said their goodbyes, shook the hand of Cage’s father, and gave hugs to his mother. She was swaying a bit, but she leapt into their arms with a smile as she praised them for coming. Her genes were definitely the ones responsible for Cage’s smile.

Her eyes were filled with life and splendor. A day of snacks, drinking, and a game with friends brought the greatest smile out for all to see. My mind was just starting to settle from the high as we stood in the kitchen grabbing any snacks that hadn’t been devoured during the game. I stood there stuffing my face while watching the hostess cheerily bid every person goodnight and thanks.

After everyone left but the family and myself, Cage’s mother turned to us. “You all have a good day?” She leaned over the counter and placed on hand against her chin as if to hold it steady. “I know we did.”

“Yeah. Got some good practice in.” Cage spoke a bit too loudly, but I’m sure the inebriated parents wouldn’t have noticed a change in his behavior. No red eyes gave us away either. “Was relaxing to sit at the park and just talk for a while. Cool breeze. It’s getting chilly out.” He punctuated that sentence with a shiver and another set of cheese with crackers in his mouth.

“Well,” she leaned her head to the left. Hair fell over her face with crisp waves of black. “You two have fun. Your father and I are just going to clean up a bit. Jen and her husband invited us over. We might go over and have a fire.” She watched her son and his friend ravage the remaining food. “If you boys are still hungry, there’s pizza in the freezer.”

“And beer?” Cage grinned with teeth full of crumbs and cheese. Freaking son of a gun still looked good doing it.

His mother rolled her eyes and shook her head free of the hand supporting it. “You’ll have all you want when you’re old enough. Don’t go corrupting young Tom here, okay?” She pointed a motherly finger at him. Even in jest, that finger seemed enough to halt any wrongs and set someone back on the right path.

“I wouldn’t let him, Mrs. Trent.” Another large slab of venison sausage went into my mouth. “He’s not that charismatic.”

“He can be the devil when he wants to be.” She moved toward her son and shook her hand through his hair to mess it up. “Be good. Have fun. Stay safe. Call us if you need anything.” She turned and walked out of the kitchen to help her husband with the cleanup. “Love you.”

“Love you too, mom.” Cage answered in return while I just watched her leave; still chewing a slab of meat. “Hey,” Cage bumped his elbow into my side. I might have stared a bit too hard. “Let’s go.”

Into the basement we went. Game console was turned on and both controllers were taken up. Those poor scrubs online didn’t know what hit them. But that wasn’t really anything of importance. It was just a pastime. Cage and I would sit around and joke while gaming. What more could a couple of teenage guys want than to spend time enjoying life with a friend or two?

“I’m going to need to get some more of that from Luis.” I said while shooting an enemy sniper from behind; crouched behind him and watching him so his replay screen would just be me watching him—a hovering death.

“He’d be happy to. Think he gets it from his uncle or neighbor or something.” Cage leaned forward as he knifed a guy in close combat. “I got a bit for us to keep this party going.”

“With your parents home?” It wasn’t difficult to keep a conversation going while focusing on the mind-numbing violence. “Wouldn’t they smell it?”

“We’ll go outside after they leave. I usually do it between the shed and the fence. They haven’t caught me yet. I don’t think they care too much anyway. I’d probably get a talking to, but that would be about it.” Cage thrusted back a bit when a missile blew his corpse against the wall. “Dammit. Yeah, we’ll wait until they leave, put a pizza in, go smoke, get some snacks, and they’ll never know.”

“Sweet.”

“So,” Cage’s voice was a bit quieter than it had been. “What’s up with the bruises?”

The painkiller had almost entirely been worked through me. Emotions and anxieties were on the shore of my mind; preparing to retake the land they’ve all but conquered entirely. “What do you mean?” I spoke while hoping the conversation would change. My shotgun went off on another enemy as he tried to run around a corner.

“Well, I know if Sam were on fire, you wouldn’t piss on her to put out the flames.” He was alive again and sprinting through the demolished city in hopes of finding another fight. “Was it her or your mom.”

“Stepmom.” I corrected him with a bit of hiss in my voice.

“Sorry. You know what I meant.” He shook his head a bit. I wanted him to drop it. It was done, and just a bit more time would provide me with an escape. I was already looking into scholarships and student loans. Just a bit longer. “She did it?”

I sighed a bit. Why not? Let the passengers off the boat. Welcome back! Hope your recent travels were a delight! Please, step back into reality where shit hits the fan, nightmares are a pleasant escape, and the touch of another is felt like nails through the skin. It’s a wonderland of torment!

“Yeah. I’m fine. I don’t really want to talk about it.” I just kept sprinting through the ruins of a foreign land until another unsuspecting man with a red indicator found himself in my path. Another blast of the shotgun was heard, and an announcement showed me I had a kill-bonus ready for use. “It’s done. I used the day off to go get an MP3 player.”

“Doesn’t seem like a fair trade.” Cage was quiet again. I guess… at least he was asking. He was giving me some care. I wasn’t mad at him. That rage toward the untouchable matriarch of my house would need to settle and fester. It was healthier, in my mind, to set it aside. “I’m here for you, man.”

“I know. Thanks Cage. You’re the brother I always wanted.” My lips pulled to the left at the thought of how he was more family than any I had at the time. “I have a suspicion that Dillon won’t grow up to be very fond of me.”

“Maybe not. You should be gone by the time he even starts school. You might have to deal with a shit-talking two-year-old for a bit. Can’t imagine that’ll be fun, but at least it’ll go quick.” Cage got shot, hid, and then blown up by a grenade. Explosions were just seeking him out that day. “Bastard.”

“I got you.” I shot his killer in the back. “My life for you!” I exclaimed as I avenged him. This was enough for a helicopter to come in and provide us some air-support. “Rain from above. That’ll be game.” I watched as the score climbed from a needed three kills, to two, to one, and then the ending screen flashed up that our team was victorious. “Good job.”

“Hell yeah, man.” We looked at our scores. We were both first and second on the team in kills. Felt good to dominate unknown persons from the world over in an arbitrary contest. “I’ll get them in the next match. That bastard,” he looked over the opposing team, “Asslicker205. He needs to get taken out for all that camping.”

“Wonder how many Asslickers there are. Like, 2-0-5? He couldn’t just get Asslicker? Guess he’s not too original if so many people wanted the name.” Wouldn’t be enjoyable if people didn’t have some fun names for others to joke about.

“Oh,” Cage pointed up and tilted his head. “Mom and dad just left. Give it one more game, and we’ll go smoke.”

“Sounds good to me.” Cage was looking at me again. His eyes on my cheek and the edge of my lip. “What?”

“Does it hurt?”

“Nah,” I lied as smiling still stung a bit with the scab healing over. My lips pulled back as I spoke, “At least I’m a fast healer. Should have seen the eye. All swollen over. I’d take Luis up on the offer for the wrestling team or join a boxing group if I didn’t want to focus on music. Takes a bit to take me down.”

Keep smiling.

“That’s fucked up.” Cage turned back to the screen with a tiny smile on his face. “You shouldn’t have to learn your talent for being a punching bag from your parents.”

“Learn at home. Cheaper that way.”

“Not in a one-sided fight.” Cage sounded upset. I just wanted to get through it with a smile. I can’t image how I’d survived it if I had his mentality. “She deserves to burn for that.”

“The devil will have his way with her all he wants in time. Until then, I’ll deal with her. Lull her into a false sense of security. ‘I’m in control here,’ and then bam! She’s in Hell getting poked with a hot stick where the sun don’t shine.” I snickered at this as I gestured the thrusting of a prod.

“Thought you weren’t too big on Hell, Heaven, and all that.” Cage chose his preset character set of weapons and bonuses.

“I’m not, but so many are. Something’s out there,” my temples got a pressure in them. It was like something wanted to join the other anxieties in their release back into the mind. Something was trying to crawl its way from the depths of the void. I squeezed my eyes together in an attempt to focus on the hazy thoughts. It wasn’t of any use as the explosions of a battle began to draw me back to the present. “Hope she gets the short-end of that stick. She deserves worse than just the stick.”

“That’s true enough.”

We played the remainder of that round mostly in silence. Only a few jokes were made at certain kills or the ridiculous nature of the game. After it was done, we celebrated another victory with the preparation of a pizza and more food. Then the drug was prepared for us in a small, glass instrument Cage got from his room.

The painkiller was back. How glorious it was! Like a marching formation of Spartans to drive the newly-returned anxieties back onto their ship to set them adrift across the void once more. They’d stay out there and wait patiently for the Spartans to tire and vanish. The shores of my mind were safe for the remainder of the night as Cage and I sated our drug-induced hunger, drank our fill of any sodas in the home, and gamed until our eyes were too heavy to stay open.

I fell asleep on the couch of a warm home, the worries of life walled off by the miracle drug, and my memories safely kept behind the cracked door at the bottom of the void. If my life could have stayed that way, I would have enjoyed existing.

But as I’ve said before. That is not how it works. Life won’t give you happiness so easily. The door was already opened. Everyone has their doors and their voids, but my door was ready to blow off the hinges and send the void across the land like raining oil.

I just wish it would have drained before the fire ignited that black death.

Chapter 27

Into the front of my mind, crawling across the grimy shores like a rambling corpse awakened at sea, the horrors began to open their door. The drug had taken hold and weakened the threshold to the worlds beyond. Our human brains are subject to the constant, often overwhelming, stimuli of every reality. Only the constants in reality anchor themselves atop the dry land of the brain—the rest are forsaken to the black waves of the void in hopes of retaining what little land remains.

A land I’d seen in portals burned up by a single bird.

It was time that the mind learned to provide for a diverse series of realities. That which mankind has spent millennia forcing behind these doors were cultivating themselves; growth of numbers and a desire for freedom. Lucidity came to me as an angel in the form of a cloud of white smoke and a need for rest. In the joys of my drugs, I had found the secret of nature’s treats.

The Creator, in that vast knowledge and humor, gave us a mind to conquer all which we are born beside. The Creator formed us from the first specks of stars shot across the universe in an eternal play written and cast by that unending hand. The Creator gave so much; something I did not appreciate at the time.

But I do now.

I would have stared directly at a cross and felt nothing but the emptiness of an ignored child. As the child screams and the parent turns, the first emotional pain is known to dwarf all physical anguish. That cross had retained importance while the beloved son fell into the waves of the void. I felt myself drown in that horrible sea beyond the reach of the cross’s light or reality’s warmth.

I just kept smiling.

But the smoke had come. It had emulated all forms of connection to the Divine—standing equal to the music which filled my soul. The eye within the mind found grace within the swirling vapors and relaxed as the single door of the nether revealed itself to be apex among millions. Pale and crushed by the weight of that blackness, it took to the land to remind this human that there is far more to the universe than what is in front of your physical eyes.

The high took its toll on me. I fell asleep on the couch at Cage’s to find myself being surrounded by the nightmares I’d known to be fairytale. Sleep took me. It stole me away into the lands trapped by the crashing waves of darkness.

And that single, pale, derelict door pulled me through.

I woke up in the land where fog rolled over the ground and all remained in perpetual death. Trees twisted outward in every direction in a feeble attempt to find light and nourishment. This world of grays and deep blues became focused as I turned in my small valley of a white blanket at my feet. There was a circle of hills around me where the trees created a barrier between myself and all that roamed in those dead woods.

There was no rosebush there. I just turned in faith of finding the idol of my Heaven. Instead, I found there to be small shapes about the trees. Ravens had found me again.

Their beady eyes were unblinking. Each with that unsettling gaze toward the center of the gulley where I stood. None came forward. None made a sound. Each sat still as if part of the trees they perched on. The birds had become petrified in the wood of a seemingly unchanging world.

“What now? What lesson?” I thought over the last conversation I’d had in the blurred world of deafening silence. I’d heard the names Conquest, War, and Famine as the fog rolled in like the mute disease of a battlefield. Each name danced in my head like a flame preparing to consume the worlds I’d seen in my first dream. It was all connected—a story separated by chapters of slumber. Stories forgotten and retold.

I lifted one knee out of the fog to watch the smoke twirl. It was a thick cloud; almost like standing in a river unable to accept its transformation. Set in its ways, the moisture remained gathered in the crater beneath the reach of the ring of thirsty trees. This lake of fog forever taunted any ambitious plant. Reaching into the paradise of water would find nothing but dissatisfaction in drought.

So, I stood and examined the world of watchful eyes and fog. The trees seemed like lengthy and curved thorns. Their tops were a protective mechanism to keep them alive against the deadly world until the day the water returned.

I knew that would never come. There is only one constant water source in Terra Morte—The Well of Souls.

The fog may travel there. First, it must find its way to the Eternal Tributaries. Shifting rivers of floating mist that follow the instinctual direction toward the center of Terra Morte. They might curl up a mountain one day or slide through the valley the next. In the cathedral of The Reaper exists the portal to all lives. It is there that the mist may find its way to another life beyond the previous. No matter where the portal leads you, it is destiny that you find it.

Yes, that you find it. If you do not… you find yourself in a crater surrounded by the disorientating flora of The Land of Death. The souls of many are lost in the timeless environment of Death. The Creator calls them to through the portal, but many lose sight of their goal and remain in the zone between life and death. Trapped forever. Until they find themselves, they shall remain.

My foot fell back to the ground beneath the sheet of gripping white. This is when the horror of reality struck me. One door had opened wide so that its occupant could dig its bony claws into the flesh of my mind. Mangled and decayed, its face was revealed in the manner of which it lived.

I’d thought it was a hand. It was an odd wave in the fog like fingers reaching over the waves of the ocean. About ten feet from me, it lifted to greet me. These fingers were thin, curved at the joints, and sharpened as if skin had shrunken tightly against the bones beneath. I shuddered in response, and I found my legs unresponsive as I leaned away.

No squawking or names called out in warning. Only the thickness of the fog came for me. The hand sunk back into the whole, but there was a wake spreading atop the white. Its mouth was farthest from me. The submerged phantom was coming.

I groaned and struggled to pull my legs free. Both hands dropped to my right leg and pulled while I tried to kick free. In my fight, I could see the encroaching wave of rolling mist only five feet from me. It wasn’t fast, but it needed neither speed nor force when stalking the ensnared.

Breaking free, my leg flung upward. Six arms of white came from within the fog. Each was thin and sickly; fingers stretching out like needles to puncture the flesh and drag me below. Two went for my ankle and took hold on my shoe. Two went for the calf like two clasps falling toward one another to crush what stands between them. Their sickly appearance lacked fragility as they clapped hard on my leg. I could feel the pressure on my bones as they dug their white nails through the pants and into the skin.

I screamed. That was all I could do. They were swarming me and pulling my leg back down when the last two hands lashed out. To my left, a scrawny arm arched and cast its straightened fingers into the meat of my thigh. At least to the second joint, I saw the fingers disappear through the pants and produce a flowing stream of crimson. This blood fell across the fingers and down into the fog—whiteness swallowing me with no sign left behind. The swirling mist turned about every drop and crashed back into the whole to clear the scene of my consumption.

Then came the last hand. I grabbed at my side to pull the hand free, but those fingers of solidified mist bore deeper. Every twitch and curling of the digits was excruciating as they carved themselves inward like a tick. I didn’t even see this last hand coming through the horrors already upon me. It used the distraction of its fellow specters to target the greatest of vulnerabilities.

This hand snapped down like a beast onto the honor of men. Each finger was spaced and clawed. I could feel the metal of the zipper peeling back skin as the phantom’s hand forced into me. My screams choked to an end while my body was torn asunder. These lost souls had found flesh once more, and they desired to embrace it.

Their frigid touch sent chills into the veins to replace the blood. Pressed against the palm of the final hand, I could feel my manhood leak from unnatural orifices to soak my violator. It found pleasure in taking the fluid from me; pressing tightly against me as if to assure me of the indulgence that would ensue.

My lungs had been taken by the chill and froze at the sight. My foot was dragged back into the fog to send a body of pale tendrils upward. I cowered in fear of the floating nothing while fingers dug their way along my insides. My femur felt as if it would snap. The fingers each tunneled in different directions to surround the bone—worms of fog feasted their way to grasp the center of my leg. I could see the arm up to the wrist. The rest, I squirmed at the thought, was holding my skeletal frame between those fingers of blood-soaked ice.

Then there was the encasement. I felt my head drop to look beyond my hands, which were shielding my face from the vapors, and noticed the sinister hand that sought my center had burrowed each finger into me almost to the knuckles. These white limbs almost glistened as the crimson poured over the hand.

I watched, my mouth wide and silent, as the arm bend at the elbow. The fingers twisted with the repositioning. Each nail sliced through flesh with the relaxed movements. The hands were peeling me apart to feed the fog my falling blood.

Then they all stopped—stuck within me as bloodletting implants. They did not jostle with breath or shake with unsteady intent. They remained firm to hold me still, but I could feel my body quivering with the agony. Every shiver brought by their frigid touch forced freshly exposed nerves to the hellish torture of the frozen white.

It was silent in the world of gray death. Ravens gazed on while my blood dripped down my pants and over the arms of the lost souls. Their gathered brood anchored me like icicles constructed to impale the ignorant mountaineer. When the wandering soul meets those which are lost, the lost will claim another for their ranks as if building themselves a new paradise in sheer numbers.

What do I do? No one can help. I’m going to die. A fear of every nightmare quickly vanishes as death brings consciousness flooding back, but I knew this nightmare would not give me back to the waking world so easily. This is how I die?

There was a pulse in the fog. An optimist would believe the cloud to have found a crevasse to escape the eternal pit, but a realist would recognize a shift in purpose. A wave shook the mist until a bubble grew at the base of the arm which held my manhood by the roots. Blood dripped inches in front of the mound, but the mound did not swirl or break at the falling liquid’s touch.

It grew upward. This mound lifted over the body of the many until I could see the parting of hair and a series of bright spots on its left side. Three circles, whiter than the rest of the form, stood in a trinity to keep my focus until it became apparent what stared at me beneath them. Two eyes of shimmering frost peered upward from the dancing fog.

Hair encased the creature’s head; long and straight locks weighed straight down as if soaked in a murky river. Her white flesh was bound against the bones which seemed to exist beneath the purest of unholy exteriors. The eternal spirit, a being of energy, stared into me without emotion—but there was purpose.

Longing was behind those eyes of stone and ice. This seemingly ancient specter had found purpose in the timeless events between lives. The blood of an ignorant youth spread across Terra Morte’s soil. Life, or at least its memory, had come for her.

Those hands within me kept still against my fidgeting. She had come out of her joined oneness to present her head, neck, and the shoulder attached to the hand gripping me by the groin. I could feel those fingers twitch then. Her eyes did not move, but the knowing of a life long gone was obvious. She’d come for one thing, and she would have it.

Around my femur, the hand gripping the bone kept me from leaning too far in any direction. This agony burned against the frozen embrace of its clawed hand. Those hands which had returned my foot to the fog planted me in place so I could not fight what was to come. I was meant to remain and witness the foul victory of she who had failed in life.

Her eyes shined out as foggy gems finally reflecting the light of a dying day. They stared into me. I could feel the energy within her… she enjoyed it.

The hand fell with force. The material of my pants was removed to reveal a bloody patch where once my manhood existed. Cascading crimson spouted out and over the white flesh of the phantom; it splattered and slipped from her as water over chemically-treated glass.

My throat found a way to clear itself and produce a sound. It was a choking yelp; a rodent caught in a trap. My shaking hands moved toward the wound. I looked down, unable to see the full extent of the damage, and saw my shivering fingers painted with my own blood. The torturous hands were put out of mind. This pain was powerful enough to grip all thought.

I saw the whiteness turn to darkness. First, it became a gray which slowly lost focus into nothingness. My foot was released as my knees buckled. The cold fog overtook me as I collapsed into the joining of lost souls. That chilling material opened wide to swallow me; the hand within my thigh pulled me down to secure the feast they’d partake of without blessing or thanks.

All was that gray fading to darkness when I heard a single raven call out. His voice echoed in the trench I’d created in the fog; the various curls of white feeling their way over my body to close like a maw. The raven screamed out in a pain I had known. His voice carried a trait of sadness I’d recalled in my youth. This faded with the rest until I was in a world of growing blackness and the fading call of a suffering bird.

Chapter 28

Youthful and devilish, the spirit of a teenager had dragged me into the bosom of their accursed community. She’d found me in that world of dying grays and dragged me into the communion of flesh to be shared. I’d been stolen from the watchful eyes of the messengers to be baptized in the eternity of a lost few.

One could politely say… I was fucked.

In this darkness, I felt only pain. Emotional and physical, my Hell was created by the souls of humans. They had proven themselves equal to the fables of winged creatures with forked tails and horns. The door was busted down, and in I went.

There was no going back. I’d been exposed to that which exists beyond the doors I’ve placed deep in the mind. Like radiation shooting through you, it seeps into the muscles and veins to rearrange vital data within your cells. Some will die, others will become vile copies of yourself, and the whole of your person is changed.

Their suffering pumped through every strand of the fog like veins in the body. Each memory of insecurity, the failures perceived in life, and the loss of their path from one life to the next all surrounded me. I’d fallen into the cocoon of guilty souls with nothing but their thoughts to keep them busy until judgement finally finds them.

Some will take in that of another. People, I mean. They can feel, as if their own mind experiences it, what another may have undertaken. Their love, their fear, and any emotion between those two points of the spectrum. Ignorant as I was, my body had taken to this as a child does with filling their lungs.

Like sipping from a chalice of a known poison, I remained in the darkness and inhaled the fog tainted by these energies. I was unable to halt my senses. Fog had crashed over me as the sea upon the stony shores. It was crushing. These foreign feelings caused me to feel uncomfortable in my own skin. My brain felt as if it were floating in another’s skull and the limbs, which drew together, were parasites latching themselves to me.

Sorrow and wretchedness was dominating all else. These energies floated past my lips with a sour taste to churn my stomach and twist my lungs. This palette was devoid of life—none of flesh could sample it and witness the next sunrise. Tears were not enough. Every breath brought about more of the sickening purity of their compiled shame.

While this fog had seemed a perfect white cast against the Land of Death, its core was empty as the vacuum between planets. To this, their souls were laid bare for me to experience against my will. It was if they shoved it all down my throat. These hands of the deceased funneled their joined darkness into me while the vengeful hand within my thigh kept me prisoner inside their perpetual confinement.

When emotions are strong enough, they can drag the entire accompanying experience with it. To taste the grief was enough to desire my final breath, but the images which sparked to life before my eyes was the catalyst to mature this request for death into a demand.

I couldn’t move, and that was for the best. The mind saw these developing memories of lives ended, but I felt as if removing my eyes would cease the torment. If I could just have gotten a hand away from my curled body to place a finger into the edge of my eye socket, I could press firmly toward the nose and blacken the image. If only I could have broken my eyes against the bone and offered that mangled gel to the spirits, perhaps I’d have known the rest of The Reaper. Maybe, I’d have been able to drift beyond their fog to drip into The Well of Souls. That was the best I could hope for.

Only one life was strong enough to materialize in my mind. The rest simply forced themselves into me so that five lives worth of bleakness were bound within one. That final soul took advantage of my weakened spirit to subject me to their failures. If only one had offered an open hand in life, there would have been no uncontested emptiness to offer in the beyond.

It was her life. I could feel her body as my own; knowing her movements as my own. I had no control, but the memories of her fleshy prison were for me to experience. Light had returned to me, but the suffocating toxins of the fog remained. Her pain, the unstable teenage mind of hormones, was exacerbated by the events proceeding before our eyes. I felt those insecurities. I felt her questioning. Even in life, there was a sense that an offering of flesh might cease the creeping emptiness known to be truth within.

A phone was in front of our joined eyes. The words in bubbles of white and blue were blurry through the frustrated emotions of the teen girl. Spilling over her eyelids, I felt the warm tears break the tension and fall. Once the water level lowered, I could read the words which had caused the suffering I’d already recognized. That which she had felt was intense—infatuation is the obsession which can either breed true love or a compulsive need for a false bond. I fear her longing had been lost to the second; the ache in her chest beat within me as I lived her loss.

This moment had been her breaking. She’d forsaken all other moments of anguish to show… to force unto me her final resolution in the face of destruction.

Obviously, this was not her end. The words on the screen were a conversation with a boy she had given the title of “Babe” to. His responses were absent any such infatuation. His were of a calm and cold realization that their love was not real, and it was this coldness that was able to be felt through the pixels and syllables. He had not granted her comfort in discussion or a personal release.

She responded with frantic fingers tapping away at the phone, one worth quite a bit and able to elevate a person in social circles, in hopes that one of her many pleas would change his mind or convince him to at least give her another chance. Does that work? I never really had a girlfriend, and I didn’t have the phone or opportunity to have such unpleasant conversations. It seemed that pity was her tactic, but how long can a relationship worth having last when built on that crumbling foundation?

She begged. She offered more of what she’d already given him; what a woman can offer a man for a number of reasons. She had offered the reward of love before her youthful heart had decided between binding and enjoyable pastime. This boy had taken what she’d offered. The phone was filled with clear bubbles signifying her continuous sending of fragmented and mistyped petitions.

He would only occasionally respond with short denials or ellipsis. He couldn’t even find it within his heart to soften this blow or to apologize for his tactless retreat. As it is so often with the youth, they skipped the steps to success to achieve their different goals. His were clearly won, but her mind was overflowing with the fantasized beliefs in undying love. I could feel each dream break and crumble into her sea of black nothing; the fault lines of her mind shaking an entire coastline into the darkness to be absorbed into thoughtless fear.

I’m impossible. No one will love me. I tried to think for myself, but her mind was recalling that which I could never change. She’d already played this out, and I was simply along for the ride. He said he loved me. He told me! What’s wrong with me? I had my own worries in life, and I had the pleasure of being exposed to hers—of reliving them. Every thought was hers and my own. My body choked on the forced feeding of noxious fumes while my mind cried out in a feminine voice for relief. No one loves me. Nothing and no one ever will. How could they love me? How could anyone love this? Never again.

She kept tapping away on the phone. More messages while her mind began to twist every direction of thought back toward a singular concept which is buried deep within us all. Most minds have locked it away and tossed it to the blackened depths where it would sink and be lost to the nothing, but sometimes it finds a way of washing ashore or within the net of a morbid thought fishing into the sea. This capsuled idea should never be unlocked, yet there are some who have found release in its contents or unknowingly opened the horrors contained within.

Her mind had sought it, called it, and found it shimmering within the waves of blackness like a submerged lighthouse beckoning the lost voyager to its beam. She’d called its name within her thoughts and watched as the sealed crate washed ashore by means of invisible fins or sorcery. Open wide and let loose the demons born of mankind; this particular tormentor is wrathful and selfish. This specter reflects the self and offers but one option to cease all other tormentors upon the island of the mind. Forsake all lands which may rise from the depths, forsake all the settlements of the self, and forsake all that has been sown to shake hands and see it fall beneath the waves forever.

So, she typed.

He won’t love me? He won’t forget me. No one will. I’ll be loved then. They’ll all remember what they did. He won’t forget me. I’ll never let him forget me.

Words were hard to read through the flowing tears, but I understood her intent. Something along the lines of, “You can’t do this. You can’t just take and not give. I love you.”

He’ll remember. He’ll always remember.

I watched as if strapped to a chair with my eyelids held back for the images to burn into my retinas. Nothing I did or screamed would change these events. She continued to text as she gathered her things as if she’d need them. There was a purse, her phone, and a sweatshirt she wrung in her hands as her teeth ground against each other.

She took one final look into the mirror, and I saw the beauty she was on the outside scream at her own reflection. A slender youth with attributes many would claim to be desirable; dressed in name brand clothes, fashioned hair, clean, makeup hiding any believed imperfections, and a clear amount of work done to keep herself wanted. Black streams were running from green eyes down her cheeks as she picked up a container of various colors. She flung the box toward the mirror and watched as her beauty cracked and webbed.

From there, I watched as she ran through her door, down the stairs, through an empty home, and out into a large garage where a new, light-blue car was waiting for her. She swung the door open with enough force that it bounced back toward her as she tried to enter. It collided with our left arm, but this pain was ignored completely. She threw all of her belongings to the passenger seat except the phone which she began to text again.

He won’t forget. “I’m coming over.” He’ll remember he loves me.

“Don’t come.” His only response in this emotionless medium.

“I am. I’m coming.” She texted this and threw the phone into the sweatshirt which was in the seat beside her. I recognized the image on the front of the gray apparel… it had a mascot of a man on a horse with his right hand pointing forward. It was the symbol of the teams which represented our school. The Riders.

A silly mascot of a militiaman atop a galloping horse with the school colors of black and blue—the horse of black and the uniform of the man of blue. Her phone fell over the horse so that the man’s arm rose over the edge.

He’ll remember me wearing it. He’ll never get this out of his head. Her imagination was running wild, and I felt despair in her final choice of outcomes. That sweatshirt was his gift to her, and she would wear it for him.

The door of the garage opened wide to allow her car to speed backward and toward her chosen fate. Lights appeared next to her as the phone began to signal the received messages. She shook her head and screamed as the tears continued to carry her mascara over her smooth flesh. I was trapped within a star seeking its own final flicker; all dealt with the shake of her darker self’s hand. All would fall beneath those black waves. What horrible tidal waves would this cause? What awful surge would this engulfment of her lands create? Would they fall over one another and send nothing but a ripple into the darkness, or would this send a cursed wall of the sea toward other lands to claim that which was never hers to promise in her accursed deal?

I couldn’t even see the road clearly through her eyes. The water would swell and fall in a continuous series of choked screams. She’d made up the mind she was out of.

He’ll remember me.

Over and over.

He’ll remember me.

I didn’t want her to, but it was as if I screamed at the night sky. The darkness had already come and gone; nothing but an open sea where once a land of promise had risen above the tides. I shouted at this sunken nation in hopes that the ghosts of a lost land might band together in attempt to stop the destined end… stop replaying their sad performance.

He’ll remember me.

I began to cry as she did. The mind can cry, and it screams with ferocious expectation that another might hear the sound of a soul in need. We cry within ourselves that another may act, but she had brought me to witness and join; not to talk her from the edge.

Our city passed me by. Large homes and brightly colored vehicles stood out against the spread-out nature which struggled to thrive between the swollen community. She paid no attention to the endless world around her—manmade or evolutionarily. The sunlight shined down through her windshield to sparkle through her tears like prisms manufactured by the crushing weight of sorrow.

Her parents had missed their chance to stop her, and I remember wondering when the last time they had stopped her in any venture. Had she ever known a restraining authority, or had she faced the world as the pill-popping Katy and Andria? Had she found no one that would listen? I wish I could have listened… but we always think such things after the fact.

We’d like to think we’d be the savior of such a lost soul. We’d like to believe we’d be better than the nameless and countless who turned a cold shoulder. But do any of us actually measure up in such standards? It’s easy to hate and shut your eyes, but I found it to be much more difficult to drive those miles in her shoes.

The thoughts of another dug into me as her white claws had beyond the darkened bowels of the fog. I matched her screams with my own. Her fists would beat at the steering wheel as if his face was phasing through the fine material of her car. It didn’t take her long to speed through the city and distract herself with the senseless beating of the vehicle’s interior. Hard to keep the car straight when your hands swing and your head flails in a cabalistic seizure.

The car came to a stop at a crude angle against a curb; a sudden stop to squeal the tires. A decently appealing home stood against a series of pine trees. The front windows were clear enough for any within to witness what would happen next.

Grab your popcorn and take your seats.

One tree stood out from the others. It was an oak I’d assume to be filled with tightly wrapped rings within the trunk. This mighty tree lifted toward the sky with powerful branches of only a few remaining leaves. These remaining reddish leaves rustled gently in the breeze.

Both hands grabbed the phone from atop the sweatshirt. She unlocked the device and began to frantically swipe at the screen to read every message he’d sent during her hastened travels. Each message grew colder and more aggressive as the messages soared upward with the flicks of her thumbs.

He’ll remember me.

“I don’t want you coming here. Don’t try. I’m not dealing with this.”

He’ll never forget.

“I’m sick of this. I said that’s it Gwen.”

He loves me.

“I’m not letting you in. What? You’re going to just sit outside and scream?”

He wants me with him always.

“I’ll call the cops. You better not come over.”

I’ll always be with you, and you’ll remember you love me.

She looked at the altar of living wood and made her final agreement to accept her darkened reflection’s deal.

Delusional as she was, it was the simple switching of the fragile mind. How the first steps toward love can lead one to ruin or glory is a romantic ideal in the stories, but reality gives us the truth of these failed happenings. She would be one of many to offer her hand to the contents of that chained box beneath the depths of blackness.

Her hand placed her phone in the cup holder beneath the radio. She took a single look at the rearview mirror—those three simple marks of darkened skin rose above her eyebrow. She took up her love’s sweatshirt and exited the vehicle.

I could feel the soft touch of the wind. It wasn’t like the icy fingers I’d known in my room or the penetrating claws of the fog. It was refreshing to feel it chill the heated body of the maddened teen. She’d taken the sweatshirt and held it tight against her chest as if to keep her inferno safe from the wind that might blow the flame away.

She kept our eyes on the tree. It rose far above her head, but she’d already begun to walk toward the first steps of the sleeping altar. There were a few branches close enough to the ground that it took not effort for her to reach up and begin the climb.

Both arms of the sweatshirt were tied over her chest with the torso of the fabric thrown over her shoulder so that she could free her hands for the ascension. Into the tree, she carried me within her mind so that we could gain vantage over the estate.

He'll remember me.

She had climbed just high enough for her plan. She sat with the branch reaching between her legs; attempting to grab the attention of the inhabitants of the home and save its wooden limb from such treachery. She sat there for some time waiting for someone to open the front door and save her as if there were some terrible curse only love’s kiss could cure.

None came.

And when none came, she wiped the final tears from her eyes and began to untie the arms of the sweatshirt. They loosened but were not released. Instead, these two lengths were tied again but apart from one another. One arm wrapped about the girthy branch which barely jostled at her weight.

The other arm went beneath her hair and around her neck.

I screamed then. I cried out as loud as I could. She couldn’t hear me, but that didn’t stop me. Anyone, anything, that could hear me needed to stop this. I didn’t want to know the end… I didn’t want to experience the end. I would give the flesh. I would give my sight. I would give anything to have it end. That power behind the doors of my mind were opening, and I begged anything capable behind those gates to come forth.

He’ll remember me. He’ll love me again and always.

She rang out in our joined mind. I continued to scream and fight against the encroaching finale. Every door within me was creaking open and it was then that I saw the familiar manifestation take form. From behind those eyes, I could feel the darkness which is solid and empty reach out around me and touch at the screens of her eyes.

These events played in unison. She bowed her head after minutes of silence from the house, and the tendrils of blackness poked about the lenses of her misery in search of escape. Then she began to lean. My mind demanded the curtain fall.

Her heart had found release as the waves of darkness were coming for her. My mind had sent darkness of my own outward; a darkness given permission. As she tumbled over the side, my shrieking voice sparked the eruption of the cleansing fire. Worlds had been shown to me through the opening portals of flame, and these portals could be closed in a similar fashion.

Unable to control these forces, I lost the race to the finish. While the flames began to burn away the last of her memories, I felt the body I was trapped in snap from horizontal to vertical in a single moment. Swallowed up by the pain that flows into other lands across the sea, she’d chosen the greater of two pains.

My screaming stopped, but the flames continued to consume the horror before me. The scene was blurry, but I could see the world as it moved to the right, and then the left, and back to the right. My body felt numb, and our joined mind began to feel at rest as the darkness gathered—of my scorching decree or of her devilish deal, I’m not sure.

But in the distance, my ears heard nothing but the quiet whisper of tumbling leaves, I could see the home’s door opened toward a dark portal. The world continued to sway from one side to the other. A figure was moving through the yard. I think he may have been running; sprinting even. He called out, but I couldn’t hear his words. I only felt a slight pressure as something pushed upward on my legs.

There would have been sadness, but the departing soul must focus on the future and not worry itself with the final moments of its empty husk. So, the vision became engulfed by nothingness.

I remained in this darkness. I could not think. I could not move. It was as if I’d stared into the abyss and now nothing but the emptiness could mean anything to me. It wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to stop her. I wanted to make her smile.

I would never get the chance. I would never get to share with her my regiment for sustaining the sanity and levees. She’d found peace by a means I’d never seriously considered an option, and once the results were seen… the virus of desire began to spread within me. In the darkness of nothing, I found an answer as it shined like a star in the abyss.

Then came the howl-bark of a beast unlike any I’ve known. It shook the abyss. As if seeing the emptiness within the fog shudder in fear, the endless night rippled at the echoing cry of some alien monster. The essence of thunder, a tremor of nature, sought to reclaim the world from a vantage beyond the fog’s reach.

Though the thought inhabited me, this fear had awoken me in my moment of weakness. If I could not be driven by love, I most surely could be driven by fear.

Another partitioning howl-bark drove another wave of terror through the hollow fog. This loosening of the toxins and the horror of what existed beyond this nightmare gave me another burst of negative energy. What existed beyond my doors reached out once more to lash out at the blackness about me.

It retreated at my thought as sparks caught across the monstrous joining of the lost. There was a cry of pain in various voices. Each joined in a horrendous harmony to combat the screams I produced in a duet with the unseen, growling beast. Fire shot across the body of darkness as if gasoline had been spread across it; those tendrils of solid nothingness cracked like whips to spread the flames.

The cure to their disease had come; just not the way they’d imagined. Gray bled into the lit darkness, and I pushed myself away from the retreating snare of souls until I could see the ground of the dying world beneath me.

I looked up to see the fog pulling away toward the far wall of their prison. Their joined screams were made all the worse as the fire began to seep through the barrier between the blackness and over the white mist. Partially formed bodies lifted from the whole, but each fell back into the consuming fog like a scorched corpse being tossed into the waves.

They twisted and wailed as an animal unable to escape the trap; the mouse whose neck didn’t break beneath the metal. Unknown faces opened gaping mouths to release haunting yelps in their demise. I heard another howl-bark tear through the air of Terra Morte; a crackling cry sent from the fingers of Zeus. A heavy wind blew from behind me and into the ravenous flames—each tongue of the inferno doubled in size.

I could see her. That lovely form of a youthful woman clawing at the sky. No god would save her, and not a single soul would give themselves up so that she may find peace. She found others who had suffered as she, and she chose to remain within the repetitious memory of her sorrows. Her deal had sown nothing but the sourest of grapes.

She called out in a high-pitched squeal for some savior to come. None had in life, and none would provide her absolution in this world of grayness and death in stasis. Her white limbs melted away as if made by snow; her joined abomination thrusting and retreating in a fruitless escape of the consuming end.

I remained on my hands and knees in awe of the vanishing creature. These lost didn’t deserve that end. They needed to be led, but they were left in a foreign plane to mingle into a mindless atrocity. It had begun with the living and had ended with the beings beyond the doors of every mind.

Tears fell as their pain reached out to me. Whatever was left of their humanity spouted out in the steam they produced. Their dwindling mass shot vapor forth that carried specks of the last emotions they carried. These were not forced into me, but I welcomed them as a final act of respect for them. Their suffering had been shared with me, and I would carry that sorrow with me as penance for those who had refused to in life.

Our last shared smile.

Water struck my hands. I froze at the cool touch of the liquid, but my eyes were focused on the bubbling orb of white across the emptied pond. Their chorus of gloom filled the sky for the audience of silent ravens, a living soul, and an unseen beast. My stomach sunk at the anomalous lyrics. I reached forward. My right hand shook; far from comforting their eternal ends.

Another howl-bark tore through the lands to cause an explosion across the body of the fused souls. Fire lashed out at the land and over the whiteness. All was flame before me. Lengthy fingers of powerful reds and oranges scarred the land as they dug a number of trenches. One rushed toward me, causing my right hand to retreat to my chest. I cowered in a defensive position as best I could, but the stretched fire drew its destructive line around my side and arched past me.

I waited until all was silent to open my eyes. Scorched ground all about me revealed the power of my unseen retriever. With nothing but a call of its voice, the weak had been absorbed into the abyss beyond life and death.

Nothing but the fog had been harmed. To confirm, I checked myself over for any injuries and found myself complete. My clothes were torn where the fog had begun its physical assault, but the flesh was clear of any harm or scars. Unlike the grounds, I remained alive and unmarked.

I patted myself over in disbelief. The pain had been real and the wounds had been inflicted, yet I pushed myself to my feet and found my body intact. The hole in the front of my pants caused me to hurriedly stuff a hand in my pocket and attempt to twist the fabric over to cover the young woman’s target.

Then came a single caw. A raven to my left, unable to determine which of the hundred now gathered, had broken the momentary silence as if my dumbfounded inspection had bored him. My mind was racing with the events of this dream, and I was unable to decipher what action to take next. My throat was dry, my body shaking, my violated mind rebooting, and the unsure power retreated behind unlocked doors.

“What?” I called out to the gathered birds. None answered me. They watched as I nervously turned from one side to the other in hopes that something would explain. “What now? Why me? What is this? Are you frickin’ serious?!”

Then a howl-bark of a powerful pitch and a commanding bass reminded me of what had dragged me from the shores of damnation. The beast’s voice was filled with intelligence and authority; as if hearing a general demanding the attention of all who could hear. Aaa-ttention!

I didn’t want to turn. They tell you not to do that sort of thing, but my brain still reeled from the emotional onslaught of the lost souls. My instincts had been bound and gagged. My mind ran at a fraction, and this was just enough for the muscles to turn my neck and shoulders to gaze upon the savior who shouted fire and thunder.

My body hunched over as I covered myself and felt the weight of his presence. A stag unlike any I’d seen in media or the wild. His antlers rose like the branches of an angel oak—twisting and splitting to form a variety of glorious spikes in all directions. These antlers were born from the head of a deer-like skull where white fur covered the flesh. This fur was short and thing, but an inspiring quality of cleanliness and station.

Then came the beast’s eyes. Burning red orbs shined out from beneath the white brows of the deer. They looked at me with the same intentions as the ravens that had come to witness my trial. There was a mind behind those eyes, and he was seeing me for what was beneath the skin and bone.

His lips were tightly pulled against the skull. Thick teeth were visibly clenched together. It was this vermin of the woods that had called down judgement upon the lost souls and granted me passage back to the gray world. Those teeth, wide and glimmering, were the gateways to the hellish inferno he’d cast.

His neck was impressively built to support such a growth of antlers over his head. This mass of white fur was filled with creases where the numerous muscles overlapped and flexed to carefully maneuver such a dangerous rack.

My eyes fell down the neck to find a light coming from the chest. It was here that I found the manifested self of the creature. A burning heart; partly exposed beyond the flesh and partly sunken into the pyre within the animal. Like lava, it curdled and pumped engulfing tongues over the chest and into the air.

I’d begun to regain myself. I panicked and retreated a step. The creature didn’t like this, as he grunted from his throat and sent a shockwave through the air. It lifted my hair and the burnt dust from the ground; it was a decree understood across languages.

Both arms were crossed in front of my eyes. I no longer cared for the safety of whatever may be exposed beneath my clothes. All that mattered was surviving the nightmare and returning to the home of my best friend.

Another grunt came, but no lashing wind accompanied it. I continued to stare at the devilish animal from behind my shielding arms. He tilted his head slightly, and our eyes met. Those crimson orbs of fire seemed to breathe the flames out of his body and over his fur without singeing a single one.

The beast huffed through its nose; impatience seemed common across the animal kingdom of the beyond. He lifted his head so he stood as commander of the woods—a spectacle to behold his confidence while wearing the vestments of prey.

A hand rose. A hand. The deer with the burning heart lifted a humanoid hand at the end of its front-right leg. This hand rose with its palm up. One finger extended and retracted several times to indicate in the known signaling of mankind.

Come here.

I didn’t want to. Surely, you can understand that. Just because something saves you one moment does not mean it won’t be the enemy in the next. I remained guarded to the gaze and order of the spiritual hunter.

“I don’t think so.” I wanted to sound sure, but my voice broke a bit as dry air scraped against a drier throat.

Wake up. I thought to myself. Wake up.

The creature gestured again and let its head sink to shoulder level as if showing some form of submissiveness. Still, that finger indicated its desire for me to approach.

Wake up. I kept calling out in my head. Wake up.

A raven shouted, yet the bird remained shrouded within the bunched shadow that had overtaken the treetops. The ear-piercing cry of the bird echoed out throughout the gray sky.

Wake up. I thought once more only for another raven to break the thought. Every time I began to think the command, a feathered pest would yell at me. They were keeping me here—a mouse in a trap for the deer that would cook me with his voice.

Years of practice after my rebirth might have made me apathetic and confident enough to stroll toward the beast, but I wasn’t back then. I tried to take in my situation, and the language barrier didn’t help. Their wordless squawking began to mold into a high-pitched hum. They began to mirror another’s demands for obedience; that I would break to their will if each bird flapped and sang.

The beating of countless wings created a buffering that shook my brain. I tried to remain defensive toward the predator of the gray world, but the winged messengers considered this an act to be punished. For my crimes of self-preservation, I was to be mentally lashed.

Then came another howl. This, less of a bark, roar silenced all of the birds among the trees. All fell silent in the world of Death. It was his word that would be heard, and even the whispering pet of a greater power would heed what claimed the spotlight.

I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t; those antlers, that flaming heart, those burning eyes. Both orbs of crimson could be felt. I knew he was looking into me from the distance, and I knew of no way to make him stop. Instead, my eyes fell to the ground a few feet in front of me.

A few seconds went by in inaudible combat while I tried to think clearly. Wake up. It was all I could do. Wake up. A rumbling broke this quiet. From the tops of my eyes, I could see small rocks and dirt tumbling down the slope of the indented land. Wake up. More of the grayish dirt fell over the last to begin the creation of an earthly ramp. Then came the heavy beat of the force which moved the ground toward me.

Wake up. There was another. A stomp that could be felt in the stillness. My legs shook. I tried to think of opening my eyes and escaping, but the falling limbs of the beast were approaching. Frigid fingers ran up my back as I knew what came for me.

That world was birthed in the image of Death—and so he came for me.

My head acted without permission to lift my eyes toward the charging hybrid of nature and man. He was finishing his descent to even out along the bottom of the gulley. At the end of the drop, his limbs began to swing faster. His human hands were reaching out like a primate to dig into the lifeless soil to drag himself forward. They peeled the grayed earth back with ease; ease enough to silence any question of their efficiency on flesh.

Wake up! Death was coming, and his fingers were in my spine already. A flush of cold blood ran up my back and into my skull. A mythical monstrosity was going to lead me to a world beyond so that all of his messengers could witness the result of dissent.

Another cold rush with the beat of my heart. Hopelessness was overflowing in me. His hands plowed the fields of endless drought and famine. I awaited my doom at his hands; not raising a finger to avoid the same end as my companions in communal loneliness.

For a second, he had come to a stop so that his greatness may be adored. His front shoulders lifted as his eyes fell upon me from atop the shadow he cast. I could feel the fire of his heart reaching out to lick at my cheeks. It was a taste, but it would take more to satisfy the prideful beast.

Then came a realization that light had found me. This… unexplainable sensation that the fire was not prepared to devour but to appreciate. As the mutt to the hunter, a loyal comrade to fight away the fog and silence the shrieks. This confidence of self and control flooded me—the freezing veins acclimating me. All seemed to brighten within this world of immaculate grays and the crimson flickering from within the great deer.

All will be fine. My mind had succumbed to the cooling effects of the chilled fingers within me. Death is with me.

It nodded at me. This creature of mass and might peered at a weakened insect with understanding in his eyes. One nod to let me know a truth that would mean my end.

“Death is with me.” It felt right to say. It felt as if I were filled with Luis’s magical painkiller. It felt as if the world were opened to me. For a moment, I felt as if the gates of Heaven had been opened wide for me. He knew the way, and he’d lead me by the hand.

I had regained control in a way. It was enough for me to lift my right hand and gaze directly into the burning heart. There was a warmth I had not felt for years. It was one that could be felt beneath the skin, and the contrast to the chill in my brain was a pleasant one.

My hand moved outward toward the heart. That great deer did not move, not even to breathe, as I moved to embrace his gift. That shining light led me. There was a peace within that heart, and if it meant the end of the fog’s energies I would take it.

A lesser of two pains.

I was only inches from placing my hand within the fire—I wanted to feel the beating power of the mighty Destroyer. I wanted to know his truth as he welcomed me into a dance of fire and darkness beyond sleep.

The sky above had darkened with rolling funnels of clouds containing an expectant storm. Though I knew the fury of lightning and thunder would fall from them as daggers cast down from Heaven, the rains of life-giving water would never find their way to this land of Death. As my fingers moved slowly, I looked up to those burning eyes to speak his name. “Death.”

He shook his head.

“What?”

This deer of sovereignty and wrath turned his head downward so his teeth were a foot from my eyes. The gateway of desolation opened wide so that the coursing flames could find their way from within. A howl-bark tore through the air and showered me in an inferno.

It didn’t hurt for a second or two. It was a shock as my icy veins began to boil. Each finger across my spine squeezed harder in an attempt to meet an equilibrium, but I felt them give in as I stood in a world of reds and oranges. It came to me then—the agony of bubbling flesh and ravaging heat. I lifted my head to scream. Blackened skin began to fall away so that another layer may be taken in kind.

This deer, this living furnace, gazed through the fire with crimson eyes to watch my body crumble into the ash it had emerged from. I stared back; that feeling of light and warmth had not left me. I would hold onto it; I would smile as I always had.

Fire and ice, and my world would end caressed by both. I must say, it was preferred to the simple end of only one. There was a glory to it. There was a star surrounding me and the abyss within. They would find that balance, and my peace would come as the soul fell to sleep and the body faded away.

“Death!” I screamed through the flames; my throat taking in the scorching hands to exclaim my understanding. It had become obvious to me in that moment of torture.

“Death!” My arms rose to my sides, what remained of them, and my body tensed each intact muscle.

“Death!” There was truth to realize, and truth to release. The inferno grew, but not all came from the mouth of the nightmare standing over me. Though the body of the burning light grew, the hue began to flicker nearest me—this color would bleed outward and into the raging call of the deer.

I let out a cry of my own as if the animalistic language would convey the intent. Dark, but not entirely black, veins of swaying tongues branched out to consume that which consumes all. My eyes had retained their sight through my execution, and I thank all powers that they did.

Witnessing the truth can warp the mind, but warping what is truth can provide something worth witnessing. To amend a falsehood held to heart and mind allows the divine to permeate the soul—that the warmth of heart and the coldness of the mind may slumber beside one another as lamb and lion.

It was not a black or a white fire, but one of a deep purple. It was if a darkened wine had spilt into the air within the shadow of the beast. This fire burst forth from me as I cried out. I pushed it outward; a control the mind understood for the first time.

This creature continued to pour his spring of light over me while my own pyre fed upon its brighter kin. My force offered but one outcome—assimilate or fade.

These fires burned together as my hue began to reach beyond the halfway point between us and envelop the head of the beast. He did not waver, but he stared on with crimson eyes at the blackened husk. Our powers clashed to threaten all the gray world around us. It was if I could have met his gaze even through an eternity of torture just to remind him of the truth I had discovered.

Though my body failed, the eyes of that horrifying stag were left with an image that would live forever. As the enemy of the king falls to the noose, it leaves the sourest taste to see their victory in the end. He may have destroyed my body, but my defiance would eat at his spirit forever.

I smiled on through it all.

And so did he.

My eyes opened slowly to look over the darkened basement of Cage’s house. I’d awoken without panic or shortness of breath. Instead, I looked up to the ceiling where I tried to reclaim the images of the subconscious. Waves of darkness had called them out to the void beyond the reach of the waking mind. They drifted out to be sunk into those black waters.

Unable to remember, I drifted back to sleep. The couch was comfortable, the room was dark, and the blanket on me was a perfect temperature. Perfect comfy. No dreams came to me when I nodded off again, and the previous slipped beneath the merciless jaws of the void. There they would be taken in by the inhabitants of the many doors drifting beneath the waves. There they would wait until needed, and I rested easy not knowing I knew nothing of their existence.

Chapter 29

The next day was the usual at Cage’s. I’d spent as many nights as I could there. His parents seemed glad to have me over. They had pancakes ready for two kids who had to shake themselves from their residual highs. It was always a pleasure to walk up the stairs with sleep still in my eyes and be welcomed to a set table. Smiles completed the portrait; the perfect family.

I knew nothing of their secrets. I didn’t know what went on behind closed doors within their individual minds, but unless Cage’s dad was a sneaky serial killer or his mother a collector of various parts taken from living creatures, I think they possessed a warmth that my household lacked entirely. My stepmother cooked with every ingredient stocked within her cabinets, yet her soul poured nothing into the dish. Every mouthful was a bland requirement for life… nothing more.

But at Cage’s, there was a wondrous buffet of sincerity and effort. The bounty of the table was cast with every hue in the fruit, the pancakes with butter and syrup, and the beverages meant to keep a youth’s brain functioning properly. I kept myself from drooling when I saw the servings. It surprised me every time, and it was an appreciated taste of another world.

Cage wasn’t out of his room yet. I recall greeting his parents and taking my usual place on one of the sides of the oblong table. Cage would take his across from me so that his parents would sit at the heads of their fine furnishing.

“Did you two have fun?” His mother was already placing a plate of two pancakes, fruit, bacon, and a type of hash brown in front of me. A full glass of milk was already poured.

I nodded as they waited on me as if my wellbeing was their utmost concern and duty, “Thank you. Yes, we did.” I bowed my head a bit and smiled at them both for their charity. “Just some games to end the day. How was the fire?”

“Just fine,” Cage’s father smirked as if remembering the many jokes adults speak in their childless company; the same punchlines but a deeper laugh. “Kyle’s just going to sleep away a meal? So, the usual.” He smirked again and placed his elbows on the table to wrap his hands together.

I watched as his wife mirrored him. They began their usual ritual before any meal.

“Bless us, oh Lord, and these thy gifts,” a common prayer I used to say. I knew the words and, per my role as guest, bowed my head in union to pay my hosts respect. Once they were finished, they picked up their utensils.

I had to force myself to match their pace. Every cut and mouthful seemed like they were slowed in time. It was difficult to not devour and bail, but there was a serenity in the unhurried meal. It was paranoid of me to believe I’d stand out in a way that they’d voice.

“Kyle will have to be up earlier next week if he’s going to join us.” I looked up from my plate and the freshly sliced pancake to see his father looking toward the opening of the stairs. I glanced over to the oven and noticed it was already half past nine in the morning. They’d woken up early for their weekly thanksgivings and returned home to feed another person’s child. Such accomplishments so early in the day.

“You’re always welcome to join us.” Cage’s mother looked at me with those wide eyes that reflected the light cast from the hanging bulbs above the table. Her black hair framed that beautiful face; an angel even in the early hours.

I swallowed my small bit of food after I chewed twenty times. “To church? I haven’t been in a while.” My eyes left hers as a bit of unreasonable shame took me over. I had no reason to desire the house of their God, yet the thought of disappointing them in their invitation sat heavily in my gut. “I don’t think I’d be able to remember the words.” I smiled half-heartedly with a nervous laugh—of course that was a lame-ass lie.

“The offer stands if you change your mind.” That smile filled her face as her eyes fell. The eyebrows dropped with them, and I felt that shame grow. I wouldn’t want to taint their faith, but I didn’t want to spread the disease of my household.

There was an uncomfortable silence. I’d talked with his parents a thousand times without ever feeling out of place—like a stranger in a foreign land. Yet, their eyes avoiding mine was like trying to sit perfectly still in a room made of broken glass.

Delicious as they were, the pancakes began to stick to my dry mouth. I thought of reaching for my milk, but that might spark the next series of questions or small talk. No matter the age of the person, words can be difficult to choose.

“Tom,” I looked up to Cage’s father. He was a built man. His blue eyes were brightly shining in the light from above. Short hair framed his scalp and a clean-shaven face stood as sculpted stone. I guess you have to be cut from that sort of material in order to get a lady like his wife. He wore shirts that were snug to his form, but I believe someone famous claimed one should flaunt what they have.

“Yeah?” His hands were folded on the edge of the table. He was staring me down; almost assessing me. His gaze gave me a vague sense of discomfort as if I were looking into a distant memory. Before I could connect any similarities, he cleared his throat to continue.

“Everything good at home?” I stopped chewing, and perhaps breathing, at the question.

“It’s fine. Nothing much—”

“I don’t want to pry,” he lifted a hand and dropped his eyes as if pleading for forgiveness at an insult. Eyes shifting over the table, I watched as he scanned for an unseen answer on the tablecloth. “We want to make sure everything’s alright. You can always talk to us.”

Those pancakes must have been fighting back. They swelled in my throat and made it difficult to breathe evenly. I looked down to my plate of delicious food atop a fancy table in a warm home. It was a place no one needed to hide, yet hiding is a habit carved into the brain.

“It’s all good. Thanks though. I appreciate it.” I glanced up to Cage’s father so I didn’t seem too flustered. Big ol’ smile shining. “Nothing to report. Mostly just working and school.”

“How’s your father?” He must have found his lost idea in the fabrics between the plates. “I haven’t really seen him in the last few years.”

It’s like eating sand. Questions you know need answers grind between your teeth. Your brain tells you to spit it out, but you keep your mouth shut for some ridiculous moral code of saving another from sharing that awful taste. You keep chewing to avoid making them chew it too, or to prove to everyone that you can do it, or maybe… it’s just to because you fear spitting it out might actually make things better.

We keep our mouths shut for a plethora of reasons, but when has omerta ever really forged a shining community or kept the cemeteries from overflowing? It’s best to open up. It’s best to give into that feeling of vulnerability. Change comes whether you’re prepared or not—why not gamble on the future with the statistically best outcome?

Nope. I sealed those lips and shrugged it off. Keep on chewing, fat boy.

“He’s fine, I guess.” I pressed my lips together and cocked my head. “He’s never been the same since mom passed. I’ve tried to get him out of his funk, but he’s trying to get through in his own way.” It felt good to at least say those words. I’d never blame him for what we’d lost or the pitiful state of his final years. “I know it’s been hard on him.”

“And he’s,” Cage’s dad put his folded hands in front of his mouth as if he physically needed to restrain the sentence.

“For God’s sake, Adam.” Cage’s mom dropper her hands to the table with enough force that the silverware shook but not enough to really make anyone jump at the outburst. “Your eye and lip, Tom. We see the marks, but we need to know everything’s alright.”

“Oh, this?” My hand shot up to the marks I’d thought were fading nicely. Leave it to the hawk-like eyes of a proper mother. “Sam had a guy over. We didn’t get along.” Lies were easy after you got to practicing them. You keep the lies similar but vague and even multiple parties have troubles connecting the dots. “He came over when dad wasn’t home. Sam tried to make him leave, but he had to say a few messed up things before leaving. Just a little scuffle before we got him out the door.”

I tried my best to top it off with a little chuckle.

“Your dad was gone?” She caught the subtle avoidance of a plural noun. “Where was your mother?”

“Stepmother,” I felt my dry throat ache with the stress of the first syllable. “She works pretty late sometimes.” Even a seasoned liar can find certain emotions difficult to mask, and I believe my sudden correction was enough to set the brakes on this conversation.

“I’ve only met her a few times. Must be difficult joining another family like that.”

I know they meant well, and I am positive they felt as uncomfortable as I did. Still unsure of my senses, it felt as if the air around us were a chilled gel. Each soul tried to pull away and push forward at once. Both of them were flipping between pressing on or retreating with each passing second. It was almost too much to breathe, and still my throat clogged up with food and anxiety.

“It’s been interesting. I don’t always get along with my stepsister, but we’re both teens. Wouldn’t expect much from that. As for Barbara, I’d have to say we don’t always see eye to eye. She came in late to the game, and I don’t have much in common with her. Not much more than that. Dad seems to love her, and if he’s happy I’m happy.”

The most convincing lie is one that is sprinkled with truth. You’ve heard my tale thus far and know the details. They didn’t hear the events leading me to this point in my life. They only saw me for a few hours a week as if I were a lost fog caught within the ravine of their home. It was my word against their assumptions, and it is hard to charge a kid with covering an aching heart when they smile as if nothing’s wrong. No one knows what’s behind that smile; they only know their heart’s inner debate of whether it is genuine or a mask.

“You’d tell us if things were getting out of hand, right?” I looked back and forth between the two adults. Their eyes possessed true concern—a flame that flickers in preparation to scorch anything that might bring harm to it or its kind. “If you need to talk, or you just need some place to stay,” Cage’s father pressed his lips in a way that wet his lips, “we’re here for you.”

What the hell do you say to that? Now, I know most of you are thinking, just thank them! Duh!

You think it’s that easy? These angels took another’s cub into their pack and offered it the keys to the den. They showed legitimate empathy—a trait humanity’s seemingly lost to the tests of technology and time. Another’s heart cries out, and only a few heads lift to spot the whining soul… even fewer lend a relieving hand.

“You know,” Cage’s mother had taken the spotlight in my silence. I hadn’t noticed the brightness of the room as my eyes were peeled back at the topic I’d been thrown into. I lifted my eyes to meet hers, though hers looked natural when opened wide, “We miss seeing your father at church. Both of your parents. Your mother use to be in the choir and played a few of the instruments for them.

I could feel my mouth sliding open as she continued, “She always had a smile on. No matter the occasion, she made people feel welcome in that place. Funerals, weddings, baptisms, every day services.” Her eyes bore into mine like a drill in search of a well. “Your father was always by her side. They were a great duo. His humor, her music,” one side of her lips pulled back, “those two together could make a weeping soul sing for joy.”

The image gave me a chill. Mom sharing her music with the world, and dad… dad smiling and joking? It was like any other dream. These images of reality had faded into a spectral wretch that waded out into the void of my mind to fall beneath the waves and rest.

“You knew them?” Clenched teeth kept me from speaking more than I needed.

They both nodded. Adam and Ali Gardener began to share their stories of my parents. The times my father would change the words of hymns only for my mother to slap his arm; scorning his sacrilegious jests. Yet, she always giggled after correcting his behavior. He’d grab her tight and carry her around the church as they talked to the choir and volunteers. Just like the firefighter he was, her body was a light package over his shoulders as he kept her close and safe.

“They were always involved in the church.” Though she said it, I don’t recall them really spending a lot of their extra time at the church growing up. I must have had the question on my face because she gave me an answer without a question. “They had you.”

“So,” I shrugged a bit, “having a kid makes you quit the church? I don’t remember my skin burning in there.” They both gave me that parental smile that pulls at one side of the lips but retains the remaining face of aged wisdom.

“Their priorities just changed. Most people’s do when they have a kid.” Adam Gardener provided me another answer. “You were with them at a lot of the choir meetings. I just helped out with some of the events the church puts on throughout the year, but those two were helping out at every turn. I’d go in to drop off some donations. They were there preparing the song lists. I’d go in to talk to Father. They’d be there tuning some of the instruments.” He smiled a bit, “They always looked as if we’d just interrupted them at home. Like it was some private space for them. Still, they welcomed us in.”

And look where we all are now. Look where their devotion and praise got them. Look how all of our lives are going now. The stories had a mixture of stimuli in them. On the one hand, I’d never heard these pleasant stories about my parents. I never had the opportunity in my teen years to discuss the topics of love with them, but instead I had to learn them from another family.

The other hand held this concept of anger… betrayal. This loving family, the Gardeners, gave what little time they believed was just and lived high on the proverbial hill of life. Those that offer their lives and time in excess were thrown into a living Hell. Flesh was to be swollen and decayed within the living body of one while the other witnessed this unavoidable fate unfurl. When mind and body are broken, the two souls shatter so that all love within them pours out over the soil. Nothing may grow there; nothing but the twisted plants of Terra Morte.

“Your mother said the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard.” I turned away from the turmoil of my mind to the conversation. Ali Gardener was looking up and to the side with those large, beautiful eyes of hers. “When the choir asked her why she slowly began to stop coming to the events, I think it was Jennifer Collins that told me. She said they all begged her to keep singing and playing with them. She said she had duties outside of church.

“Jennifer said one of the ladies,” her eyes glanced the other direction, “Laura was her name, I believe. Laura asked her, ‘How can you have something more important to do than offer your time to the Divine?’ Now, we’re religious, but I think she might have gone too far with that one.” At least they knew it. “Your mother apparently looked her dead in the eyes,” I imagined the short woman with blazing hair and eyes like fusion reactors turning toward the soul unlucky enough to test her, “and she said, ‘I’ve brought the Divine home with me.’”

The image in my head was one of my mother verbally body slamming some poor old woman that didn’t know better. Just because the words are soft and the speaker collected doesn’t mean the heart isn’t prepared to slay or maim.

Undoubtedly, there was a silence that followed the finishing words of that story. I’m not sure if they waited for me in hopes of breaking through or if they wanted to let the uncomfortable quietness force me into speaking. I let it linger. What words could a teenager have prepared for such a moment?

“Thank you,” I let them have it. I’d break the tension with the only words I’d known to offer. “For everything.”

They both nodded, but I could see the hopelessness in their faces. I’m not sure what they expected, but I’m guessing they were hoping my guts would pour out onto the table. I wasn’t going to do that. I wasn’t going to throw away everything I’ve worked for and damn myself to the cycle of perpetual therapy and intervention. The back and forth motion as my heart is used for a ball in a game of tennis between dominating forces and those believing themselves to be helping.

“You’re welcome.” Adam Gardener leaned over and patted me on the shoulder. “We’re always happy to share stories and listen if you need to talk about anything. We’re here for you, kiddo.” He patted me one more time. I think he might have put a bit too much into that last one as it forced me to lean over my plate. “Eat up.”

“Yeah,” it was still uncomfortable. Eating in silence or with a few lines of small talk made it feel as if the temperature of the room were falling drastically with every tick of the clock on the wall behind me. Even though the sun shined through the sliding door onto my back, it remained a frigid countdown toward the acceptable time where we could all part ways.

Don’t get me wrong. I appreciated their proffered recollections and assistance, but my young mind was far more willing to take those troubling ideals and continuously drown their reanimated corpses in the void of my mind. Over and over, they’d wonder back onto shore. Time to go back, I’d think and force them beneath the waves until they stopped their squirming.

“Morning everyone.” Thank freaking goodness. Cage finally woke his ass up to rescue me from my rescuing.

“Morning, junior.” A nickname from his father, Cage accepted it and waved to his parents with one hand and wiped sleep from his eyes with the other. “About time you got up. You’ll be going to mass next week.” Cage nodded and groaned in affirmation as he pulled a chair out. He gathered up a plate of the assorted food.

“I put your stuff in your guitar case.” I looked at him with a raised eyebrow. He was already popping berries into his mouth but took a moment to partially wink at me. I wasn’t sure what he’d meant. I felt a bit worried because I’d kept it closed all night. Thoughts of me throwing it over my shoulders and spinning the guitar in the state we were in worried me.

That breakfast was quickly turning into an average day for me at my own house. At least there wasn’t a crazy bitch slapping the piss out of me. That thought alone gave me enough perspective to take a mental step back and begin finishing my food.

“How’d it go last night?” And the conversation began anew as Cage asked his parents of their adventure. They went through some short stories or jokes and left out the last bit of our conversation. Thankfully.

The rest of the morning went by pretty normally. After some time, I got out of my own head and joined in to discuss school, work, and life. We began laughing again and soon it felt as if the sunlight was actually warm on my back. After breakfast, his parents cleared the table and did the dishes. Cage and I returned downstairs so that I could pack up what little I’d brought.

“What stuff did I forget? I didn’t break anything did I?” I began asking him as we got near the bottom of the stairs.

Cage put his finger to his lips and pulled me off to the side so we weren’t facing up the stairs. “I thought you could use some more from last night. I put an extra bag in your case. I have enough for a while, and we both know Luis. Hit him up if you need more. He usually gives me a pretty good deal, and you make more money than I do.”

“You don’t make money.”

“Screw you, I do chores and play sports.”

“Better than burger-flipping.”

“That’s for sure.” Cage let both hands gently push against my shoulders as if he were going to start a fight. We shared another chuckle. I began preparing my things for the trip back when Cage spoke in a lower voice, “You going to be alright?”

“Always am.” I didn’t look at him. I didn’t need more of this topic. At least, I suppose, it was nice of him to notice. “This stuff will help.” I patted the case.

“Oh, definitely.” Cage smiled and gave me the usual thumbs up. “Some of last night is foggy. Did we destroy online last night?”

“For sure, man.” I felt an odd prodding in my head, like I was meant to remind him of something. I couldn’t connect the dots of the previous night. What happened? “I’m having troubles remembering it all exactly, but I know we were top on every chart.”

“Hell yeah.” Cage offered his hand for a high-five that ended with a hug and a pat on the back. “Take it easy. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Same as always.” Ignoring the implication of another unfortunate bruising, I confirmed my intent of attending classes.

He nodded toward the stairs. I turned and hurried up toward the exit with Cage behind me.

“Thanks again for the stories and food.” I waved goodbye to the parents of my best friend.

“Happy to share. Have a safe trip home.” Ali Gardener waved at me with just the tips of her fingers. It was difficult to not grin like a moron while waving back at her.

“We’ll see you soon, I’m sure.” Adam Gardener gave me a thumbs up as well. They both waited for me to leave the home before returning to their cleaning and chores.

Cage and I moved through the garage and out into the cooled air of the morning. I kicked up the bike stand and swung a leg over the seat. My guitar case rested against my left side; snug for security.

I looked up into the sky to feel the soft breeze brush through my hair. I left my sweatshirt hood down so I could place my headphones in and enjoy the cooled ride home. The world was caught in a grayness as the sun struggled to penetrate the gathering clouds above, and something about that sky shook me. Something that needed to be said or done, but I couldn’t quite pull that required thought forward.

“Talk to you tomorrow.” Cage waved goodbye.

“Yeah,” I dropped my eyes to him and agreed. My hand moved to the MP3 player and started the randomly assorted series of songs. I waved back when it was blaring music and placed my feet on the pedals. Beneath a gray sky and faded sun, I biked out into the world beyond the haven of Cage’s home.

The ride was similar to the trip toward my friend’s place. The only difference is that one direction transmuted lead to gold, while the other cursed the gold into shit. Biking between those two destinations was like standing in Limbo between those two plains of existence. No emotions claimed ground or revealed themselves in that empty world of passing faces and structures. Only the music remained with me.

Every scream, every strum, every crash, and every sound between sent another wave of paradise through me. Those watching faces of blurry people were obscure landmarks on the pathway between the two gates of my life.

The gate enveloping the skeletons used as columns in a pillar of fire would be the more preferred destination, should one listen to my music. I thought of the house in this respect—contorted remains bent and joined to form an archway where the swirling green portal led unsuspecting individuals to a realm of hatred and cruelty. Every screaming skull attempted to warn you of the contents of such a world, but of course the dead tell no tales even if the living were willing to listen.

I pedaled myself through the town at a steadied pace to take in as much of the heavy music as I could before returning to that hellish realm. The skeletons would welcome me and the residents would gather their tools from the walls and dungeons. It was better to let the music take me over. The music would never betray or harm. Should one band or artist fail to fill me with ecstasy, there would always be another to take the mantel and stoke the fires.

With that music blocking out all else in the world, the fiery portal had almost lost all its grip on me. I could have kept biking; never to return as I continued until my legs became useless noodles. I had my guitar and music. There wasn’t much else I needed than that. I carried what I needed in my pockets or on my shoulders.

But I returned to my hovel. There was only my father’s vehicle, which meant at least one of the harpies was gone. The headphones offering salvation were removed and wound around the device in my pocket. I didn’t want to give them the opportunity to get their talons on it. My bike slid into its spot against the wall of the garage, and I entered the kitchen with hopes of avoiding conversation.

The lights were all off… except the single flickering cast against the far wall near the steps. My father was sitting in the dark again. I didn’t have to check to know that he was slipping in and out of consciousness with containers piling up on the stand beside him. I began to tiptoe through the house.

When I reached the stairs, I looked back into the room my father marked as his own. He must have been awake, but he remained silent as the commercial for toilet paper ended and his program resumed. There was a woman that looked familiar. It was an older movie, and I couldn’t quite place where I’d known it from.

I looked at the back of my father’s head as he mindlessly absorbed whatever feature was playing—entertaining or otherwise. I felt an ache in my chest at the thought of him just listening to some old movie while the world moved on around him. Turning as I always did, I began to climb the stairs.

Then I heard the woman’s voice behind me. She was speaking to children, but the speaking ended and singing began. Her voice moved up and down the scale slowly as she explained notes to the children in a playful tune.

My feet wouldn’t move. Instead, I stood in silence on the stairs as the actress went through a list of associations for the children to recall the names of her octave. The children joined in after the lesson had been sung once through. They all shared in the glory that is music.

I remembered the film. One that revealed the power of music. No matter how awful the world around you became, music was always a saving hand. Soon, those children would be surrounded by men in uniforms wielding guns and ideals. Even in the face of that fate, they would sing and enjoy the gifts they were given.

Without thinking, my legs moved me beyond the threshold of the room reserved for a man, his television, and his alcohol. I placed my belongings beside the couch to keep them close. The couch was stiff. So, I sat on the edge of the cushion to watch the movie for a while with my father.

His eyes were open. I could tell from the corner of my vision in the darkness. We sat in silence for some time as children and their teacher sang delightful songs to combat the horrors of their sickly world. Every time the bad men would get close, the family would flee and sing. It was a constant outwitting of evil and celebration with song. A splendid tale.

After the family had fled from the grasp of the enemy, they sang one last song so that their voices echoed off the distant hills and mountains. All they’d been through. All they’d seen. Yet, they sang and lived as if all was perfectly fine.

“Your mother loved this movie.”

So far and few between, the spoken words of my father still commanded all attention. I turned to look him in the eyes. For the first time in some years, he was seemingly sober-ish and speaking coherently. These few seconds were enough to make me glad my mouth had remained shut.

“She always sang songs from it to put you to sleep,” He swallowed and licked his lips. He’d muted the television so the commercials didn’t interrupt him. “You were pretty young, but you fell right asleep as she got quieter and quieter with every few lines.” He turned to look me right in the eyes. I’d thought it to be dead, but there was a spark within them. All it needed was a bit of fuel, and that flame would grow to be seen once again.

“I never knew she liked this movie,” I tried to think of what to say to fill in the gaps.

“Every word of it.” My father looked back at the screen as if he’d expected the next movie to be a repeat of the last. “She made sure music was a part of your life.”

“You both did.” I spoke without thinking. His eyes found their way to me again.

“What do you mean?”

I felt as if I were under the watchful eye of a jury and judge. “I heard from the Gardeners that you and mom spent a lot of time with the church choir.” Dad shifted a bit in his seat as I brought up the past. “They said you two gave a lot to the group. You two were always making people smile.” His eyes remained steady in the flickering light of the television. “It was nice to hear about you two. It was nice to hear how happy you were.”

“Life comes at you fast,” he dropped his eyes and took a sip from a can he’d not touched since I joined him.

“They said they missed seeing you at church.” I never considered it to be the answer, but at least the talking was nice.

“They did, huh?” He polished off the remains of the can and repositioned himself in the chair. Even through the years, he retained a lot of his muscle and form. A bit of a gut had formed and his face was never clean-shaven, but he had remained the image of a man I had remembered him to be… had he only acted it. “We went when we could. I haven’t gone since,” he trailed off as he looked for another can.

“Since mom died.” My father hastened his search until he found the box to his left under a small stand. He grabbed one out and prepared to open it when I continued, “I miss her, too.”

He sighed as his fingers froze beneath the tab of the can. “I know. I know you do.” He fidgeted a bit, “But church ain’t going to bring her back.”

“Of course not.” I spoke and created a tense moment of silence. My mind sped through all the possible outcomes for what I wanted to say, but every single one felt as if it’d end with us reverting to our silent avoidance.

“I never meant for it to be this way,” my father looked down at the can while he spoke. I knew he wasn’t sober, but it was the closest thing to it I’d seen for some time. “I’d give anything,” he trailed off as his voice began to crack. His head swayed a bit as his fingers slowly pushed further under the tab. “Anything.”

“You gave all you could.” I watched with my whole heart crying out for the release of that tab. Let it go. Put it down. “She gave all she could. We have to do what we can. That’s what she wanted, right? She wanted us to smile.” I tried to grin at my father whose eyes were out of my sight.

He lifted them to meet my gaze. I felt as if I could break then and there as the man looked through watery eyes reflecting the light of his silent television. His jaw was trembling as he attempted to speak.

“I don’t remember how to smile.”

Keep on smiling. I stared into a mirror with resolve only for the reflection of my aged self to weep in my hopeless optimism. Smile. Those eyes of a momentary fire died behind the drowning tears. Smile.

“Even a fake smile will help.” I felt the foundation of my fragile world crack and tremble. I was there to see the living eulogy of a broken man.

What fate was left for me? What hope was there for a boy knowing nothing of the world but the dark corners of empty rooms and the music in his head?

Creaking signified the opening of the garage. I knew our time for silent searching of our souls was over, and the shadow which casted itself over our hearts had returned. For one of us, this shadow was a beast to warm the lonely bed of a sorrowful past. The other knew it as a tormentor whose pitchfork and horns would leave scars across body and mind… at least the body healed.

My father’s head perked up as the personified void approached. His fingers moved forward and that liquid hiss filled the room. He’d found his escape, his substitute for a smile, at the bottom of every container.

I grabbed my things and hurried to my room. As I shut the door, there was a part of me that knew, or perhaps it was all of me, that the world wasn’t going to get better. At least not back then. I’d searched for the promise of a gleaming tomorrow in the face of the wise and strong. There, I’d found all but the joy I’d only known in a physical lie.

My door shut on that darkened house. The truth is that a smile isn’t so simple to find at times, and at times the smile can feel like a legend passed down through generations of suffering. It would be that none would smile in that house again; for the end was drawing near.

Chapter 30

I didn’t partake in the spectacular gift from Cage until after school on Monday. The day was rough enough to warrant a smoke.

To school, I biked without the entourage of ravens or the sparkling lights of unknown entities. It was a normal start to the day. Every door containing curses, gifts, or other people’s memories closed off. It was easy to continue on as if nothing had happened—everything explained by stress and exhaustion. Nothing out of the ordinary remained on the dry land of my mind, and so nothing connected itself to the waking world. Not until later, at least.

A brain may lock many fears and memories away. A human mind may split itself into pieces so trauma can be encased and dropped within the watery void, but what happens when the mind spits these tombs from the depths? I’ve already told you of one such prison being released upon the mind, and the captured spirit within deals nothing but the obliteration of the lands it stands upon—all the while holding out a friendly hand and wearing a mask of your own smiling face.

The inmates of the mind vary from person to person in most cases, but that girl’s end had been promised at the touch of one who transcends our singular minds. It can find one or hundreds in an instant. It will leave nothing but a corpse with a killer’s hand.

My boxes of unknown inhabitants contained a number of unfriendly creatures, tendencies, and prophecies. A mirrored vision of myself was not among them; at least not at that time. Instead, it was the swallowed truths and events I’d endured. Dragged beneath the waves, they waited patiently to be released by the incredible force of that which existed beyond the doors in the blackest void.

Unable to recall the dreams and events myself, something would have to shake them loose. So, I biked as normal. School began as usual. I plugged into the amp and slid my fingers across the strings per the usual. Only the thought of my father being broken ran through my head. I set my hands set to autopilot.

I didn’t know what to say to him, and the interruption of the returning demons forced my retreat. I’d left him to sulk and return to his cans and bottles. A man that could carry a limp body from a burning building burned before me, and all I could do was tell him to force a smile. Was it right? Where he was, I couldn’t travel… I couldn’t save my father then… and I wouldn’t get the chance again.

I’d not realized that others were stuck in their heads also. We can’t always be empathetic, and I found myself missing out on the localized emotion dampening the room.

Practice was done and everyone moved toward their cases and belongings in a sort of shuffle. We prepared for the day to continue in our customary way, but there was something else. It was a pressure, and it was one I hadn’t noticed creeping over my skin.

“There’s an announcement,” Mr. Sanders wrung his hands while standing near his thin, wooden podium. He could have stood before thousands of musicians, behind his simple post of cheap lumber, and conducted them in unison. Every eye and heart would be on him—waiting for their chance to prove their worth to his cause.

Yet, surprisingly it was this man that shuffled from side to side with the anxiety of a child before a group of parents attending the mandatory Christmas play. He swallowed hard; visible on the tightened skin of his many years. Bland colors always seemed to be his chosen pattern in style. His hair was short and graying against the brown strands that remained. The spirit almost mocked the form when one could witness the simple man wield his baton. However, darting eyes changed direction in hopes of never meeting another set, but every eye on the room was on him. He seemed to despise it at that moment.

“The school counselor would like to speak to everyone.” He nodded to the group and took his leave as quickly as he could without sending panic through the teenagers. He vacated the stand for his coworker.

“My name, for those who don’t know me, is Cynthia Soung. I am your School Counselor.” A small frame accentuated the thin form beneath; grays wrapped fittingly to the lady in her mid-twenties. Her black hair was tightly pulled back to form a bun against her head. Though it didn’t seem like she wore much makeup, her skinned glistened with a healthy glow in the dull light of the room. “If you could all take your seats.” She smiled while motioning to the empty chairs around her. She smiled, but I knew that sort of smile feels cold… like icy fingers tracing away from the center of your face until they reach your spine.

Herded back to our positions, we found our way in silence. Pressure began to become noticeable. Like an itch, it becomes more and more predominant as you give it thought. Weight across my body made my lungs begin to scream for fresh air.

“I’d like to talk to you today about the tragedy of this past weekend,” her voice was high and quiet; though it was simple enough to hear in the stilled room. Probably one of the only times I heard teenagers completely quiet. “I’m sure many of you’ve heard, but it is my job to make sure each of you knows that you are not alone.”

I’ve heard this before. I looked over the room without moving my head, and it was apparent her words had struck a chord unlike any other played within those walls. A few students had their heads in their hands, others were staring at the ground as if to mentally set the carpet ablaze, and others shed the tears I knew would be present.

“All of you are welcome to come and discuss your thoughts with me. Don’t hesitate to call for me any time during school hours. Even if it’s for a group, I’d be happy to talk it over with you.” I hadn’t heard anything, but I knew the pain that was coming. “For those of you that didn’t hear,” she cleared her throat and lifted a small stack of papers she’d laid atop the podium, “Gwen Stetson has passed away. Saturday, she took her own life.”

There was a pause. A few of the girls nearer the back began to whimper. A number of others could be seen letting their tears fall in silence. I turned to Cage and saw that his eyes were dry, but he was shaking his head and pressing his lips together tightly.

Glancing back to the counselor, I thought of the name over and over. No connection was made. I don’t think I’d known her from any classes or outside functions. She was a mystery to me, but it seemed her lands upon the void had traded and set treaties with the numerous lands still afloat… she was popular.

“Gwen fought with depression for some time, but you don’t need to endure that sadness alone.” Ms. Soung continued. “There are others, here and now, that love and care for you. All you need to do is make your voice heard, and I’ll be one of the many there to listen and help.” Though her papers were held like a printed script, she never looked down to vocalize the prepared speech. Alleviating the pressure, I felt lighter listening to her. I knew that her words were genuine. No matter the times she’d given that same talk that day, it was as if each time were the first adlibbed monologue. “I didn’t know her well, but I do wish I had.

‘You may believe you could have helped. Some may be thinking they could have done more or should have tried. That isn’t true. All of you that loved her, that were her friends, cared all you could for her. It is horrible, and life can seem difficult. What we can do for her is live on and be happy in memory of her. That’s why I’ll be here for you. I want to assure you all that no one has to feel alone if they don’t want to. My office is the third door on the right behind the administrator’s desk. I beg you all to consider seeing me. If not to talk about Gwen, at least to talk about yourself.”

She scanned the room. Students cried. Students looked around to stay calm or outlast the boredom. Students continued to shake their heads.

“Thank you for your time. I’ll be here if you need me.” She nodded to the group and exited to the right as Mr. Sanders had before.

“T-that goes for us all. Any of you need to talk, and I’ll be here. That understood?” Mr. Sanders strained her neck to send quick looks to each student. I felt an unsettling chill on my spine when he glanced at me—a look that lasted a bit too long compared to the others in his nervous overview. “Thank you, Ms. Soung. I greatly appreciate it.” He shook her hand and walked her out of the doors.

The shuffle began anew, but in waves of the unbothered, then the whimpering, and finally the sobbing. We packed our belongings even slower than the average Monday.

“Gwen Stetson?” I muttered the question to Cage.

“You know her.” He said it as if fact. His eyes were focusing on the task at hand. There was a pressure in his company, but it was faint like a series of pillows set across me. “She was one of the volleyball girls; hung out with the popular crowd.”

“That explains why I don’t know her.” I placed my guitar into the soft padding of the case’s interior. Clasped shut, it was ready for me to move. I instinctively began to move away. It felt like I was standing at the edge of a cliff overlooking a valley below. Air was difficult to pull in. It was sudden like a calculated strike to my diaphragm. I did my best to outlast the sudden change in atmospheric force, but something was coming.

“She was dating Jordan,” he didn’t look up at me, but I was staring wide-eyed in anticipation of the next blow. I swore there was a purplish hue floating around Cage, but I blinked and it was gone—another vision brought about by the stress. Still, I waited for the words to come. “Our catcher. Great guy. He didn’t come to school today. I probably won’t see him for a while because of her.” He slapped both clasps of his case down.

“Because of her?”

“You didn’t hear?” Cage’s eyes were now staring directly into the blank wall as if he were replaying the memories of an event he wasn’t present for. “She did it at his house. He ran out to try saving her.” We both swallowed hard. Cage’s voice was harsh, yet he was surprisingly in control. I thanked the Heavens for it—I’d rather not have her various friends hear his distasteful tone when speaking of their beloved departed.

“He couldn’t save her? Where was it?” The pressure built in my ears and made my eyes jitter. Heavy gates were creaking open with the offering of information that I’d been subjected to—non-consensually. The roomed seemed to spin in anticipation of the reveal.

“In his tree. Right on his front lawn.” Cage began to stand, but my eyes couldn’t track his movements. They were struggling to stay open while light and shadow merged into an unholy manifestation of uncertainty. The truth of the known and forgotten clash; only what exists can have truth. What has been removed from existence must be reinstated and adapted into truth, and the mind must formulate a way to withstand the impossible when it comes knocking wearing the face of certainty and the absolute.

“I,” I couldn’t lift my arms. I wanted to cradle my head. I needed to settle myself or, as it felt, my brain would explode outward to spread shrapnel and liquid over my schoolmates. “I need to sit down.”

In his tree. Right on his front lawn. The words ran through my head, but no memory could connect them. It was an incomplete circuit discharging volatile bolts and sparks across flammable materials. Tree. Lawn.

“You okay?” Cage turned to me, but I was already forcing speeding to a seat.

“I don’t feel well.” My backpack dropped to the carpeting, but the guitar case spun to double as a post for me to lean against. My ears wouldn’t pop, and my stomach was churning an irritating solution.

“Do I need to get you to the nurse?” Cage’s face was a blur. I could see him move closer, but his voice hadn’t changed. I could feel the resentment of another’s actions still fresh on his tongue, and that damn purplish glaze around his shoulders made looking at him all the more difficult. It came back just to taunt me.

“No,” it seemed useless as the ailing ignorance strengthened. Certainty must be maintained as all truth must be or wither to nothing. Tree. Lawn. He found her. Tried to save her. “Gwen.” The name was enough for the chilled fingers of an unknown hand to crawl up the back of my shirt. Lengthy digits curled over my spine and wove themselves between my ribs. I began to straighten my back and exhale rapidly. The purple across Cage’s shoulders became more defined as a thin vapor steaming from his body. It remained as I blinked, and the pressure of my environment wouldn’t cease.

“What about her?” His words were coated in an acidic venom. Every syllable carried this potent, natural weaponry through my mind. I shook my head in hopes of silencing the outside to correct the inside. “I bet the counselor will see tons of her friends today.” His scoffing at the exaggerated implications only fed the plagues—ice dug deeper into me, the purple flickered like a dying flame about his shoulders, my vision shook, and my thoughts of conflicting truths argued for control over reality.

“The counselor!” A bit shaky, I jumped up and ran out of the room. It was like running drunk. Chairs were knocked to the side or flipped in my exiting. The case swung wildly behind me, but I was careful to remove any obstacle that might have dented or scratched my dearest possession.

“Dude!” Cage called after me. Muddled words fell into the crashing waves of countless thoughts. There was a need to calm the torrential storm brewing within. The only solution that made sense, though I can’t recall the reasoning my anxious mind considered, was to speak to the counselor. It felt natural; breathing, blinking, finding the beauty in gray for answers.

She hadn’t gotten far. I could see the hazy form of a gray figure down the length of hall leading from the music departments to the rest of the school. She was walking alone, but ahead of the human cholesterol which clogged the path. Forcing my way through, faceless phantoms stepped aside or shouted at me. I didn’t dare stop or give way to moralistic manners. She had the medicine I needed.

“Ms. Soung!” I shouted and reached out for her. I’m sure it seemed dramatic. I can’t blame them for the looks they surely gave. Yet in that moment, I wasn’t surrounded by my peers but the golems of a forgotten land of blasphemous idolaters. None existed with life or purpose. None but her. She possessed a key to the door—a key meant to lock it again.

I’d seen her turn and retreat a step at the sight of me. My throat was dried with heavy breaths. My eyes couldn’t focus. Yet, I forced myself to speak through the weight of the world forcing itself on my lungs.

“I’m,” I pleaded with my body to inhale. “I’m sorry. You… you said we could talk to you.”

“Yes?” I could hear the worry. It hadn’t reached a level of panic or fear. That was good.

“Gwen.” I took another breath. “I didn’t know her that well. I,” panic had found its place in the conversation. I was losing my grip in front of the cure to my agony, and yet I knew nothing of what question was right. No study guide given.

“I’m,” she was ready to pull away. I could feel her desire to retreat from the unhealthy teen breaking down in the hallway. Some psychiatrist. It was a truth I could feel radiating from her; as true as the weight across my body and the icy fingers digging their ways into my organs and spinal cord.

“Please,” I tried to focus on her face. The grays of her clothes bent as the smooth tans of her skin became encased in a dull glow of ruby. It was across her body. These small strands of red corkscrewed around themselves to break away and float through the air until they twirled themselves into nothingness. It was a point to which I could anchor myself on the shifting seas. “Sorry,” my voice steadied as my eyes stayed on the twisting lights. “I didn’t know her that well, but I feel like I can relate. Is there a time I could talk to you?”

Her body straightened. It was a change I could almost taste—this defined acceptance and realignment of self which filled my nostrils and spread over my tongue.

“Of course. I’d be glad to talk to you anytime. I’ll be busy these next few days, but please sign up for a time. I’m here to help.” There was a smile. The ruby told me so. Those flickering lights which faded away from the whole spoke of her intent. Each whispered the secrets my eyes could not conceive.

“Thank you. It means a lot.” I nodded and swallowed back all that had to be kept within. “I’m just worried lately. I didn’t really know her.” I hesitated at the thought. “I’m worried maybe we aren’t so different.”

“You’ll be different.” Her words carried a soft assurance required for sustaining life. “I’ll make sure no one feels the way she did.” She was fumbling through her papers. Her shaking image contorted as limbs moved about in an almost two-dimensional artwork.

Tree. Lawn. Gwen. It’s here. The truth is here.

“I’m sure you’ve seen her around,” Ms. Soung reached out an item for me to examine. “The issues she faced don’t settle in one group of people; their style, their gender, or their age. It’s something we all deal with, and we need to make sure we prevent more people from feeling alone in times like this.” There was a true passion in her words, but it was the hands wrapped in ruby lights like burning cloth that drew my eyes. It took all that I could gather to keep from collapsing, but the unknown truth had found its way to me.

Gwen’s school photo was held out for me. The lights and her face were all that remained stationary in the shaking world. A beautiful young woman with blonde hair and a fit physique. Her wide eyes of green gazed back at me.

Three beauty marks like a constellation set against a pale backdrop stood out over her brow. I looked into a face I’d seen before and knew that truth was there. Across her porcelain skin and splendid features, there was a nightmare waiting to be unleashed. A box of untold horrors had been scavenged from the depths of mankind’s collective mind, and she’d set it loose over the lands beneath her own rule.

All the world began to turn back as if the lenses of my eyes were a camera finally adjusting to the correct distance of the subject. Those three marks stirred the void within me; a sickness for the nothingness within. Like a whale spraying into the night sky, the fragment of truth was set free from behind some unknown, sunken door.

“I’ve seen her,” I stared into the eyes I shared in another life. An image warped by static emerged from that zone between memory and uncertain subconsciousness. Before the counselor, the dream within a dream was the only presented gift. “I might even have known her.”

“I’m sure you did. She was quite active in the school events. If you’d like to discuss her, please sign up for a time today. Your teachers will understand.” She was smiling. I could see it now, in the sudden calm that overtook all anxiety. “If they don’t, be sure to let me know.”

Genuine and easy, it was a smile that required no forced fabrication of joy or content. The ruby swirls around her had gone, the world was drawn in solid lines, and the tilting floor had become level. She was even more beautiful up close. Her brown eyes were filled with a concern I’d seen few adults express—even fewer youths. Warmth given in a look, she seemed capable in her field. Glancing from the photo to the woman, I was able to take in the design of her person.

“I do have a few students to talk to,” she pulled one side of her lips back. “But I need to know you’re alright.”

My throat swelled a bit, “I’m fine. I guess I just needed to make sure.” One last look into those green eyes and the photo was gone. “I needed to see her for myself. I think I’ll be fine.” I spoke as if I’d walked calmly to her side instead of nearly tackling her. Mental distortion and panicky dysphoria felt like a story told to children around the campfire; a falsehood born of a mind mixing the void with the soil of the mental lands.

“Good.” She bounced a bit as she nodded and turned toward the faculty offices. “I’ll see you soon.” She turned around with a look of horror. “I’m so very sorry! I never asked your name. How rude of me!” Her flustered face was delightfully adorable.

“No need to be sorry. Thomas Markey. Most call me Tom.” I returned a smile. Only a few were blessed with the sight, but it was a gift I willingly gave to someone like her.

“Thank you, Tom. I’ll talk to you soon. Okay?” She smiled, turned, and left.

Just like that, my world had rewound itself. What happened? Why did I ask that? Gwen. I thought over how I’d come to stand in the middle of a hallway—the fog over the void welcoming my uncertainty into the deep. Those three marks.

This I recalled. Her final moments had been forced on me. I knew I’d seen it in my sleep. That bad touch. One fraction of the full story had returned, and it was all that I could think about.

“What was that about?” Cage was walking up behind me with his bag over his shoulder and mine in his free hand. He still seemed upset, but the atmosphere’s unchanging pressure safely prevented another door from opening. No dancing lights or acerbic scents resurfaced the forgotten phenomena.

I turned to my best friend with hopes of discussing my absurd dream and the events I’d seen. Confiding in another, I hoped to find answers. Those three dots needed to be connected—across dimensions and lives. All other doors had remained locked after swallowing their respective truths, but this one dream walked free.

“I know Gwen. I know how it happened.” Words came out rough through the dry throat. “There was a dream—”

The bell rang. Second period was beginning. I wouldn’t have cared, except I couldn’t get the words out.

“Shit,” Cage handed me my bag. “Late for class.” One hand took it while the other massaged my temples. He’d already started to walk by me.

“I have to tell you about the dream.” It wasn’t panicky. I’d say more like a nervous squeak. While all else teetered on the brink of existence and uncertainty, the absolute truth of Gwen’s death had been set in stone before me—a monument netted from the void to stand as a reminder on my mind’s shores. “Gwen—”

Interrupted again, “We need to get to class, man.” He never paused to hear me out.

“Listen,” I rushed forward to close the gap between us. I spoke with a cold conviction of past events; seen through a shared set of eyes while one slept and another failed to find rest. Cage’s eyes never broke from the path to our destination, but I began the tale in hopes of finding security in my understanding of what was real and what was fiction. “I know how she died.”

Chapter 31

“What do you think?” I finished in quieted whispers through the beginning of our art class—we were just sketching again. We both had worked ahead; one far superior to the other when supernatural possessing wasn’t evening the field. “I saw it all.” Opposite the pressure of the band room, the art room seemed to allow me to float.

“Hm.” Cage nodded a bit, but his eyes were glued to his sketch of the various tools stacked on a pedestal in the center of the group. He was pressing his lips together so that the blood fled from the surface and left them a ghostly white. Prickly sensations crept up my right arm in the presence of such negativity.

I couldn’t recall why it made me feel unsettled, but there was something in his face that made me small. Crumpled up like a piece of paper thrown to the side with only the first words of a rough draft scribbled across it. Maybe I’m just sensitive.

Cage’s eyes were intense as his hands moved over the paper to twist and scratch at it with his sharpened pencil. The lines were jagged and fuzzy with several overlapping slashes of the graphite tip; very unlike his usual style of carefully planned designs and attention to perspective. Each tool seemed to blur into the ones beside it to form a misshapen blob of white and gray. A collaboration of bibelots.

“No thoughts?” I didn’t like seeing him so upset. What friend would?

“It was a dream, man.” Cage broke his seal and expressed an expressionless attitude toward my living through another’s final moments. “You probably just heard some people talking about it.”

“Who would I have talked to?” I had gone through the details. What could I say that would change his mind? “With his sweatshirt? Front lawn, facing the house, and—”

“Like I said,” Cage was keeping his voice low. He didn’t want to disturb the creature he’d formed on the paper. “Everyone knows that.” As though the air around him were waving in a visible heat, instinct told me to drop it… too bad the human mind often finds stupidity overpowering instinct.

“She threw her makeup against her mirror and cracked it. She got into the car and texted him ‘You can’t do this. You can’t just take and not give. I love you’.” The words were cold as I spoke them. Icy fingers moved up through my throat to force them from my chest; each digit forcing the jaw open from the inside so the syllables could slip between the wrists. I knew, an odd sensation of feeling his inhale, that Cage would speak. Frozen fingers opened my mouth again before he could, “She kept thinking the same thing over and over again. ‘He loves me. He’ll remember me.’”

There was a moment of silenced while the fingers tapped the inside of my mouth in preparation of another retort. I could be shut up by the palpable tension, but the hands of whatever force that felt a need to be heard would simply not remain silent.

Cage’s hands stopped their scribbling and scratching. He turned his head slightly toward me and spoke in a low and sure voice, “I don’t know what’s on his phone. I don’t want to know, but that’s something others might know. You were high. You’ve been under stress.”

“That doesn’t make me an idiot.” My own voice found its way through. “I know what I dreamt. I had to watch it all.” There was so much pain, and not a single fake smile to cover that sorrow. Swallowing that sadness back, the fingers retreated down my throat until they found their place around my spine.

“It was just a dream.”

“You don’t think anything’s off with that? Just dreamt the way she died?” I must have gotten a bit too loud because the girl next to me shot a glance that could have dropped a child. I turned from her and lowered my volume, “I felt it.”

“What else happened? Just that?” Wonder in words, but tone echoed the distance his heart was from the voice.

“I don’t remember the rest. Her room, her car, the tree. That’s it.” I shook my head while tapping my pencil on the poorly sketched tools on my sheet. They were the correct size, but there was no depth or shadowing—a flattened series of lines cutting one another off. “All that sadness.”

“Sadness?” Cage tilted his pencil and placed it on the desktop. “Sadness? She caused it.” He noticed his rise in volume and looked around to make sure no one would remain looking at him. He hadn’t yelled, but it was enough to get more glances. “Because of her, my friend didn’t come to school. He’s home wondering how the rest of his life is going to go because of what she did.” He was staring into his picture with clenched fists on the desk.

“You’re right.”

Cage looked over at me with tightened lips and narrowed eyes. Though his anger seemed misplaced, it made sense to me. “She was sad, but she didn’t solve it.” Cage dropped his head back to the paper in front of him. “She just,” I didn’t want him that upset, “spread it to others like a virus.” What can one say to make things better when the individual simply desires to be mad? I could have left it, but stupidity won again. “We just have to be there for those that she infected.”

“Infected.” Cage’s face was a bit lighter than usual. It was as if he’d been struggling to hold his breath in. “With that bitch’s disease.” He bobbed his head in agreement. His eyes turned before his head to look into mine, “She decides to off herself and others get to pick up the pieces. It’s not right.”

Not everyone can mask their agony with a smile. Cage was never one of them. He never would be. He’d wear his emotions on his sleeve as if proud that his outbursts of any variable mindset were a shining medal. I knew I agreed with him… but the pain wasn’t one-sided. Though her actions were atrocious, the life of another is more complex than the single action recalled by many.

“I’m sure she’ll pay her dues.” It wasn’t a truth, but it felt right to say.

“I hope so.” Cage returned to his drawing without further discussion of the death of Gwen Stetson or the dream I’d lived through. A hot topic to say the least. I went back to my disappointing drawing to add worthless lines and incorrect shading in silence until the bell rang.

Although I’d verbally unloaded the dream, I still felt an odd tingle across my spine. What else happened? There was more, wasn’t there? I moved to my next class without Cage; parting ways with only a simple nod for pleasantries.

That day went by in a slow haze as I replayed the dream in my head a hundred times. Every detail seemed perfectly clear. It felt as if I were reliving it while sitting in my desk, and every time I had to fight back the tears that were building behind my eyes. If only she could have smiled one more time, it might have kept her from finding rest in that tree.

Instead, she bloomed her rancid and dreadful fungus to cast its spores across all those she knew in life. I thought of that devilish creature reflecting Gwen’s face. Claiming one wasn’t enough. Unholy hands that tear the life of the self curse the waters of other lands; the shores turn to ash and the inhabitants seek aid in the blasphemous bosom of that reflective beast.

How many lands would her doppelganger spread to? An unforeseen plague would run through our lives. Community members would question themselves, teenagers would compare their lives, and the parents would tighten their grip on the children they held dear. It only takes one death to deconstruct society and replace it with something similar yet distorted in the details. Everyone will try to build a world of emeralds, but many will find themselves surrounded by sickly fungus and moss.

Gwen’s actions opened a door that should remain shut—at least until the right reason is found. Her life was not ending. Her body was not failing. Her mind was not fading. She had picked the lock and set it free. I saw Andria and wondered how long it would be before her pill bottle emptied and she was found to be the victim of a reflective monster. Taken by the one who looks like her, no one would assume foul-play.

I won’t be one. I said it in my head a few times to assure myself, but who knows if they will be strong enough to deny the handshake when the creature comes. I’m not that bad. A life has ups and it has downs, and this beast seems to know when to strike a deal. A devil with our own face.

Thinking it through, I figured there were two reasons I’d keep myself from that irreversible edge. One, I wouldn’t be able to prove my stepmother wrong. If I did it myself, I wouldn’t get to explain how I felt or really rub a successful future in her face. No one would understand me if I went off and left a simple note or nothing at all. We so often view a suicide by their final acts and written words, but the damage they dealt with existed long before in most cases. Eventually, I planned on letting that awful woman guised as a mother know exactly how I felt.

I couldn’t wait to explode and let her have it. Every burning word would be heard, and that pain would be released… at least that’s how I felt it would go.

Secondly, it seemed obvious that I’d have failed my mother if I did. I couldn’t keep smiling if they planted me in the ground. Smile on and remember I wouldn’t give those I despised the satisfaction of my failure. These seemed as good of reasons as any.

I guess in all, I stand in a grayness between it all. It felt satisfying to think of it that way. There was no way I was going to get as upset as Cage, but I wouldn’t simply jump into the fire like Gwen. Soothing to know I wasn’t on either of those levels. Instead, I could keep doodling and writing in my notebooks while classes went by.

A poem on the subject filled a page by itself. The teacher blathered on as if anyone actually cared, and the people around me continued on with their usual annoyances or newly expressed sadness in the face of loss. In the grayness between two worlds, I felt a sense of pride as the openly expressed agony became the norm.

Empathy, the forgotten sense of humanity, was in abundance throughout the world—finally. The wounds of the soul cried out so that each and all were joined in the anguish of loss. It’s a beautiful thing; humans caring for humans. I could finally relate to some of them.

Red, white, and blue waved for the hope discovered in the depressing air of that Autumn day. Though it swung back and forth in the wind only halfway up the pole, it was fighting its way up the height of the steel. As if it were rallying those that remained, it fought to reclaim its throne atop the manmade pillar of glory. I looked out the window hoping to see it succeed, but even in the world of grays a flag cannot climb to new heights without the hands of intelligent life to hoist the colors.

Chapter 32

Work went by like usual that night. I went home to enjoy the gift Cage had left for me. It was best that I hid it in the back of a drawer on my desk, but it still left the issue of how to do it without anyone realizing. Luckily, the internet is quick to provide the mechanics. Amazing how technology can turn someone looking for a simple intoxication into an engineer.

A bottle of soda from the kitchen started the night, but it also provided the perfect body for my smoking apparatus. Sneaking some tinfoil up the stairs was easy since no one in the family cared to know what I was doing or where I was. Being unloved does leave some doorways open for you.

Pens were dumped out over my desk from my schoolbag. I selected one arbitrarily. Both sides had to be removed so I had the hollow tube… you get it from there I’m sure. Put them together in the right way, and you’ve got a solid device on your hands. The next issue was the smell and the bodies outside my door.

I kept my music playing while working on my makeshift tool. It was pretty late before the last of the shutting doors sounded off to signify my safety in their sleep. A loosely packed amount of the painkiller was enough for me. An open window and cheap spray would be enough to mask my fun. One sweatshirt rested at the bottom of the door to keep any wandering streams of smoke from finding their escape into the hallway.

That first night, I had forgotten one thing. Sort of important, but it never occurred to me. I needed something with a flame. A quick expedition into the world beyond my door was enough for my heart to race. My hands moved the sweatshirt and the door as quietly as I could. Every step was placed as if one creak would set sirens off. They didn’t, obviously. But dad was asleep in his chair. I knew he’d be out until the hours closer to midnight, and then he’d stumble to his room and pass back out beside his newest wife.

So, the James Bond theme started in my head.

Silence was out of respect for him. My objective was past his room; creeping by the opening like a poorly drawn villain in an old cartoon. There was a purse kept on a hook near the door. She’d never really given me anything, and I figured she owed me some allowance at the very least. I’d never rummaged through her belongings for fear of her smelling me on the interior—causing her to track me like the wild animal she was. All I wanted was a simple lighter, and she was more than capable of supplying me.

Three were resting inside the purse; it being unlatched made it easier to open so that I didn’t have to endure the panic a loud snap would cause. I pushed her two boxes of cigarettes to the side. One white, one black, and a weird tie-dye lighter were my options. I took out the two plainly colored gadgets and shook them to see which had more fuel. The black seemed newly bought, and the white seemed to be half full. A white lighter dropped into my pocket while the black fell back into her purse. I replaced the cigarettes back over the lighters and began my journey back upstairs. The spy theme was reaching its climax.

My dad snored a few times, but he never woke up to question me. It was too easy, and I expected so much more from them. Where was the fatherly talk? Where were the harpies attempting to claw at me or peck my eyes out? Where was the danger? Sad, but it was enough of a rush to replace the sweatshirt at the base of the door and begin preparation to breath in the painkiller. I’d earned it! Mission accomplished.

Rough kisses were shared between my lungs and the herb. Tender and caring, the arms of an invited companion drained away the outside world. Lengthy strolls through my throat numbed the darkness about me. It seemed the shadows retreated and all the world within my room became a plane of gray. My blood pumped with the freshly absorbed medicine; my body experienced the leveling of self and surroundings.

I finished my romantic moment and began to disassemble my tools. The pen and tinfoil were placed in the back of a drawer with the bag. The bottle was placed in the corner behind my bed so no wandering demonic harpy might stumble on it. Probably unnecessary since no one entered my room. A haven kept warded from the patrolling evils. All that was sacred could be kept clean and safe within that room. But to error on the side of caution felt right.

Sitting at my desk was the perfect way to end the day. Memories faded like dreams into the void between worlds; existing as a faint sensation of knowing nothing. Truth blurs in the world of the grays.

Clicks brought up the browser on my computer. I clicked through the usual social media and checked the usual pages. It was instinct to click in the same pattern as I’d always done. Even when nothing of importance or meaning was found, it was a habit I’d grown into.

Random searching online became the vehicle for my scattered thoughts. I moved along without much thought until I’d noticed what my fingers had entered. The same image that had remained in my mind all day lit my screen. Gwen’s face smiled at me as if my camera had surprised her. Three dots rose above her brow like suns of a foreign world taking their place behind the horizon.

A biographic paragraph or two were pasted beneath the picture. They seemed the usual sentences built atop one another framed around the usual archetype. “She loved her family and friends. She always found a way to give back to others; a quality we all adored her for.” We never speak ill of the dead—no matter the suffering and sorrow left in their will. Those that were close will not admit the damage done, but they will recall all the best parts so that the phantom remains dressed in gold and generously applied makeup.

I checked behind me to look over the framed photo of my greatest loss. There wasn’t anything I could have written against my mother; the sickness was the nightmare I recalled loathingly. A pure soul will be remembered forever as they were with no need of a standard bio painting superficial obscurities as blessed gifts to humanity.

Thinking over what stands in the land of grayness, I’d have enjoyed the chance to discuss human duality and ethics with someone. It seemed another joke in my life that no one I was close to joined in my joy. At least in my room, I could consider the conversations in great detail in my head. Going over each response, my retorts were well worded and simulated in reaction to dialogues that never happened.

Thinking of death makes every person feel differently. Death wasn’t a fear of mine, but he remains the greatest foe to many. His presence in my thoughts sparked some itch in the back of my mind. A shadow or calling voice beyond human comprehension was attempting to push me closer to the truth of the grayness. Quite the feeling, to submerge oneself in the heightened sense of what lies beyond and ponder the void you find yourself in. I sat at my computer meditating in my silence on the absence of my knowing. There was something in that blurred space I needed to find.

Frustration is usually the product of a mind on a journey that has no clear end. We try to reach beyond the limits of the mind or soul, and life simply reminds us of the flesh we are shackled to. It wasn’t long before my restlessness with the idea of something bigger surpassed my need to complete the lines between faded dots.

My fingers returned to the mouse and keyboard. I opened up my history bar and scanned through the pages I’d recently visited. There were series of pages grouped together with the final Horseman in the name.

A sober mind would have moved on or thought itself silly to find a correlation between coincidence and echoes of a faceless dream. It was a feeling. Something you know to be true, but you may never be able to confirm it. Some call it faith, but I would have called it a blissful wish for something more. I would have called it that. Experiencing the premonition of what was or what will come is an unsettling piece of shrapnel working its way through the lobes of your brain. I needed to scratch it out.

I grabbed my notebook out of my bag and flipped it to the page containing the loose drawing I’d almost placed out of my memory. Quicker than I knew why I did it, my hands moved on the sure notion that it was the correct path to take. It felt right to release him from the bound collection of lined pages.

Welcome back. I thought to myself as I stared into his eyes. Death gazed back with eyes brimming with eons-worth of wisdom. Sensing some form of gratitude, I placed him between the keyboard and screen so that the paper arched. That way, we sat across from each other. Could a portion of the eternal understand the simple gesture? I believed he could.

Acting as you do, it feels all the more fulfilling to know that the eyes upon you shine with pride. The generation before us fills us with the energy of their empowered years so that we might become more—splitting our own path from the blackest night and brightest day to find our grayness. What splendor awaits those that stand in the everlasting beam of the divine? The oldest of generations. Spanning back from that time when darkness did not exist and matter was but a dream of the void, the Ancient Powers envisioned all that might be seen and felt.

My body felt numbed. Like wading in the steadiness of a calm river, I relished it me little by little. His eyes gazed at me, and I nodded in acknowledgement of his position—this unknown truth meant to lead me to the journey I was to undergo. All these clues left beyond the void to fade into the nothingness between memory and dream.

Instead of committing these feelings and moments to memory, I turned back to the pages and clicked away. The poems celebrating my watcher and his everlasting missions, the connections of creation and destruction, and the pages that led to my studies of The Four. It was interesting to review the far-fetched ideals of various people. There were the accounts, postings, and personal tales… but there was something missing as I clicked through those pages in my history—retracing my virtual steps from the other day.

There was a truth hidden within those paragraphs and posts, but the mortal mind stares at truth while unable to perceive it. We must debate and consider to find that which the heart leads us to. In this case, my heart, mind, and soul were all shouting for this truth to be revealed—a brightly lit neon sign for my human brain to understand. Pray as you might for a sign, it is often the eyes peering into the past that see it.

A link brought me to a page that claimed the site was disconnected. It took me a few clicks back and forth between other pages to remember the order I’d explored them. All the while, the eyes of Death slid across the paper. I had to focus on the task at hand; put all I had toward it so my mind didn’t wander. For this, my eyes freely let the man trapped within parchment study and move as he may. Had he actually moved or was it simply the style of a skill I’d never known? I wouldn’t have been able to confirm one or the other.

Instead, I had to set my mind to the abandoned page. A desecrated coding that left the visitors questioning what once was displayed. I remembered a video. It was a short and blurry clip, but it was described as the capturing of some event and individuals that many were not meant to see. It had to have been. It had been there as plain as a day shrouded in fog.

The camera work was spastic, and the images contorted due to movement and distance. It was something to do with The Four, but I couldn’t remember the exact clip. I just recalled it was there—evidence for an unseen war where humanity stood stupidly between the flickering trenches.

But what would I know of any of it? I didn’t. It was a feeling—all a simple whim of the soul to click, to follow, to read, to recall, to do as the brain fumbles to consider. These actions and connections brought about the frozen touch of phantom fingers. Though they were almost physically manifested across my flesh, I ignored them as they became a subconscious norm like breathing or blinking.

A force beyond my truths embraced me in my becoming. He surrounded me with the dense force of the ether and interminable void; a cocoon of all that was, is, and will be for the metamorphosis of only one. It could have been my first offer. One of many deals to be made in the aged war between planes.

Death had come for me.

Blind to his advances, I searched on through the internet. Any voices or experiences were ignored as I tried to recall the lost video. I knew it was a man on a horse, quick images speeding by the shaking camera, some violent conflict… I couldn’t recall exact details.

But, the hands of the divine lead us even with our noses to the ground. My ignorance and ignoring could have been seen as disrespectful to the guest attempting to subjugate me. How admirable of him to stay his vengeful hand of corrective action and use the other to permit my understanding—lead a horse to water, if you will.

You may not get it. How does someone explain the unfathomable directional truth and absolute conviction that comes from such events? The faith of billions crumbles when asked a simple question or disagreeing voices raise a counterargument. Puppets don’t ask why they are manipulated but know it is the truth of reality.

Fighting the current of life is human instinct. We stroke against the natural flow out of sheer terror of the unknown. “What bends or beasts wait for me over the horizon?”, you wonder.

But there are times when the light catches that line between Heaven and Earth. It takes your breath and fight away. You might even gather up the courage to experience one of the most dangerous aspects of human nature—hope.

Take a chance and close your eyes. Drift down the river of life and maybe, just maybe, you’ll find yourself cradled in the womb of creation. I felt it then. It was a knowing that what was to be done would solve my problems and restructure my life in resemblance of paradise.

It works out for the best most of the time… most of the time. I see how far I’ve come now, but it was a curse presented to me as a gilded award. I’d fought my unconscious war for so long, but it was coming to a grand finale. A spectacle of pyrotechnics and crimson graffiti. The enlightened mind, a chemically enhanced floating through life’s river, allowed the door to open without my knowledge.

This was a set path that made sense. It was seeing the world in terms of twos adding together to make fours, sixes, eights, tens, and so forth. Though the dots blurred and faded from the path, every connecting line between them seemed an easy solution.

If only the world had stayed unchanged, I could have gotten so many answers and advantages before the end came. That’s a bit ahead of where we are in this tale. I apologize.

My relationship with Death has been a… challenging one to say it in a sweetly blunt fashion. As if he pointed at the screen so that my eyes followed the energy of his intent, Death led me toward truths and understanding. I’d thank him if the damn truth didn’t mean every block fell into place as it had.

I felt the chilling fingers of something tickling up my spine. They phased through my flesh to tap at my bones. One of the infinite hands of the void directed me toward the page of lost data.

Fingers were in my spine. My mind was fed unlearned information. My soul felt lifted by the untapped well of an aura outside human capabilities. The presence of The Destroyer, even when ignorant of his proximity, melts, constructs, morphs, tantalizes, sates, and maddens in an instant of gratification and desolation. Like having all you are torn asunder and having it put back together in an extravagant formula this world’s physics would deem illogical or impossible.

This feeling overtook me while the blackened tips of unreal tentacles swam about me. I drifted from reality as the hands of an elder being reached beyond the doors I’d unknowingly opened.

No. They were torn from the hinges.

These appendages came to perform the rights of the one seeking my flesh. Hands of a tangible darkness wrapped around my exhausted body. I’d have fought had I known it was happening or cared at the time, but all was left to the will of those questionable branches of a darkness that had birthed the world of gray.

Fear is impossible when led by a hand higher than yourself. Fear is an emotion, and emotions cannot bleed to the surface when you are contained in the womb of divinity. Instead, I shut my eyes and welcomed the shimmering darkness that entered this reality through the portal meant for The Destroyer.

I’d thought too intensely. I’d listened too carefully. I’d searched too curiously. I’d breathed too deeply. I’d let myself dream of the void, and now the void was swallowing me. A dreamless sleep would take me that night, but the devils behind unseen doors would make sure it was the last peaceful sleep I ever have.

Work went by like usual that night. I went home to enjoy the gift Cage had left for me. It was best that I hid it in the back of a drawer on my desk, but it still left the issue of how to do it without anyone realizing. Luckily, the internet is quick to provide the mechanics. Amazing how technology can turn someone looking for a simple intoxication into an engineer.

A bottle of soda from the kitchen started the night, but it also provided the perfect body for my smoking apparatus. Sneaking some tinfoil up the stairs was easy since no one in the family cared to know what I was doing or where I was. Being unloved does leave some doorways open for you.

Pens were dumped out over my desk from my schoolbag. I selected one arbitrarily. Both sides had to be removed so I had the hollow tube… you get it from there I’m sure. Put them together in the right way, and you’ve got a solid device on your hands. The next issue was the smell and the bodies outside my door.

I kept my music playing while working on my makeshift tool. It was pretty late before the last of the shutting doors sounded off to signify my safety in their sleep. A loosely packed amount of the painkiller was enough for me. An open window and cheap spray would be enough to mask my fun. One sweatshirt rested at the bottom of the door to keep any wandering streams of smoke from finding their escape into the hallway.

That first night, I had forgotten one thing. Sort of important, but it never occurred to me. I needed something with a flame. A quick expedition into the world beyond my door was enough for my heart to race. My hands moved the sweatshirt and the door as quietly as I could. Every step was placed as if one creak would set sirens off. They didn’t, obviously. But dad was asleep in his chair. I knew he’d be out until the hours closer to midnight, and then he’d stumble to his room and pass back out beside his newest wife.

So, the James Bond theme started in my head.

Silence was out of respect for him. My objective was past his room; creeping by the opening like a poorly drawn villain in an old cartoon. There was a purse kept on a hook near the door. She’d never really given me anything, and I figured she owed me some allowance at the very least. I’d never rummaged through her belongings for fear of her smelling me on the interior—causing her to track me like the wild animal she was. All I wanted was a simple lighter, and she was more than capable of supplying me.

Three were resting inside the purse; it being unlatched made it easier to open so that I didn’t have to endure the panic a loud snap would cause. I pushed her two boxes of cigarettes to the side. One white, one black, and a weird tie-dye lighter were my options. I took out the two plainly colored gadgets and shook them to see which had more fuel. The black seemed newly bought, and the white seemed to be half full. A white lighter dropped into my pocket while the black fell back into her purse. I replaced the cigarettes back over the lighters and began my journey back upstairs. The spy theme was reaching its climax.

My dad snored a few times, but he never woke up to question me. It was too easy, and I expected so much more from them. Where was the fatherly talk? Where were the harpies attempting to claw at me or peck my eyes out? Where was the danger? Sad, but it was enough of a rush to replace the sweatshirt at the base of the door and begin preparation to breath in the painkiller. I’d earned it! Mission accomplished.

Rough kisses were shared between my lungs and the herb. Tender and caring, the arms of an invited companion drained away the outside world. Lengthy strolls through my throat numbed the darkness about me. It seemed the shadows retreated and all the world within my room became a plane of gray. My blood pumped with the freshly absorbed medicine; my body experienced the leveling of self and surroundings.

I finished my romantic moment and began to disassemble my tools. The pen and tinfoil were placed in the back of a drawer with the bag. The bottle was placed in the corner behind my bed so no wandering demonic harpy might stumble on it. Probably unnecessary since no one entered my room. A haven kept warded from the patrolling evils. All that was sacred could be kept clean and safe within that room. But to error on the side of caution felt right.

Sitting at my desk was the perfect way to end the day. Memories faded like dreams into the void between worlds; existing as a faint sensation of knowing nothing. Truth blurs in the world of the grays.

Clicks brought up the browser on my computer. I clicked through the usual social media and checked the usual pages. It was instinct to click in the same pattern as I’d always done. Even when nothing of importance or meaning was found, it was a habit I’d grown into.

Random searching online became the vehicle for my scattered thoughts. I moved along without much thought until I’d noticed what my fingers had entered. The same image that had remained in my mind all day lit my screen. Gwen’s face smiled at me as if my camera had surprised her. Three dots rose above her brow like suns of a foreign world taking their place behind the horizon.

A biographic paragraph or two were pasted beneath the picture. They seemed the usual sentences built atop one another framed around the usual archetype. “She loved her family and friends. She always found a way to give back to others; a quality we all adored her for.” We never speak ill of the dead—no matter the suffering and sorrow left in their will. Those that were close will not admit the damage done, but they will recall all the best parts so that the phantom remains dressed in gold and generously applied makeup.

I checked behind me to look over the framed photo of my greatest loss. There wasn’t anything I could have written against my mother; the sickness was the nightmare I recalled loathingly. A pure soul will be remembered forever as they were with no need of a standard bio painting superficial obscurities as blessed gifts to humanity.

Thinking over what stands in the land of grayness, I’d have enjoyed the chance to discuss human duality and ethics with someone. It seemed another joke in my life that no one I was close to joined in my joy. At least in my room, I could consider the conversations in great detail in my head. Going over each response, my retorts were well worded and simulated in reaction to dialogues that never happened.

Thinking of death makes every person feel differently. Death wasn’t a fear of mine, but he remains the greatest foe to many. His presence in my thoughts sparked some itch in the back of my mind. A shadow or calling voice beyond human comprehension was attempting to push me closer to the truth of the grayness. Quite the feeling, to submerge oneself in the heightened sense of what lies beyond and ponder the void you find yourself in. I sat at my computer meditating in my silence on the absence of my knowing. There was something in that blurred space I needed to find.

Frustration is usually the product of a mind on a journey that has no clear end. We try to reach beyond the limits of the mind or soul, and life simply reminds us of the flesh we are shackled to. It wasn’t long before my restlessness with the idea of something bigger surpassed my need to complete the lines between faded dots.

My fingers returned to the mouse and keyboard. I opened up my history bar and scanned through the pages I’d recently visited. There were series of pages grouped together with the final Horseman in the name.

A sober mind would have moved on or thought itself silly to find a correlation between coincidence and echoes of a faceless dream. It was a feeling. Something you know to be true, but you may never be able to confirm it. Some call it faith, but I would have called it a blissful wish for something more. I would have called it that. Experiencing the premonition of what was or what will come is an unsettling piece of shrapnel working its way through the lobes of your brain. I needed to scratch it out.

I grabbed my notebook out of my bag and flipped it to the page containing the loose drawing I’d almost placed out of my memory. Quicker than I knew why I did it, my hands moved on the sure notion that it was the correct path to take. It felt right to release him from the bound collection of lined pages.

Welcome back. I thought to myself as I stared into his eyes. Death gazed back with eyes brimming with eons-worth of wisdom. Sensing some form of gratitude, I placed him between the keyboard and screen so that the paper arched. That way, we sat across from each other. Could a portion of the eternal understand the simple gesture? I believed he could.

Acting as you do, it feels all the more fulfilling to know that the eyes upon you shine with pride. The generation before us fills us with the energy of their empowered years so that we might become more—splitting our own path from the blackest night and brightest day to find our grayness. What splendor awaits those that stand in the everlasting beam of the divine? The oldest of generations. Spanning back from that time when darkness did not exist and matter was but a dream of the void, the Ancient Powers envisioned all that might be seen and felt.

My body felt numbed. Like wading in the steadiness of a calm river, I relished it me little by little. His eyes gazed at me, and I nodded in acknowledgement of his position—this unknown truth meant to lead me to the journey I was to undergo. All these clues left beyond the void to fade into the nothingness between memory and dream.

Instead of committing these feelings and moments to memory, I turned back to the pages and clicked away. The poems celebrating my watcher and his everlasting missions, the connections of creation and destruction, and the pages that led to my studies of The Four. It was interesting to review the far-fetched ideals of various people. There were the accounts, postings, and personal tales… but there was something missing as I clicked through those pages in my history—retracing my virtual steps from the other day.

There was a truth hidden within those paragraphs and posts, but the mortal mind stares at truth while unable to perceive it. We must debate and consider to find that which the heart leads us to. In this case, my heart, mind, and soul were all shouting for this truth to be revealed—a brightly lit neon sign for my human brain to understand. Pray as you might for a sign, it is often the eyes peering into the past that see it.

A link brought me to a page that claimed the site was disconnected. It took me a few clicks back and forth between other pages to remember the order I’d explored them. All the while, the eyes of Death slid across the paper. I had to focus on the task at hand; put all I had toward it so my mind didn’t wander. For this, my eyes freely let the man trapped within parchment study and move as he may. Had he actually moved or was it simply the style of a skill I’d never known? I wouldn’t have been able to confirm one or the other.

Instead, I had to set my mind to the abandoned page. A desecrated coding that left the visitors questioning what once was displayed. I remembered a video. It was a short and blurry clip, but it was described as the capturing of some event and individuals that many were not meant to see. It had to have been. It had been there as plain as a day shrouded in fog.

The camera work was spastic, and the images contorted due to movement and distance. It was something to do with The Four, but I couldn’t remember the exact clip. I just recalled it was there—evidence for an unseen war where humanity stood stupidly between the flickering trenches.

But what would I know of any of it? I didn’t. It was a feeling—all a simple whim of the soul to click, to follow, to read, to recall, to do as the brain fumbles to consider. These actions and connections brought about the frozen touch of phantom fingers. Though they were almost physically manifested across my flesh, I ignored them as they became a subconscious norm like breathing or blinking.

A force beyond my truths embraced me in my becoming. He surrounded me with the dense force of the ether and interminable void; a cocoon of all that was, is, and will be for the metamorphosis of only one. It could have been my first offer. One of many deals to be made in the aged war between planes.

Death had come for me.

Blind to his advances, I searched on through the internet. Any voices or experiences were ignored as I tried to recall the lost video. I knew it was a man on a horse, quick images speeding by the shaking camera, some violent conflict… I couldn’t recall exact details.

But, the hands of the divine lead us even with our noses to the ground. My ignorance and ignoring could have been seen as disrespectful to the guest attempting to subjugate me. How admirable of him to stay his vengeful hand of corrective action and use the other to permit my understanding—lead a horse to water, if you will.

You may not get it. How does someone explain the unfathomable directional truth and absolute conviction that comes from such events? The faith of billions crumbles when asked a simple question or disagreeing voices raise a counterargument. Puppets don’t ask why they are manipulated but know it is the truth of reality.

Fighting the current of life is human instinct. We stroke against the natural flow out of sheer terror of the unknown. “What bends or beasts wait for me over the horizon?”, you wonder.

But there are times when the light catches that line between Heaven and Earth. It takes your breath and fight away. You might even gather up the courage to experience one of the most dangerous aspects of human nature—hope.

Take a chance and close your eyes. Drift down the river of life and maybe, just maybe, you’ll find yourself cradled in the womb of creation. I felt it then. It was a knowing that what was to be done would solve my problems and restructure my life in resemblance of paradise.

It works out for the best most of the time… most of the time. I see how far I’ve come now, but it was a curse presented to me as a gilded award. I’d fought my unconscious war for so long, but it was coming to a grand finale. A spectacle of pyrotechnics and crimson graffiti. The enlightened mind, a chemically enhanced floating through life’s river, allowed the door to open without my knowledge.

This was a set path that made sense. It was seeing the world in terms of twos adding together to make fours, sixes, eights, tens, and so forth. Though the dots blurred and faded from the path, every connecting line between them seemed an easy solution.

If only the world had stayed unchanged, I could have gotten so many answers and advantages before the end came. That’s a bit ahead of where we are in this tale. I apologize.

My relationship with Death has been a… challenging one to say it in a sweetly blunt fashion. As if he pointed at the screen so that my eyes followed the energy of his intent, Death led me toward truths and understanding. I’d thank him if the damn truth didn’t mean every block fell into place as it had.

I felt the chilling fingers of something tickling up my spine. They phased through my flesh to tap at my bones. One of the infinite hands of the void directed me toward the page of lost data.

Fingers were in my spine. My mind was fed unlearned information. My soul felt lifted by the untapped well of an aura outside human capabilities. The presence of The Destroyer, even when ignorant of his proximity, melts, constructs, morphs, tantalizes, sates, and maddens in an instant of gratification and desolation. Like having all you are torn asunder and having it put back together in an extravagant formula this world’s physics would deem illogical or impossible.

This feeling overtook me while the blackened tips of unreal tentacles swam about me. I drifted from reality as the hands of an elder being reached beyond the doors I’d unknowingly opened.

No. They were torn from the hinges.

These appendages came to perform the rights of the one seeking my flesh. Hands of a tangible darkness wrapped around my exhausted body. I’d have fought had I known it was happening or cared at the time, but all was left to the will of those questionable branches of a darkness that had birthed the world of gray.

Fear is impossible when led by a hand higher than yourself. Fear is an emotion, and emotions cannot bleed to the surface when you are contained in the womb of divinity. Instead, I shut my eyes and welcomed the shimmering darkness that entered this reality through the portal meant for The Destroyer.

I’d thought too intensely. I’d listened too carefully. I’d searched too curiously. I’d breathed too deeply. I’d let myself dream of the void, and now the void was swallowing me. A dreamless sleep would take me that night, but the devils behind unseen doors would make sure it was the last peaceful sleep I ever have.

Chapter 33

Cage was a bit more agreeable the next day, but a scowl contorted his face into something almost unrecognizable. He didn’t need a vial, just emotions were enough to make that likeable student into a fiery Hyde. We both were a bit different. The more we’re exposed to, the more our bodies and minds adapt to the strain of the world between the blacks and whites.

It wasn’t a simple spark in the air around him. A bitter taste and a continuous prickling of static in the air creeped over my skin. His fingers were moving over the strings as they had with the newly formed band. Certain notes were woven together wonderfully while others were welded together crudely by snaps and echoes. The monstrous persona only gained more territory as these notes passed our ears; each another vial for the beast to gulp.

An entire song had gone by as I watched him. Every few notes brought a sudden jerking of his right hand. These notes were far too loud for the melody meant to instill a sense of calm in the audience, and yet he forced them through the amps as if every alteration to the piece was lead transmuted to gold.

“Could you stop?” I raised an eyebrow at Cage. He exhaled and narrowed his eyes so that I could only see the corner of one straining to glare at me. “It’s creepy.”

“What is?” I turned the page of my music to the next song.

“Why turn the page?”

“I need to know what I’m playing.” I kept looking at Cage. He shook his head and huffed air through his nostrils. There was an accompanying tartness to the action; tasted on tongue and up my nose. Every action and reaction provided a notable flavor—residual energy of the human soul.

This astringent taste was that of a cherry picked before the acceptable harvest season. It left a film in my mouth. Not much unlike the faded memory of the day before, I recalled a similar bite in the air between us. My mind brought back that bitterness; my body taking in the essence of slightly burned tobacco drenched in my father’s choice brews.

“Wish I could play like that.” Cage turned his page to reveal a song with twice as many notes to be played at twice the speed. I can’t even recall the song, but I do recall that feeling of bliss as my fingers sped up and down the neck of my guitar. Cage’s face spoke of his feelings toward the song.

“You’re great. Just relax and let the fingers run on autopilot.” I placed my fingers on the frets as the conductor prepared the sheets on his podium. “I know you can. I’ve seen it.”

“Is that how you can stare at me while you play? All just finger-memory?” Cage let out an odd pop from the corner of his mouth. He glanced at the papers, at his fingers, back to the papers, and back to his fingers. I watched carefully as he prepared himself for his next adventure. Still, that acrid aroma wafted around us as if he’d shit himself due to stress.

Out of the corner of my vision, Mr. Sanders waved his hands in a circle that ended at the top. He paused for a moment and dropped his hands toward the flutes who exhaled in unison to screech out a series of high notes. Fingers were already sliding over the strings to and strumming to the intro of our song, but I watched the actions of my conductor and of my friend.

We played on for a few more songs until the bell rang. My angsty friend and I meandered through the hallways like the rest of the teenage cattle. Every face was something to take in; a mirror into one’s self as they stand with their back to the light or darkness. The air of the hallways was filled with lingering mixtures of winds redolent of a pungent sweat, a sweetness like fruit-filled pie that sticks fingers together, and the dulled saltiness that dries the nose and mouth. I don’t miss it.

The world bled grayness. I couldn’t direct my mind or soul, but the self within grabbed out at every passing person to add their expendable pieces to myself. I see now what I couldn’t back then. Each and every had their aura plucked by shadowy arms that existed in and out of this dimension. The mindless absorption could only take what was freely given to the air to diminish; I was simply a vacuum for the discarded fuel everybody ignorantly parted with.

I never did turn down free food.

In my own ignorance, I felt the tiniest rush as each part of another entered me. It’s like feeling the heart pull the contents of your veins back into its center. The outside world pumped into me, and it stimulates the nerves in a marvelous way. As if holding each person close and feeling their hearts beat against your own—it’s a physical and emotional bond I unknowingly forced myself to feel while the other person often remained oblivious to the effects.

That’s what I have come to know as truth. I’d be lying if I said I was a natural at the theft and consumption of energy. No, in reality it was more like a carnival ride. Some faces were a mirror image moved along the labyrinth. Others tilted or spun past me. Others were a slowed attempt at excitement that left me anxious through disappointment.

I couldn’t wrap my head around it. There were no lights, but the feeling that lights were shining. Like squinting your eyes because someone’s holding a series of flashlights to your face, but not a single freaking one is actually clicked on. Cage walked on as if nothing were different. In his wake, I could taste a horrendous bitterness coated with a smidgen of tartness.

“Peace out.” Cage turned down his hallway while I continued forward. “You coming over tonight? We need to practice for the show.” He called back to me, but he knew the answer.

“See you then.” I called after him while fuming with foreign emotions. The source of every flavor was indistinguishable. They all melded together as the warm air of the herded teenagers rose above the crowd like spiritual pollution. It was a funneling supercollider. A freaking nightmare. Spearing their way through me, the tongue-jousting teens provided an interest in unfelt flesh, the spastic opened their panicky selves to me so that every footstep was careful to not upset a predator, and then came the emotion that stood out against all others.

I didn’t know how to pinpoint any source at that time. I still wasn’t convinced I was actually feeling what others poured out of themselves. It seemed far more logical to me that the previous night’s herbs had left a lasting impact. These were simply my imagination running wild… right up until I felt the worried cry of a tortured soul.

My eyes moved toward the direction of the forceful aura. It reached out for any that would notice its struggling light, and this invisible light was found by one that wasn’t sure it existed. A powerful feeling, a rabbit caught in the trap and waiting for its end—release would be too hopeful for this rodent to even give an ounce of willpower to. It was a tightly drawn rope that tugged me toward the source. I’d take this forsaken energy in. The fleeting power of the most negative of emotions.

Through the deafening fog of humanity’s sensations, I found the nerdy kid in his usual position. His shoulders hunched, his eyes down, and his body against the lockers while Seth the Merciless unleashed his insecurities on the poor lad. My suspicion of Mary Jane’s lasting effects was forgotten. A few people bumped into me, but I forced my way through the stampeding youths.

It’s not your fight. I told myself to keep moving. Class would start soon. Keep going. He’s on his own.

A haziness overtook the two figures; like I was looking through the eyes of past and present. I could have sworn I saw two faces on the slouching lad. One of the socially-awkward child and one of a certain youth with three dots above one eye. They both had the look of someone who stares beyond the world in front of them. It was a sensation that put ash into my mouth and a foul, spoiled egg smell into my nose. The disease had spread, and the past had taken root.

“Seth!” My mouth was still open when he looked around for the one calling his name.

“What?” He found me standing still; an obstacle people weren’t avoiding well. I stood dumbfounded as the feeling of the worrisome prey became more domestic than external. The prey and predator both looked at me with similar expressions—a raised eyebrow and focused eyes.

“Don’t you have class?” Why am I still talking? “Heaven knows you could use it.”

“What the fuck did you just say?” Seth really emphasized his vulgarities; as if we didn’t understand their force in the sentence.

You dumb bastard. Why? I would have been shaking, but it felt right to be standing there. I’ve heard it pretty often, that the brain can be tricked into thinking something is enjoyable or terrible. A pleasure can become a nightmare, and anxiety can become an exhilarating joyride through life. I figured my brain wanted to mix it up a bit.

“Leave the kid alone.” Stupidity takes over again. “He doesn’t have any goats for you to eat.”

Seth turned toward me—easy enough for him to do as everyone walked around him as if his aura was a forcefield that warded off human contact. Maybe it was just how he smelled? They moved on with their eyes avoiding him and their conversations keeping them from entering an unwanted situation. The herd thinned as most found their seats within their respective classes, but three kids were caught in a very unpleasant standoff.

Eyes were wide beneath the shaggy mop of hair. The creature in the skin of a human teenager took a step toward me and repeated, “What. The fuck. Did you,” he broke up his words between breaths, “just say to me?” Why do some of us find it so fun to poke the bear? Well, in for a penny, right?

“I meant it like,” I shrugged and gulped a little, “you’re a troll or ogre. I don’t know. Didn’t really land, huh?” I glanced over at the kid waiting silently for the outcome. He shook his head slightly. “Sorry. Guess I need to work on that.”

Seth looked down at me from his vantage. Pumping faster, my heart didn’t know whether to speed for excitement or preparation to sprint.

“Get to class!” I heard a deep voice boom into the hallway. All three faces turned to the commander. “Seth, especially you!” It was one of the burly chemistry teachers that also coached the football team. I never had him in class, but the guy looked like he did a few extra chemical experimentations when he got home. The perfect teacher to put Seth in his place and save me a trip to the nurse.

Streams from three specific directions were felt. To my right, I could feel the fearful need to find shelter. In front of me, I felt an aggression in my chest swelling to the point of letting the mind blank to the will of the body. To the back and left, I felt the preparation for the worst; a tense wanting for de-escalation before action is required. These specific emotions fueled me to stand still in the center of the gathered storm. I just waited for the conflicting pressures to fade.

“Lucky dicks.” Seth began his lumbering toward an unknown class I half-suspected to consist of coloring and connecting dots. I’d say we shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but some have proven themselves worthy of nothing else. The grayness cannot reach those that dig themselves into one extreme like a tick into the flesh of the eternal. He should have used his brain before it ended up on the concrete.

“You two, get moving.” The teacher pointed toward the prey and me. I nodded and began moving down the hall. Passing the bullied teen, the essence of his soul became clearer to me—and so too did the glimpse into something more than a dried herb’s faded effects.

Layers of these prickling sensations came from the direction of the silent youth. He glanced up once but immediately dropped his eyes back to the floor. His hands were tightly bound to the straps of his backpack. His clothes were mostly black and plain. His soul; however, spoke loads about him.

Thick glasses encased his eyes, but I didn’t need to look into them to know what was already felt. Even as I moved on with my head facing my destination, I could feel the emptiness that came from the side of me. It was like a sprouting tree that echoed when knocked on. The bark stood out in hopes of simulating protection, yet the void within was damning evidence that the tree would never survive.

It was an acrimony wrapped in a hydrophobic powder. The very taste of desperation and malice seeped from the youth like sap from the dying tree. Sugar and nutrition had been replaced by necrotic toxins. The second face I’d seen had dispersed as his became whole. The disease I’d thought to have taken hold was vaccinated, but the side effects were equally as terrifying.

We all parted ways. Each went to their destined classroom, but I think back to that boy at times. It wouldn’t be survivor’s guilt, but it’s something along those lines. I know he’s long gone now, but that boy was obviously in need of something. I feel I shouldn’t need to say that, but empathy is so often a missing component of people nowadays.

I left him to his thoughts and devices. Seth had been defeated for the time being. Victory had been achieved with a racing heart and a stone face masking the panic that rose to the surface, but the victory was only secured for the single battle and not the war. I’d pay for that lack of foresight… if only I’d gotten him to smile.

Chapter 34

“I’m glad you came to see me,” Cynthia Soung sat behind her desk with a gracious smile brightening her face. She kept her lips together, but the eyebrows rose. Her dark hair was pulled back into a small bun, and her formal wear was as enticing as I’d remembered. She wore a jacket over a white top. I’d only seen her black, fitted skirt and attractive heels for a moment before she took her seat opposite me.

“Thanks.” No longer in a hasty sprint for answers, I had to force my way through the palaver. This will be good. This will be just what we need. I’d been given a time because of my actions the prior day; speaking without thought will get you into these sorts of messes.

“Well,” she spread some papers out and turned to type a few things on her computer. Once situated and happy with her layout, she smiled again and continued the conversation, “What would you like to discuss? You seemed rather upset about the matters with Gwen.”

“I didn’t really know her.” I swallowed hard and dropped my eyes to the counselor’s desk where pens were neatly spaced and facing the same way. Each was parallel to the papers that were carefully lined against one another.

“Yes, you did mention that. So, why did you want to talk? Your teachers know these meetings are important. No need to worry about your attendance.” I glanced back up to her and saw her partly cocked head and her lips mildly pulled to one side. “Are you doing alright?”

Right to it I guess. My hands rubbed into my knees. I felt warm in her office; like an icicle trying to survive in a sauna. “I’m fine. They just told me to come down here.”

“You did say you wanted the meeting.” She picked up the farthest pen in the lineup. I swallowed a thick lump in my throat.

“I guess I was just upset about it the other day.” Her hand scribbled a few words. I couldn’t see what it was, but they were just quick little jottings with every few sentences spoken.

“You were out of breath when you ran up to me. I’ll admit, I was rather startled by your outburst.” She drew a line on the paper and put a few more scribbles. “Is school going well for you? I see you’ve held decent grades for several years. Even says here that you exceed expectations in your musical studies.” Her eyes were scanning one of her two screens while her hand continued dancing over the paper.

“I’ve always done well in band. It comes easy for me.” Tapping fingers moved over my knees beneath her view behind the desk. I couldn’t keep them still. “Nothing really to report in school.”

“How about home life?”

Home. A word I thought fondly of, but a place my heart found scattered to the winds.

“Fine.”

“Nothing to talk about?”

“Like I said, I guess I was just upset. I don’t know if I really need to be here. You should probably be looking after someone that really needs it. Gwen’s,” I thought it over, “actions hit some pretty hard.”

“Yes. They certainly did.” The pen tapped against the desk a few times like a stick across a tightened snare. “I don’t want to push you if you don’t want to talk about it. If all is well, you may go back to class.”

It was difficult to say yes when it felt wrong to turn tail and flee. In class, I’d be stuck in my thoughts and wonder if the oddities I’d been experiencing were real or just an early onset of dementia. “I’m fine.” Swinging for the fences on stupidity that day.

She spun the pen in her hand and wrote a few more lines. “I’d like to see you sometime next week then, Tom.”

“Why?”

“You’ve done nothing wrong. I just want to make sure you’re alright. You seem fine, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I just shrugged you off.” Her grin made me relax a bit, but it still felt like the thermostat was cranked to the breaking point.

“I’m alright.”

“Just alright?”

“Alright.”

Any day of the week, it would have been hard to look her in the eyes. That day was particularly challenging. Years of practice prepared me to mimic the proper response. A simple smile without teeth, lifted cheeks, and just a bit of a lifted brow.

Her black hair shined in the light. I could see it while looking into her eyes; a shimmer across the smoothed darkness. It appeared soft to the touch. Her thin lips disappeared as her mouth tightened in response to my grin.

“Well, I’m glad to hear. I’ll still be here if you think of something to talk about.” She began to systematically stack the papers—the left over the center and the right on top. The pen she’d used returned to its position in the line. “Take some time and reflect on our conversation today; however short it may have been.” She met my smile.

“Will do.” Out of the chair, careful not to move to fast, I began the journey back to class.

“Oh, Tom.” My hand froze on the knob. A lump sored into my throat, and I prayed the fingers that twisted my tongue wouldn’t make an appearance. “Feel free to take some time getting back to class. Maybe it’ll help.”

It certainly wouldn’t hurt. The time I took was soothing; a reprieve from the cells of society and family. I’d said my goodbyes to the counselor and moved past the electronic thermostat that confirmed a cool temperature of seventy-two.

Exiting the offices, I moved toward the band room. It was the last period of my day. I recall because I never went back to class. It was just a tech class of mine. We learned how to wire a wall, work on engines, and use the tools of various trades. Would have been useful to dabble in the arts of the practical, but it seems that’s a moot point now.

Instead, I moved back to the only place that meant much to me in that studio of mankind’s promising youth. The room was always open, but lockers kept the important items secured. Lights stayed off while I remained in the room. Once I got my guitar, I waited in my solitude.

It still felt warm. It was annoyingly warm. I threw my jacket, sweatshirt, and backpack to the floor. My guitar case was set carefully to the right of the chair that I’d come to know as my own. It was the safest place. A place that was marked as mine in the communal musicians; a group of growing numbers and familiar faces.

Yet, I sat alone. A red arm of plastic spun about the clock, and I lost myself in my thoughts. None to accompany me. No one was there to echo my melody or rise above me to take the lead or solos. That teenage brain of mine ran through the events of the last few days, and I found myself numb to it. It was like looking through someone else’s eyes.

I should have been upset at the loss of a fellow classmate. I should have been appalled by the faded mark beneath my eye. I should have felt silly for setting up a time with a counselor when I knew damn well that I’d say nothing. They said I had problems opening up. I remember his scrutinizing and demeaning glances as he analyzed me, but we’re getting there. This was prior to my mental profiling and literal imprisonment.

This was when I realized the differences that had come about. Some might say I was missing something, but I like to think of it as I’d gained a piece of myself. I thought over the memory of the distraught teenager smashing her mirror in a fit of depressed rage. There was no disgust, joy, pleasure, or hatred. It simply was, and I understood her actions. I neither condoned nor blamed but figured her reasons were thought righteous by her in the moment.

Standing up to a violent bully? Losing time and memories? Walking through life like it’s a dream—unable to determine if the lights, sounds, and tastes I experienced were truth. It was all a series of exposed film floating in and out of the mist above the blackened void. A being of pure darkness remained beyond my view, but thinking back on these events made me feel as if there was someone, or something, calling me from the sea of all things forgotten.

This voice beyond the fog beckoned me as if leading me toward some answer I’d never discover upon the safety of my mind’s island. Walking atop the blackened waves, this creature of dimensions unknown spoke a silent language to me in that moment of reflection. A weight on my neck jumped to the front of my mind, and the icy fingers crept up my back.

Removing the necklace, I held it out in front of me with my elbows on my knees. All that had come to pass since receiving that pendant, and I still held onto the religious jewelry. Will it shimmer? I traced the wings of the angel. Working my way down the side, my index finger moved along the blade that prepared the end of some unseen evil. Will there be blue?

It wouldn’t come for me then. A watched pot never boils and the surveilled supernatural stays padlocked behind your inner doors. I tried to strain my eyes, focus on my brain connecting to some unknown tether, and slow my breathing to meditate. The red arm of the clock ran onward around its unending track while I tried to force a door open with minimal understanding of the knob.

Frustration should have taken hold of me, but I instead felt drained. Like I’d been awake and staring at that damn piece of metal for more than a day. Shut down seemed imminent. Shadows became a cluster of darkness as my eyes began to droop. The clock’s hand cranked every minute to warn me time was still moving forward.

I let myself slip into the passage of time; drifting soundlessly down the rivers toward a bountiful well where all meet their end’s end. The clock’s heavy hands ran around the track while I sat with closed eyes and an angelic token in my hands. It felt wrong to desire movement or an end to the peaceful silence of the darkness; a sound I’d never known to be so beautiful.

In the darkness, I found a sanctified domain. I’d drained myself—a habit I am known for. The soul needs rest as well. When all the heavy music, faceless people, and screeching harpies are kept at a distance, I could replenish what was lost. In this point of my story, the soul did it naturally and inefficiently.

But I rested in that darkness with my eyes closed and the clock keeping a steady, rather sluggish, beat. Nothing matters when the soul is exhausted as only the self in the moment exists. It can seem harsh or crude, but what good is a soul to another if it cannot first take care of itself?

So, the soul took in what it could. It felt like inhaling through my skin; a sensation thought to be my relaxed body feeling the stretch of the muscles and intake of air. Pumping veins offered a soothing force as each heartbeat moved a massaging pulse through my inner roots. A noticeable, soft pressure in my head expanded with the relaxation and reflection. I closed my eyes to feel the breathing, the blood, and the brain produce a beautiful tune of silence that embraced the teachings of the shadows that surrounded me.

Undetermined scents mingled in the air—cheap perfume faded on old plastic, natural teenager musk, and dust gathered in the rough carpet of the classroom. Heightened senses can come to us in moments of rushing adrenaline or serenity. It can also come when the soul manifests into something new. The emotional states can be recognized, but what normal person realizes their soul’s transforming?

You don’t, is the answer. Another moment that shutting the doors of my mind, turning on the lights, and leaving my solitude could have saved me. The sound of silence was too brilliant, and it granted me the peace I thought to be helping. But no paradise is perfect—a wafting flavor of scorched, bitter leaves spread through the air.

“What the hell are you doing in here?”

My breathing was disrupted and my hands dropped the metal to the floor. Hurriedly leaning forward, I snatched it up before looking at the newest entrant into the comforting shadows. Cage entered the land of grace without even considering to wipe his shoes. The disrespect to my newfound temple baffled me a bit.

“Sitting by yourself in the dark?” Cage leaned over the back of a chair a few to my right. “How’d your meeting go?”

I felt violently removed from my haven within the shadows. “It was fine. Didn’t really talk about anything.”

The clock had read after final period. Our school day had come and gone, but the silence had kept me in those walls as a willing captive. It was time to go. Anywhere I wanted to go, but I couldn’t stay there.

“Nothing?” Cage’s lips pressed together. He could have called me on it. Be it apathy or empathy, he left it alone. “Ready for some practice?”

Slipping the metal into my pocket, I dropped my head to the side. The guitar was prepared for the trip. Born of a darkness that breathes light, my joy in music lasted with me to the end. It was a friend that would never turn or perish; something I found bonds in.

“Yeah.” I didn’t have to work that night. My mind needed clearing, and music would do the trick. Hours of time with my buddy jamming was better than any prescription or analysis from a counselor. Just some guy time. Ang guy time meant self medication. “Cage, any chance you could help me get more of that stuff from Luis?”

“Luis? You’ll see him at practice.”

“Oh.” Standing, I had gathered my things to leave. “I was hoping you’d help me out. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“He wouldn’t screw you over.” Cage pushed off the chair and started for the door. “He’s always been fair. Think his cousin is his hookup or some shit.” Cage kept walking while I slung my belongings over my shoulders.

A friend shouldn’t screw over a friend. A friend should help in any way they can. Right? They should be the substance we medicate ourselves with. They should be the amplifier that expresses our intents. They should be that silence found in the shade of a chaotic inferno. The perfect pitch of thunder to your flash of lightning in the gathered storm. The hitch to your giddyap.

That’s what they should be. Through all the laughs and talks, they should be musician of wondrous silence. I departed that lovely emptiness in the shadowy room with white painted walls. I left with my friend who I knew would never screw me over.

Chapter 35

Life finds a way to ease back to normal. Every experience was quickly tossed into the black waves of my mind’s void. Did I see that? Did that just happen? Did I just feel something? All obvious effects of my medicating and stress. Luis was kind enough to give me a good rate on my purchase—or at least that’s what Cage told me.

With band practice done, I made my way home. Enjoyable things have the habit of being enjoyed, and such was my father’s curse passed to me. Some might call it an addictive personality, but if you have the choice between suffering through the shit of life or using a bit of help to find a smile that doesn’t eat away at you… I’d say you know the answer. Everyone’s got their vices, and at least this one was natural.

The smoke cleared away my worries. Music seemed to split in my mind so I could study each instrument separately. Scribbling verses came easy as my fingers moved without care or restraint. All the while, something was making its move behind those doors beneath the black waves. I didn’t worry about what might happen or what did happen. All of existence was neatly condensed into the four walls of my room. Icy fingers could have tapped along my flesh and beasts could have called down the storm, but nothing was powerful enough to seize me from my works.

My sanctuary now had an official incense. Some air freshener sprayed into the air kept the secrets of my temple from leaking out to the patrolling devils. It was so easy to give myself over to the drugs; the only real smiles had in that damned house of harpies and one blind watcher.

You get the gist of my life at this point. So, we can skip a few days. I walked the halls of school in a residual daze. I didn’t use before school or work. One, I feel like it would have been a bit pathetic. Two, it was a risk I didn’t need. And three, I wanted to actually enjoy the use.

I had to work each day after school that week. No time for band practice. Days in and out of people passing by. I couldn’t even tell you if I saw any abnormalities in those days. I could have had a whole gaggle of phantoms walking right in front of me, but they would have just been faceless bodies floating by; same as any humans.

In the school halls, in class, in front of my work counter; they all moved by me with faces warped by some senseless loss of time. I could see them for who they were, but my mind recalls them as clearly as a cloud dispersing at the head of a breeze. Even Horsemen find blank spots in their memories. We are human after all.

If I couldn’t enjoy the company of my friends and the music we shared, I’d do my best to manage my time until I could revel in my haven with a capacity of one. The smoke would float out into nothingness and lift my spirits. I had chores to do, but they went by in a flash. Every task became a game to match my movements to the rhythm of my music. One earbud was enough to keep my distraction hidden from those that might hate me having a bit of fun.

Each day was a rising to a dimmed sun, a chilled bike ride, talking with Cage, mindless marching between subjects, and the trip home after work to continue my labor. Dishes were done, floors vacuumed, and laundry done. I was a regular ol’ Cinderella… though, I don’t recall her getting the backside of her stepmother’s hand. No fairy was coming to help me out—although I did get something. And it’s way cooler than glass slippers.

“You enjoying yourself?” Sam walked through the kitchen in an outfit a decent parent would most likely ban in or out of the home. Her blonde hair flung over her shoulders as she bent over to get a soda from the bottom shelf of the fridge.

She wasn’t wrong. I must have been grinning like an idiot. I made a mental note to cut back a bit on the quantity per smoke. “I’m just listening to music.” I turned to tap the one headphone that ran up my shirt and into the ear she couldn’t see, but I realized she wasn’t paying attention. I fumbled a bit in embarrassment as no one looked.

She walked away from me. Being a stepbrother, it should have been okay to look at her shorts riding up around the arch of her backside, but all her person encompassed actually killed any desire. My altered mind felt disgusted by the imagery. I’m sure any would have drooled at the sight of the young woman filling out her tiny clothes, but after the excitement settles, what would be left? She’d be to them what her mother is to my father. Her beauty was but a fleeting melody giving way to the symphony of her soul twanging in disconnected and out-of-tune rhythms.

She walked back to her den with the drink. Her swaying body moved through the darkened hallway as naturally as a stalking vampire. The seductive form of evil luring the weak-willed out of hiding and into a trap. I’d not seen any guys come to the house with her, but I’m sure she found the joy in drinking from their veins elsewhere as to draw no attention toward her own sanctuary. I von to suck your… I giggled to myself.

She’d have made a great Daughter of Lilith if she’d survived to be welcomed into the demonic queen’s arms. What part of her would be sacrificed for power? She was sure proud of that butt; Lilith would have traded her all kinds of strength for the offering. Lose the plump curve in a skirt but gain the power to melt faces with your words… seems fair.

I’m getting ahead of myself by a longshot. The importance of this was her melody. Though she strut as if Aphrodite had given into the succubus, she was empty. She’d been of the same stone as Katy and Andria. Life would offer her everything until the flesh wrinkled and the soul clawed itself free. There are others of this world that possess a beauty of every type. Whose soul sings a wondrous solo in the embrace of a full symphony; every chord and note struck with surety and grace. Their loveliness is in the presentation and skill of the song which lasts from birth until their natural finale.

Sam was not one of these people.

A spawn wrapped in gold, she was her mother’s angel. The easiest chores were hers to drag out. It must have been hard to clean up the bathroom’s counter which was only filled with her products. Any dishes not placed by the sink for me to work on were her charge. Walking ten steps from the table to the sink must have strained her legs and endangered her nails. What a waste.

All that potential. I could have seen her do well in school, follow a dream, or even be a beloved sibling. Instead, I got the teenage temptress who would have surely ended up like her mother had she lived long enough to see the day. That, or end up trading tricks for cigarettes… so yeah. Just like mommy.

Shutting the door to her room, she signaled my solitude. My father’s drying eyes were glued to the television in a room he couldn’t see me from. My stepmother made her quick rounds to make sure the chores were being done. It only took a bit of effort to control my grinning and make my tasks look tiring. The music continued to play, and the chemicals kept pulsing through me.

My time in that place wasn’t so unbearable for a few days. I could almost see the light at the end of a tunnel. As I washed the dishes on that Thursday night, I could smile a real smile to myself. Keeping myself busy kept Barbara and her slutty offspring away from me.

Everything felt… normal. Like I was finally a guy growing up and living the usual life you’d see on any weeknight family sitcom. Cameras would be in the windows, and my stepmom’s slaps would raise a “o-o-h” from the audience. The thought made me chuckle as I scraped some solidified, crimson sauce off a plate. All the bubbles peeled off the plate as I submerged it.

Yup, just an ordinary guy.

That was the joke that kept me going on that Thursday night.

But Friday came. The days had flown by. Any flickering lights or noticeable chills were cast aside as the painkiller flooded me with indifference. It was a day meant for art class. A place where the mind and body can manipulate the world into something grand and splendid—humanity’s best attempt at creating our own divinity. Where mankind can visually manifest an appealing symphony of materials.

It was the first time I’d known that perfect arrangement of another person.

I’d taken my place beside Cage at our raised desks. We weren’t really talking about much; so, my obvious shift in concentration went unnoticed at first. She walked through the door with a questioning look. One arm held her backpack to her side while the other kept a piece of paper lifted in front of her.

She looked up from the sheet. The teacher approached her, they exchanged words, and she took an open seat at the other end of the circle made of desks. It was difficult to focus on the task at hand when true art had just walked through the door, but to openly appreciate the natural beauty would be a bit… well, creepy.

I dropped my eyes back down to my work, but I found it difficult to not glance up and confirm my eyes hadn’t simply played a trick on me. The teacher moved to the young lady’s side and called us all to attention.

“We have a new artist joining us. Would you like to tell us your name, where you moved from, and something about yourself?” The teacher moved back from the group.

“Oh.” She finished putting her pencil case on the edge of the table and her backpack around the back of her chair. “My name is Brittany Bell.” Her hair was cut short except for the top which swooped to one side. She brushed shiny black waves from her eyes. “I’ve just moved here with my mother from California.” I guess she was bound to have a flaw or two—too bad it wasn’t the worst of her flaws. “I’m not sure what to say about myself.”

Brittany had my full attention. I looked into her bright blue eyes, exaggerated by solid black lines drawn around her lids, and felt a curious loss of thought. She kept her eyes down to the desk as she thought of something to share. She was actually giving consideration to the answer she’d give the group. I’d have studied her further, but her head lifted to answer.

Her wondrous eyes, blue as the body of an iceberg lifting high above the waves, didn’t examine the room or students. She looked directly at me. A grin pulled at her red lips. “I guess I’d say I like heavy music. I listen to it while I study. I’m hoping to go to some shows in the cities in the next few months.”

Frigid fingers sunk into my spine. Frosty veins spread through my back; clinging to my bones and forcing their way between the muscles. I was forced to straighten my back as the rush of conflicting temperatures created an electrical spur.

I wasn’t even talking to her, but my throat felt like it might close. I smiled back at her out of instinct. It felt like an awkward grin. The lips made a straight line that pulled too far back. The uncomfortable moments of my teenage years seem to stick with me. I always hated that stupid, mindless grin.

An allure cast from the waves of the void to the land. This gorgeous girl dropped her eyes while her hand brushed the hair to one side once again. One door had been opened wide, but this door was not mine. It was opened by another. In that moment, I didn’t know, or care, who was the owner of such a portal. Her shining blue eyes were enough for me. The universe seemed to finally be sliding me a ticket for free happiness, but the universe can be a fickle bitch with a fondness for sucker punches.

Our teacher began thanking her and explaining the day’s curriculum. Brittany’s thin face turned to listen to the instructions. I caught my breath and swallowed; finally free of the shimmering orbs. My heart felt as if it’d never beat normally again.

Cage was smiling in her direction as well. His half smile was cast out to lure his own catch. A pit rose in my stomach as I turned my eyes from him to her. His smile would bring in a generous haul, and I’d sit on the shore watching the master claim his prize.

This maelstrom of emotions rushed through me with debris lifting all the past sores from the depths. My young mind flooded with the black waves. I tried to stay afloat as my hand began scribbling across the page. Following the teacher’s instructions, the sketch was started with a shaky hand.

I glanced across the subject of our task to catch her glance one more time. She smiled and began the project. Which smile meant more? Which would cover my shores with the blackness? If you answered this question, I would wager you’ve guessed incorrectly.

Damnation came at the pivotal moment when three smiles were shared.

Chapter 36

I’d gone the rest of the day without seeing her. My only relief on the matter was Cage hadn’t either. We barely discussed her on our way to Cage’s house. Band practice was the topic as usual. Our set list, the order, styles, clothes, and name gone through in great detail.

It was rather exhausting. The practice went by better than those before it. It felt right to jam with that group—feeling each build on the last. Perhaps the world wouldn’t be such a terrible place if more people got together and shared something as binding as music. No matter the rhythm, the method, or the instruments, someone will find a way to join in the song. Whether they listen in awe or join in the band, all humanity can come together through the magic of music.

Instead, we came together in the music wrought by our impending judgment.

We ran through more songs than would be allowed at the talent show. It didn’t matter how tired we got. Once the next song was announced, the group leapt back into their parts.

“Man, I can’t sing one more song.” David rubbed his throat and grabbed for his third bottle of water. Cage’s parents were gracious enough to give us our makeshift studio and supply of goodies.

“I’m hoping I get feeling back in my arms.” Luis sat back on the couch with both arms slung across the cushions. “Throw me a water.”

Cage obeyed the command, but he shook his head while doing so. “We only have two or three weeks until the show. We need to make sure everything’s perfect.”

“It’ll be great.” David waved one arm then returned to gulps of water.

“We can’t lose to some of those choir kids.” Cage egged on the topic. “What about lights?”

“We’ll get the same as everyone.”

“We could try to talk to Derick. He’s running the lights and audio crew. Mr. Kenny is letting him handle it. Maybe we could get a little something extra.” Cage pointed at the guys and continued on his explanation. He had planned this all out. I had to give it to him. His tenacity kept the group on task, and his passion kept us focused on the glory of our high school days.

“What’re you thinking, Tom?” Being dragged into the light again. Cage’s eyes were bright. I’d not smelt anything burnt or bitter around him that whole day.

“Whatever you all want to play. I’m down for any of those songs.” The answer didn’t settle any debate between the crew. What songs? Should we try to talk to Derick? Should we just show up and play, or should we dress up in black outfits and use face paint? The conversation was building as if we were senators about to attempt the finalization of a bill.

I left the house feeling exhausted but accomplished. We all parted ways after a few fist bumps and friendly insults. The dark sky offered me a cooled breeze on my way home. Through the lit streets of my side of town, I biked from one brightly illuminated patch on the ground to the next. I felt at ease. The darkened areas between lights caused no panic, and the lights offered no more than a path for me to follow.

The house was quiet. My father and his wife were gone. They must have decided to take their love out into public where booze could grant the glamour of an admirable couple amongst friends. Alcohol is truly a wonder-drug.

No dinner was prepared for me. Not even a few scraps of previous meals were in the fridge. It came down to grabbing an apple, soda, and some jerky. My stepsister’s room was shut up tight, and the soft hum of music escaping the door felt like a cover.

Enter the shrine of Thomas Michael Markey. What a lovely, dim room. I didn’t even bother lighting up or studying oddities online. I threw everything to the side; eating what I had gathered while I prepared myself for sleep. It didn’t take long for the body to give into the toils of the day.

I collapsed on my bed before the soda was finished or the jerky was eaten. My backpack remained in the middle of the room and the guitar at the edge of the bed. I couldn’t even bring myself to plug in my music. Metal was removed from my neck and placed beside the immortalized woman. All was right in the temple.

“Night.” I didn’t have to get under the covers or curl up. A simple goodnight to my mother and the medallion beneath her. No lights kept me up or wondering. Nothing was strong enough to pull me back from the edge.

He’s here. I opened my eyes to the crash of thunder. He’s come. Let us watch.

My eyes attempted to adjust to the shadows of an architecturally astounding space. My lungs needed no breath, yet they felt pressed between the pressures applied to both sides of me. Once I’d adjusted to the atmosphere, I found myself in the corner of some opened cathedral or throne room. There were candles all about a raised section ahead of me and slightly to the left. Though these many candles burned brightly, none dared to reach into my corner. It was like seeing fear in the thoughtless flames that consume all they touch.

“Perhaps one day we shall all stand together.” A man stood nearer the center of the great hall. His words echoed in the vast silence. A lion’s voice roaring over the wounded kill. All the jungle remains still for fear of those mighty paws and teeth.

There were others. None looked in my direction. There were four persons nearest me about the raised throne of the room. Each wore clothes I’d only seen in movies about the Romans or others of that age. I could feel a rumbling in the air from their direction. Collected together, they produced a dense cloud of energies.

One man with black hair stood motionless within a series of black vapors churning into whirlpools. The only woman of the group watched the events with wide eyes. Her energy was a series of shifting colors, each gentle and quiet, that cautiously reached out to be pulled into a blackened whirlpool. These two were bound. Birthed of their union, the air filled with a fresh breath of spring.

There were two men standing close to one another apart of the couple. The younger one’s form was enveloped in a bubble of short, thin spikes that shined like a star. I felt like I was licking a penny staring at him. His companion was the source of the pressure in the group. Though they joined together in a formation of spiritual force, this man produced an energy like a gathering tempest. Sparks of yellow and blue snapped off his body in random directions. Hair stood on end across my body.

Four members of a famous family joined their souls. It was in preparation; an uneasy expectation of what might happen. What had happened was past, and what would come was unsure. They prepared themselves within. Their forms seemed tense, but the spirits within were gathering arms for a war I knew nothing of.

A good ol’ fashioned Roman standoff.

“I will not die here. I will come for the next.” There was a mangled monstrosity on the ground nearest the man with the lion’s voice. I turned from the party of four to examine the rest of the scene. A hideous legion of voices snarled as one. “You are not the first, and surely not the last.” At my distance across the hall, I watched darkness twist and morph the features of a man as beautiful as manmade elves in myth. Though, even a bow-wielding elf couldn’t have shined as brightly as this creature sprawled across the floor. No orc could blacken my sight as the creature, either.

One voice against many, one conquered all. In the light of countless candles strewn about, glistening objects danced as they fell in the windless room. Black and gold, feathers molted from the ruler of the moment. This man possessed two large wings thrusting from his back; beyond a valuable quiver and bow. These appendages spread out and beat at the air of the hall. Feathers fell at the force. Each of the blackened gold was replaced by sparkling gold and purest whites. Light reflected off the patches of new feathers—the performance mounting as the blackness diminished.

“Then I shall wait for the next to come.” Booming as the thunderous sky. The man with the transforming wings let all the world know his intent, and every ear stood as the troops before a general.

I’d have followed him, and I would. This vision of an unknown world brought such wonders. There was no fear or anxiety. Though I had feared the strike of a woman or the company of another, the events of this mysterious group was experienced with an indifference. It was a fieldtrip—to learn and absorb without bias. Look, but don’t touch.

Golden smoke, thousands of tiny, slithering serpents, lifted off the man who stood over the writhing creature of Heaven and Hell. His pressure was intense. It felt as if I were a planet being pulled into orbit around a star that’s far from collapsing. A David over his Goliath.

I watched through unblinking eyes as the flickering lights showed the end of the elf within the shadows. His form blurred and vanished. It was then that I examined another energy I’d barely noticed. She was the farthest from me in the room.

“How could you?” A woman’s voice of silk and salt flowed across the stones. This beauty wrapped in fine cloth held two children in her arms. Their mother let tears fall over their foreheads in some gloomy baptism.

This mother of looks and wealth did the unspeakable. A scent like a burnt oil and rotten fruit overtook any taste of iron or the spring breeze. She dropped to the ground, forsaking her children on the cold floor, to gather a golden blade—the only remains left by the figure that had been struck down. Her benefactor, or perhaps praised lord, had been taken. Reaching for the artifact, it was apparent that she hungered for vengeance.

Even if it meant balancing the scale with her children’s father.

The room’s atmosphere became that of a heated bottle that’s sealed tight. Storms, maelstroms, frigid winds of winter, burning lights, and one bursting flash filled the kingdom’s castle with nature’s weaponry. As quickly as they’d prepped, the bottle had already popped open. Poof.

“Sleep well,” that star trapped within flesh lashed out with growing streams of gold, “Aphrodite.”

His hands released her corpse. The flavor of bitter water, a coltsfoot and mugwort tear, covered my tongue. It was difficult to swallow with the dryness spreading in my mouth. Chilled fingers were on my shoulders; a soft pressing meant to console the soul.

From the shadows, I witnessed the sacrifices of a man that would become the voice of conquest across the globe. My chest tightened. A heart can break for another, and I knew of his suffering. I did not shed a tear, but the loss was unbearable. The emptiness was all too familiar, and he gave what he had for the cause he’d march for.

How heavy be the crown?

He left the woman’s body in the gathering pool of her own blood. Her blonde hair spread out like roots attempting to absorb the nourishment but failed to find any life in it. This man’s stride was thoughtful as he maneuvered around her to gather up the children which bore his shining soul.

To become The First. He that has no heart has given what should fill it.

These thoughts were beyond my mind. A voice without sound vibrated through me. A voice that could have been both soothing and frightening directed my thoughts in that emotionless world.

Thunder crashed beyond the walls of the mighty castle, yet none reacted to it. I knew they wouldn’t. It was not the crackling energy of the aged man, but a familiar crash from behind a shut door within. In that dream, this door opened wide and the memory returned.

Be still. There is more to see.

Into the shadows of the corner we went. Soft words of a disembodied voice dragged me through the void to our next scene. It was another great hall, but this one was dimly lit and filled with pews.

“I will never be yours,” a growl tore through the structure I recognized as a church. Shadows claimed the building, but all that marched through portals or pews would heed the command of the man before the altar. Standing in the darkness beside a podium, our second brother underwent his metamorphosis.

A translucent specter stood behind the man; a woman of a severe beauty. I felt a quickening of a heartbeat and knew her connection to the man. His energy pined for her. Her glazed eyes, like those trapped in the fog of another world, quietly took in the actions of her lover. This man of wings that bled into the darkness with veins of crimson pulsed with a bloody light.

His skin was tan like that of the Native Americans, but there was a stony… perhaps some unknown mineral-like quality to the flesh. I picked up the fragrance of a strong, aged liquor with a hint of some earthy attribute that reminded me of the circle made around a firepit. Flashes of raging crimson lashed out about him—his energy a volatile balance of rage and mercy. As quickly as they’d erupt, the ends would split from the source and drop to the floor like droplets of blood. They dispersed like liquid nitrogen.

Then I saw the cowering man at his feet. A similar ending as the last vision.

Conflict within and before him. What will he do?

“You would save a world of men such as this? Men who slay and slaughter; pit one against another for paper and lust?!” The familiar combination of various voices came from this human. His face phased in and out of possession and pathetic mortality. Through the eyes of these visions, I watched without disgust. His being reeked of feces; as if his soul were shitting itself.

“I’ll take up my sword so none may know its pain that don’t deserve it. If I must, I’ll suffer their pain so that all may forget the atrocities. So that the hatred of man may be erased.” I smiled at his words; matching his own proud grin. Excited to perform his duties, this man spoke his truth and found it to align with his task. I’d not originally noticed the great sword that rested at his side. Its curved edges, artistic design, and pulsing veins were obviously the characteristics of a blade far beyond the craftmanship of man. “For the brothers and fathers who’ve looked upon the sisters and mothers with tears; I shall take their pain. For all who have met upon the salted fields of death and decay; I won’t let them suffer alone.” His smile was joined by falling tears. There was a pain in his joy, but it was a weight he’d carry for the victims of which he spoke. “For all those who’ve been touched by your hand; I’ll free them—may Heaven have mercy on me.”

“You can’t kill me!” The distorted man’s lips moved, but it was the voice of another. He was not possessed, but an amplifier hooked up to the speaker in his world of sulfur and fire. The fury in his eyes was the rage of some devil in another world watching through a puppet as his plans fell apart. “This will mean war!”

A blade was risen before the forsaken man. This being of crimson wings steadied his weapon; aiming it toward its purpose. When words and diplomacy cease their effectiveness, men like this are sent to Hell to save us from the fire. His blade pointed itself toward this Hell, and The Second steadied himself to aim true.

He did it with a smile.

“I am War!”

Sparks and stone flew at the thrust of the blade. No blood would stain the altar; a sweltering heat seared each bit of flesh the blade touched. A bodiless head rolled over the flat surface of the sword; gazing through hazy eyes at the tool, man, and place all contributing to his demise. The connection of master to puppet severed.

It was a grand flavor; to feel the victory and justice dealt. Known through the eyes of the universe, humanity is an enigma of emotions and ideals. Ignorant to any natural form of these concepts, the darkness I shared vision with analyzes these traits with a distant coldness. It understands them… feels them… this moment is agreeable to the shade of a solid nothingness. I know it to be truth because it was my sight and my empathy merging with its own.

You see what has been done, and know it was just.

The blood of the guilty had not soiled that hallowed ground, but the life taken had balanced the scales. A roar of thunder was heard beyond the walls of the church, and I knew it was calling for me. The tingle up my spine and hair rising across my neck was the sign. Lightning would follow him, and fire would be called forth again.

Before departing, I glanced back at the executioner that would one day become my brother. It was in him that I felt the turmoil of the fog I’d known, but this shrieking of suffering and anxiety was different. It was amplified. Thousands. Millions. Too many echoing voices to count or distinguish. He’d taken up his cross, and I felt the voices of history vibrate through my bones and into my skull. What a burden to bear.

It’s coming. There is another.

And so, we faded. Into the void, we travelled between truths and perceptions as if taking a simple step through an open door. I was but a passenger in my own mind, and the driver knew where we were going. I let him take the wheel and asked no questions. Things had to be seen and deeper connections had to be experienced. It was for my benefit, and this was truth. I took a moment from staring out over the waves of the void to travel over those ever-stretching curves of darkness with the embodiment of the space beyond existence.

Traveling between these worlds was a blip in my mind. The door of the previous world closed behind us. A sober trip that only costed me my soul. Before one reality overtook the last, a distant call was heard. The thunder carried a distinct howl-bark; a disturbing call of some creature outside the evolutionary tree.

I placed that stalking animal out of mind. A new play was set out before me, and the actors took their positions. Darkness struggled to claim any corner of the room. Lights were on, the sun shined brightly through the windows, and the size of the scene closed in around those gathered. My eyes were drawn to the corpse that three had come to see off. One man of many years and very dark skin stood to the right of the bed. The left was occupied by a woman with lighter skin than the man. A priest stood at her side—closer than a priest would stand by the average parishioner. Oh, my scandalous sister.

The two to the left shared a bond that benefitted each. It was visible to me. I could smell the glorious rose that grew of tar; the priest’s blooming plant absorbed the nourishing darkness that dripped from his lover. In their combined energies, this flower unfurled to cover much of the room. Seemingly toxic, the scent of the petals carried a sickness. It was as if I were smelling the attractive hormones of some alien foliage that drew prey in to feed of its noxious fruit. Whatever feasted became the feast.

A duo allowed to carry out their judgment and love stood before the corpse and spoke softly. The woman’s eyes dropped tears as she examined the elderly body in the bed. Years of sickness had ravaged the husk. I sensed no life in the body or near it; an empty vessel that had long since cut ties with the eternal soul.

“I thank you.” The woman’s voice was heavy. Black droplets snapped off from the body to float and dissipate around her. Intense waves of the void bubbled up about her, and this darkness took me in. I gazed into it, felt its power ripple through the air, and took pleasure in the sweetness of toxicity.

What is it that entices you? Does the power? Does the loss? Does the suffering or the rage? I couldn’t decide. Though each flavor was mingled together, I could disentangle each variable to savor it separately. A moment lasting for ages. Let the essences linger and pass so another may take its place. Drop it on the tongue and truly taste it. Each? All? Unusual.

What comes next should have spread dread through my veins, but the numbness of the void forced my soul into tranquility. The woman left the priest to approach the other man. His energy was dulled—almost to a point of nonexistence.

“The day’s come.” The woman kept her wings and weapon inside. I could hear them; the beating wings and metallic voices. “Are you ready?”

“I am.” Beyond the woman, this man’s size outlined hers. He looked to her with brown eyes filled with angles and valleys of several shades. There was a wisdom in those eyes. He accepted, in all his heart and soul, what was about to come. To an onlooker, he looked as if he’d have been easily able to throw her from his path and escape. Instead, he bowed his head and smiled that grin I’ve come to know so well.

A blue light spread over the man and the walls behind him. Brilliant and expressive, the color spread over each surface. The woman lifted her right hand and touched the man between his eyes. A single finger was all it took, and the otherworldly poison was injected. A cure to all the vaccines she’d provided.

“You’ve done well. You’ve atoned.” Her finger was coursing with the sicknesses of her being. A power unlike any I’d seen before. Veins of black were cast across the man’s forehead and absorbed into the blood. Almost immediately, I could smell the various illnesses take hold. The dryness, the heat, the rot. “May God find you with open arms.”

Real. The smile was real.

A moment passed, and years of crippling diseases stole all life from the man. It could have been a time-lapse of a century gone by in a matter of seconds—a video where one picture is taken every year until a Reaper comes for the model. Wrinkles multiplied and thinned like the cracks of a wallpaper left to weather in an ancient home. His eyes, even in the blue light, glazed over like milk spilled over a prized picture. Moisture evaporated from the flesh, blood clotted, organs began to harden or blacken, and the brain was eaten away. Death was coming, and I felt a part of me reach out for this man’s sacrifice… for his penance.

Frozen fingers from within felt as if they were pointing me toward a truth. Directions were given at the tip of an unseen digit. See him to peace. With this voiceless command, a shimmering air entered the room from the space between the window and the woman. This hazy figure moved toward the standing specimen of an unnatural series of illnesses. A true medical mystery any doctor would give an arm to study.

A soul left the body. It was faint, but it was clearly the contents of the man. His shell was left behind to wither at the woman’s touch and collapse to the floor. A heap of lifeless meat for the scavengers that crave death. Life would be sustained, and his spirit would be carried on. This portion of myself, or who I would become, reached out its hand—undefined and enigmatic occupied space of nothing. Seeing and not seeing, two truths of the specter existed. It took hold of the poor soul and exited as it had entered.

No one reacted to this. They looked to the fallen mummy and to the empty husk in the bed. They shared their tears of passion and closure while I absorbed them from a distance. I was ever a part of their experiences, and they had no clue of my presence in the room.

The Reaper had come and gone. The lovers had said their goodbyes and left. The two corpses were left behind for some unknown person to find. A lovely way to start the work day.

Perhaps they would call it in. Perhaps they would let someone know. I hoped they would. It only seemed just for the deceased to be laid to rest—though their souls had already found a place beyond the dug earth and encasing wood.

Do you fear them? Is it so easy to take them in? It is. Do you understand? A bit, but much of it was unclear. Who are you? I have always been. I am that which will be until the end.

There was a silence as the room’s dead made no attempt at conversation. I was alone with this shade of reality in my head. The conversation’s intense; and yet, it draws no expression from me. Smiling, either painfully false or infrequently true, should have been my reaction. Instead, I remained stilled.

A howl-bark tore through the world. Those frozen fingers tightened around my spine. What do you hear? Who comes? I know the answer’s not Death, yet it’s the only name that comes to mind. You think what is truth. It is not Death, for it is The Destroyer that guides you beyond this beast’s grasp; as you desire. All know of The Reaper, but few shall ever know of this being’s visage or voice.

Who is he? One who will not willingly give his name. Names are power. Yes. Names are sacred. This is also truth. Will he find us? He is on the hunt. Will you run? Do you fear him?

No.

And this was truth. The voiceless being within knew it; I could sense the agreeable silence. I could see out the window, and thick waves of gray now existed where sunshine had once dominated. The skies had taken to the darkness of my woken world. Flashes of wrath split the sky as tremors across the earth. I kept my eyes wide to trace their gradual spread through clouds and down toward the ground.

Another howl-bark substituted in for the thunder that should have confirmed the lightning. Waiting with the silent deceased, time crawled by sluggishly.

A flash.

One… two… three, and another bark.

A flash.

One… two, and he’s cried out again.

This meeting is not meant to be. Not now. Correct. When?

When the time is right.

Cryptic words sow seeds of dismay. The curtain had been lifted, but not all actors had taken to the stage. The notes of the prologue have just begun to play. Where I believed my story to have started toward the finale, it had simply begun tuning for the first number. The unforgiving symphony of the universe settled itself to share the final Horseman’s grand becoming.

A spectral work written eons ago had come to this world. The mortals would hear its prophetic chords and hooks, the softest soothing, and the explosive echo of the group’s full force. Strings would shriek beneath the bows, pipes would fill with air, and the symbols would crash. Another howl-bark set the painfully slowed tempo for all others to stomp to.

It was a show I’d have loved to watch, but I was given a leading role.

Remember.

But I didn’t.

I woke up in a cold sweat. Doors had been opened, but the void of the blackened sea covered them. Unsettled and exhausted, I sat on my bed with my knees in my chest. To recall the horrors of reality is a mission to survive the reenactment of truth, but to recall nothing of a forgotten trauma is to stare into the dark and know that the unspeakable awaits you. You know nothing more than cold fingers will drag you further into the shadows. Whether it tears you apart or lets you wallow beneath its power, you look into the darkness instinctively to find the truth.

I would have broken either way. I would have lost myself, but to know what was coming would have been preferred. Into the darkness, I gazed into my mind in hopes of reclaiming my terrors. I found none that night, and that scared the hell out of me.

I’d gone the rest of the day without seeing her. My only relief on the matter was Cage hadn’t either. We barely discussed her on our way to Cage’s house. Band practice was the topic as usual. Our set list, the order, styles, clothes, and name gone through in great detail.

It was rather exhausting. The practice went by better than those before it. It felt right to jam with that group—feeling each build on the last. Perhaps the world wouldn’t be such a terrible place if more people got together and shared something as binding as music. No matter the rhythm, the method, or the instruments, someone will find a way to join in the song. Whether they listen in awe or join in the band, all humanity can come together through the magic of music.

Instead, we came together in the music wrought by our impending judgment.

We ran through more songs than would be allowed at the talent show. It didn’t matter how tired we got. Once the next song was announced, the group leapt back into their parts.

“Man, I can’t sing one more song.” David rubbed his throat and grabbed for his third bottle of water. Cage’s parents were gracious enough to give us our makeshift studio and supply of goodies.

“I’m hoping I get feeling back in my arms.” Luis sat back on the couch with both arms slung across the cushions. “Throw me a water.”

Cage obeyed the command, but he shook his head while doing so. “We only have two or three weeks until the show. We need to make sure everything’s perfect.”

“It’ll be great.” David waved one arm then returned to gulps of water.

“We can’t lose to some of those choir kids.” Cage egged on the topic. “What about lights?”

“We’ll get the same as everyone.”

“We could try to talk to Derick. He’s running the lights and audio crew. Mr. Kenny is letting him handle it. Maybe we could get a little something extra.” Cage pointed at the guys and continued on his explanation. He had planned this all out. I had to give it to him. His tenacity kept the group on task, and his passion kept us focused on the glory of our high school days.

“What’re you thinking, Tom?” Being dragged into the light again. Cage’s eyes were bright. I’d not smelt anything burnt or bitter around him that whole day.

“Whatever you all want to play. I’m down for any of those songs.” The answer didn’t settle any debate between the crew. What songs? Should we try to talk to Derick? Should we just show up and play, or should we dress up in black outfits and use face paint? The conversation was building as if we were senators about to attempt the finalization of a bill.

I left the house feeling exhausted but accomplished. We all parted ways after a few fist bumps and friendly insults. The dark sky offered me a cooled breeze on my way home. Through the lit streets of my side of town, I biked from one brightly illuminated patch on the ground to the next. I felt at ease. The darkened areas between lights caused no panic, and the lights offered no more than a path for me to follow.

The house was quiet. My father and his wife were gone. They must have decided to take their love out into public where booze could grant the glamour of an admirable couple amongst friends. Alcohol is truly a wonder-drug.

No dinner was prepared for me. Not even a few scraps of previous meals were in the fridge. It came down to grabbing an apple, soda, and some jerky. My stepsister’s room was shut up tight, and the soft hum of music escaping the door felt like a cover.

Enter the shrine of Thomas Michael Markey. What a lovely, dim room. I didn’t even bother lighting up or studying oddities online. I threw everything to the side; eating what I had gathered while I prepared myself for sleep. It didn’t take long for the body to give into the toils of the day.

I collapsed on my bed before the soda was finished or the jerky was eaten. My backpack remained in the middle of the room and the guitar at the edge of the bed. I couldn’t even bring myself to plug in my music. Metal was removed from my neck and placed beside the immortalized woman. All was right in the temple.

“Night.” I didn’t have to get under the covers or curl up. A simple goodnight to my mother and the medallion beneath her. No lights kept me up or wondering. Nothing was strong enough to pull me back from the edge.

He’s here. I opened my eyes to the crash of thunder. He’s come. Let us watch.

My eyes attempted to adjust to the shadows of an architecturally astounding space. My lungs needed no breath, yet they felt pressed between the pressures applied to both sides of me. Once I’d adjusted to the atmosphere, I found myself in the corner of some opened cathedral or throne room. There were candles all about a raised section ahead of me and slightly to the left. Though these many candles burned brightly, none dared to reach into my corner. It was like seeing fear in the thoughtless flames that consume all they touch.

“Perhaps one day we shall all stand together.” A man stood nearer the center of the great hall. His words echoed in the vast silence. A lion’s voice roaring over the wounded kill. All the jungle remains still for fear of those mighty paws and teeth.

There were others. None looked in my direction. There were four persons nearest me about the raised throne of the room. Each wore clothes I’d only seen in movies about the Romans or others of that age. I could feel a rumbling in the air from their direction. Collected together, they produced a dense cloud of energies.

One man with black hair stood motionless within a series of black vapors churning into whirlpools. The only woman of the group watched the events with wide eyes. Her energy was a series of shifting colors, each gentle and quiet, that cautiously reached out to be pulled into a blackened whirlpool. These two were bound. Birthed of their union, the air filled with a fresh breath of spring.

There were two men standing close to one another apart of the couple. The younger one’s form was enveloped in a bubble of short, thin spikes that shined like a star. I felt like I was licking a penny staring at him. His companion was the source of the pressure in the group. Though they joined together in a formation of spiritual force, this man produced an energy like a gathering tempest. Sparks of yellow and blue snapped off his body in random directions. Hair stood on end across my body.

Four members of a famous family joined their souls. It was in preparation; an uneasy expectation of what might happen. What had happened was past, and what would come was unsure. They prepared themselves within. Their forms seemed tense, but the spirits within were gathering arms for a war I knew nothing of.

A good ol’ fashioned Roman standoff.

“I will not die here. I will come for the next.” There was a mangled monstrosity on the ground nearest the man with the lion’s voice. I turned from the party of four to examine the rest of the scene. A hideous legion of voices snarled as one. “You are not the first, and surely not the last.” At my distance across the hall, I watched darkness twist and morph the features of a man as beautiful as manmade elves in myth. Though, even a bow-wielding elf couldn’t have shined as brightly as this creature sprawled across the floor. No orc could blacken my sight as the creature, either.

One voice against many, one conquered all. In the light of countless candles strewn about, glistening objects danced as they fell in the windless room. Black and gold, feathers molted from the ruler of the moment. This man possessed two large wings thrusting from his back; beyond a valuable quiver and bow. These appendages spread out and beat at the air of the hall. Feathers fell at the force. Each of the blackened gold was replaced by sparkling gold and purest whites. Light reflected off the patches of new feathers—the performance mounting as the blackness diminished.

“Then I shall wait for the next to come.” Booming as the thunderous sky. The man with the transforming wings let all the world know his intent, and every ear stood as the troops before a general.

I’d have followed him, and I would. This vision of an unknown world brought such wonders. There was no fear or anxiety. Though I had feared the strike of a woman or the company of another, the events of this mysterious group was experienced with an indifference. It was a fieldtrip—to learn and absorb without bias. Look, but don’t touch.

Golden smoke, thousands of tiny, slithering serpents, lifted off the man who stood over the writhing creature of Heaven and Hell. His pressure was intense. It felt as if I were a planet being pulled into orbit around a star that’s far from collapsing. A David over his Goliath.

I watched through unblinking eyes as the flickering lights showed the end of the elf within the shadows. His form blurred and vanished. It was then that I examined another energy I’d barely noticed. She was the farthest from me in the room.

“How could you?” A woman’s voice of silk and salt flowed across the stones. This beauty wrapped in fine cloth held two children in her arms. Their mother let tears fall over their foreheads in some gloomy baptism.

This mother of looks and wealth did the unspeakable. A scent like a burnt oil and rotten fruit overtook any taste of iron or the spring breeze. She dropped to the ground, forsaking her children on the cold floor, to gather a golden blade—the only remains left by the figure that had been struck down. Her benefactor, or perhaps praised lord, had been taken. Reaching for the artifact, it was apparent that she hungered for vengeance.

Even if it meant balancing the scale with her children’s father.

The room’s atmosphere became that of a heated bottle that’s sealed tight. Storms, maelstroms, frigid winds of winter, burning lights, and one bursting flash filled the kingdom’s castle with nature’s weaponry. As quickly as they’d prepped, the bottle had already popped open. Poof.

“Sleep well,” that star trapped within flesh lashed out with growing streams of gold, “Aphrodite.”

His hands released her corpse. The flavor of bitter water, a coltsfoot and mugwort tear, covered my tongue. It was difficult to swallow with the dryness spreading in my mouth. Chilled fingers were on my shoulders; a soft pressing meant to console the soul.

From the shadows, I witnessed the sacrifices of a man that would become the voice of conquest across the globe. My chest tightened. A heart can break for another, and I knew of his suffering. I did not shed a tear, but the loss was unbearable. The emptiness was all too familiar, and he gave what he had for the cause he’d march for.

How heavy be the crown?

He left the woman’s body in the gathering pool of her own blood. Her blonde hair spread out like roots attempting to absorb the nourishment but failed to find any life in it. This man’s stride was thoughtful as he maneuvered around her to gather up the children which bore his shining soul.

To become The First. He that has no heart has given what should fill it.

These thoughts were beyond my mind. A voice without sound vibrated through me. A voice that could have been both soothing and frightening directed my thoughts in that emotionless world.

Thunder crashed beyond the walls of the mighty castle, yet none reacted to it. I knew they wouldn’t. It was not the crackling energy of the aged man, but a familiar crash from behind a shut door within. In that dream, this door opened wide and the memory returned.

Be still. There is more to see.

Into the shadows of the corner we went. Soft words of a disembodied voice dragged me through the void to our next scene. It was another great hall, but this one was dimly lit and filled with pews.

“I will never be yours,” a growl tore through the structure I recognized as a church. Shadows claimed the building, but all that marched through portals or pews would heed the command of the man before the altar. Standing in the darkness beside a podium, our second brother underwent his metamorphosis.

A translucent specter stood behind the man; a woman of a severe beauty. I felt a quickening of a heartbeat and knew her connection to the man. His energy pined for her. Her glazed eyes, like those trapped in the fog of another world, quietly took in the actions of her lover. This man of wings that bled into the darkness with veins of crimson pulsed with a bloody light.

His skin was tan like that of the Native Americans, but there was a stony… perhaps some unknown mineral-like quality to the flesh. I picked up the fragrance of a strong, aged liquor with a hint of some earthy attribute that reminded me of the circle made around a firepit. Flashes of raging crimson lashed out about him—his energy a volatile balance of rage and mercy. As quickly as they’d erupt, the ends would split from the source and drop to the floor like droplets of blood. They dispersed like liquid nitrogen.

Then I saw the cowering man at his feet. A similar ending as the last vision.

Conflict within and before him. What will he do?

“You would save a world of men such as this? Men who slay and slaughter; pit one against another for paper and lust?!” The familiar combination of various voices came from this human. His face phased in and out of possession and pathetic mortality. Through the eyes of these visions, I watched without disgust. His being reeked of feces; as if his soul were shitting itself.

“I’ll take up my sword so none may know its pain that don’t deserve it. If I must, I’ll suffer their pain so that all may forget the atrocities. So that the hatred of man may be erased.” I smiled at his words; matching his own proud grin. Excited to perform his duties, this man spoke his truth and found it to align with his task. I’d not originally noticed the great sword that rested at his side. Its curved edges, artistic design, and pulsing veins were obviously the characteristics of a blade far beyond the craftmanship of man. “For the brothers and fathers who’ve looked upon the sisters and mothers with tears; I shall take their pain. For all who have met upon the salted fields of death and decay; I won’t let them suffer alone.” His smile was joined by falling tears. There was a pain in his joy, but it was a weight he’d carry for the victims of which he spoke. “For all those who’ve been touched by your hand; I’ll free them—may Heaven have mercy on me.”

“You can’t kill me!” The distorted man’s lips moved, but it was the voice of another. He was not possessed, but an amplifier hooked up to the speaker in his world of sulfur and fire. The fury in his eyes was the rage of some devil in another world watching through a puppet as his plans fell apart. “This will mean war!”

A blade was risen before the forsaken man. This being of crimson wings steadied his weapon; aiming it toward its purpose. When words and diplomacy cease their effectiveness, men like this are sent to Hell to save us from the fire. His blade pointed itself toward this Hell, and The Second steadied himself to aim true.

He did it with a smile.

“I am War!”

Sparks and stone flew at the thrust of the blade. No blood would stain the altar; a sweltering heat seared each bit of flesh the blade touched. A bodiless head rolled over the flat surface of the sword; gazing through hazy eyes at the tool, man, and place all contributing to his demise. The connection of master to puppet severed.

It was a grand flavor; to feel the victory and justice dealt. Known through the eyes of the universe, humanity is an enigma of emotions and ideals. Ignorant to any natural form of these concepts, the darkness I shared vision with analyzes these traits with a distant coldness. It understands them… feels them… this moment is agreeable to the shade of a solid nothingness. I know it to be truth because it was my sight and my empathy merging with its own.

You see what has been done, and know it was just.

The blood of the guilty had not soiled that hallowed ground, but the life taken had balanced the scales. A roar of thunder was heard beyond the walls of the church, and I knew it was calling for me. The tingle up my spine and hair rising across my neck was the sign. Lightning would follow him, and fire would be called forth again.

Before departing, I glanced back at the executioner that would one day become my brother. It was in him that I felt the turmoil of the fog I’d known, but this shrieking of suffering and anxiety was different. It was amplified. Thousands. Millions. Too many echoing voices to count or distinguish. He’d taken up his cross, and I felt the voices of history vibrate through my bones and into my skull. What a burden to bear.

It’s coming. There is another.

And so, we faded. Into the void, we travelled between truths and perceptions as if taking a simple step through an open door. I was but a passenger in my own mind, and the driver knew where we were going. I let him take the wheel and asked no questions. Things had to be seen and deeper connections had to be experienced. It was for my benefit, and this was truth. I took a moment from staring out over the waves of the void to travel over those ever-stretching curves of darkness with the embodiment of the space beyond existence.

Traveling between these worlds was a blip in my mind. The door of the previous world closed behind us. A sober trip that only costed me my soul. Before one reality overtook the last, a distant call was heard. The thunder carried a distinct howl-bark; a disturbing call of some creature outside the evolutionary tree.

I placed that stalking animal out of mind. A new play was set out before me, and the actors took their positions. Darkness struggled to claim any corner of the room. Lights were on, the sun shined brightly through the windows, and the size of the scene closed in around those gathered. My eyes were drawn to the corpse that three had come to see off. One man of many years and very dark skin stood to the right of the bed. The left was occupied by a woman with lighter skin than the man. A priest stood at her side—closer than a priest would stand by the average parishioner. Oh, my scandalous sister.

The two to the left shared a bond that benefitted each. It was visible to me. I could smell the glorious rose that grew of tar; the priest’s blooming plant absorbed the nourishing darkness that dripped from his lover. In their combined energies, this flower unfurled to cover much of the room. Seemingly toxic, the scent of the petals carried a sickness. It was as if I were smelling the attractive hormones of some alien foliage that drew prey in to feed of its noxious fruit. Whatever feasted became the feast.

A duo allowed to carry out their judgment and love stood before the corpse and spoke softly. The woman’s eyes dropped tears as she examined the elderly body in the bed. Years of sickness had ravaged the husk. I sensed no life in the body or near it; an empty vessel that had long since cut ties with the eternal soul.

“I thank you.” The woman’s voice was heavy. Black droplets snapped off from the body to float and dissipate around her. Intense waves of the void bubbled up about her, and this darkness took me in. I gazed into it, felt its power ripple through the air, and took pleasure in the sweetness of toxicity.

What is it that entices you? Does the power? Does the loss? Does the suffering or the rage? I couldn’t decide. Though each flavor was mingled together, I could disentangle each variable to savor it separately. A moment lasting for ages. Let the essences linger and pass so another may take its place. Drop it on the tongue and truly taste it. Each? All? Unusual.

What comes next should have spread dread through my veins, but the numbness of the void forced my soul into tranquility. The woman left the priest to approach the other man. His energy was dulled—almost to a point of nonexistence.

“The day’s come.” The woman kept her wings and weapon inside. I could hear them; the beating wings and metallic voices. “Are you ready?”

“I am.” Beyond the woman, this man’s size outlined hers. He looked to her with brown eyes filled with angles and valleys of several shades. There was a wisdom in those eyes. He accepted, in all his heart and soul, what was about to come. To an onlooker, he looked as if he’d have been easily able to throw her from his path and escape. Instead, he bowed his head and smiled that grin I’ve come to know so well.

A blue light spread over the man and the walls behind him. Brilliant and expressive, the color spread over each surface. The woman lifted her right hand and touched the man between his eyes. A single finger was all it took, and the otherworldly poison was injected. A cure to all the vaccines she’d provided.

“You’ve done well. You’ve atoned.” Her finger was coursing with the sicknesses of her being. A power unlike any I’d seen before. Veins of black were cast across the man’s forehead and absorbed into the blood. Almost immediately, I could smell the various illnesses take hold. The dryness, the heat, the rot. “May God find you with open arms.”

Real. The smile was real.

A moment passed, and years of crippling diseases stole all life from the man. It could have been a time-lapse of a century gone by in a matter of seconds—a video where one picture is taken every year until a Reaper comes for the model. Wrinkles multiplied and thinned like the cracks of a wallpaper left to weather in an ancient home. His eyes, even in the blue light, glazed over like milk spilled over a prized picture. Moisture evaporated from the flesh, blood clotted, organs began to harden or blacken, and the brain was eaten away. Death was coming, and I felt a part of me reach out for this man’s sacrifice… for his penance.

Frozen fingers from within felt as if they were pointing me toward a truth. Directions were given at the tip of an unseen digit. See him to peace. With this voiceless command, a shimmering air entered the room from the space between the window and the woman. This hazy figure moved toward the standing specimen of an unnatural series of illnesses. A true medical mystery any doctor would give an arm to study.

A soul left the body. It was faint, but it was clearly the contents of the man. His shell was left behind to wither at the woman’s touch and collapse to the floor. A heap of lifeless meat for the scavengers that crave death. Life would be sustained, and his spirit would be carried on. This portion of myself, or who I would become, reached out its hand—undefined and enigmatic occupied space of nothing. Seeing and not seeing, two truths of the specter existed. It took hold of the poor soul and exited as it had entered.

No one reacted to this. They looked to the fallen mummy and to the empty husk in the bed. They shared their tears of passion and closure while I absorbed them from a distance. I was ever a part of their experiences, and they had no clue of my presence in the room.

The Reaper had come and gone. The lovers had said their goodbyes and left. The two corpses were left behind for some unknown person to find. A lovely way to start the work day.

Perhaps they would call it in. Perhaps they would let someone know. I hoped they would. It only seemed just for the deceased to be laid to rest—though their souls had already found a place beyond the dug earth and encasing wood.

Do you fear them? Is it so easy to take them in? It is. Do you understand? A bit, but much of it was unclear. Who are you? I have always been. I am that which will be until the end.

There was a silence as the room’s dead made no attempt at conversation. I was alone with this shade of reality in my head. The conversation’s intense; and yet, it draws no expression from me. Smiling, either painfully false or infrequently true, should have been my reaction. Instead, I remained stilled.

A howl-bark tore through the world. Those frozen fingers tightened around my spine. What do you hear? Who comes? I know the answer’s not Death, yet it’s the only name that comes to mind. You think what is truth. It is not Death, for it is The Destroyer that guides you beyond this beast’s grasp; as you desire. All know of The Reaper, but few shall ever know of this being’s visage or voice.

Who is he? One who will not willingly give his name. Names are power. Yes. Names are sacred. This is also truth. Will he find us? He is on the hunt. Will you run? Do you fear him?

No.

And this was truth. The voiceless being within knew it; I could sense the agreeable silence. I could see out the window, and thick waves of gray now existed where sunshine had once dominated. The skies had taken to the darkness of my woken world. Flashes of wrath split the sky as tremors across the earth. I kept my eyes wide to trace their gradual spread through clouds and down toward the ground.

Another howl-bark substituted in for the thunder that should have confirmed the lightning. Waiting with the silent deceased, time crawled by sluggishly.

A flash.

One… two… three, and another bark.

A flash.

One… two, and he’s cried out again.

This meeting is not meant to be. Not now. Correct. When?

When the time is right.

Cryptic words sow seeds of dismay. The curtain had been lifted, but not all actors had taken to the stage. The notes of the prologue have just begun to play. Where I believed my story to have started toward the finale, it had simply begun tuning for the first number. The unforgiving symphony of the universe settled itself to share the final Horseman’s grand becoming.

A spectral work written eons ago had come to this world. The mortals would hear its prophetic chords and hooks, the softest soothing, and the explosive echo of the group’s full force. Strings would shriek beneath the bows, pipes would fill with air, and the symbols would crash. Another howl-bark set the painfully slowed tempo for all others to stomp to.

It was a show I’d have loved to watch, but I was given a leading role.

Remember.

But I didn’t.

I woke up in a cold sweat. Doors had been opened, but the void of the blackened sea covered them. Unsettled and exhausted, I sat on my bed with my knees in my chest. To recall the horrors of reality is a mission to survive the reenactment of truth, but to recall nothing of a forgotten trauma is to stare into the dark and know that the unspeakable awaits you. You know nothing more than cold fingers will drag you further into the shadows. Whether it tears you apart or lets you wallow beneath its power, you look into the darkness instinctively to find the truth.

I would have broken either way. I would have lost myself, but to know what was coming would have been preferred. Into the darkness, I gazed into my mind in hopes of reclaiming my terrors. I found none that night, and that scared the hell out of me.

Chapter 37

“You look like shit.”

I rolled my head to the side. Like some gelatinous invertebrate, I slouched in my seat and waited for the class to begin. Cage’s friendly hello stirred me from my momentary rest.

“Didn’t get much sleep, huh?” Cage took his place next to me and prepared his sheets. “Everything alright at home?”

I groaned a bit. The sleep in the corner of my eyes was still gooey. “It’s fine.”

“What have you been doing at night? You need some beauty rest. With you, I’d say most of the day is needed.” A friendly jab coming from the pretty boy.

“Everything’s fine.” A cranky child without enough sleep. “Just,” exhaling felt necessary, “bad dreams.”

“What about?”

“It’s nothing.”

“What? Spiders? Forgot your pants? You saw yourself naked?” He chuckled and spread his papers across the stand in front of him.

“Funny as always.” It felt dry in that room. The memory of forgotten events scraped at my mind—icy fingers digging into the trenches of the brain to probe the inner lobes.

“You know you can talk to me, man.” Cage turned to me with those wide eyes. I had to bite my tongue from disagreeing with him in an unpleasant fashion.

“I tried that.” My guitar remained in the case to my left side. I couldn’t bring myself to take it out while the uncertain terrors were fighting to find an escape. “Didn’t work last time.”

“You seeing stuff again?”

Disbelief. That’s the tone. I didn’t need to feel it, smell it, taste it, or get some mystic help. It was obvious and tiresome.

“Like I said,” I turned to him with heavy eyes, “it’s nothing.”

Those brown orbs looked me over. He huffed and hunched over in his chair. “You know some of the stuff you’ve said sounds crazy, right?” Solid way to help a buddy out. “Tell me about the dreams.”

“I don’t remember.” It felt like the world was against me. The reality I sat in seemed artificial. Looking directly at my friend, I could feel my mind and heart give out for fear I wasn’t actually present. “It’s all scattered and hazy. It was profound, but I can’t get it back.” I flailed my hands a bit. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”

“So, you have to move on and get some rest. Maybe it’s best you don’t remember. It just sounds like it would’ve fucked with you.” He tapped his temple to drive his point.

“Forgetting is what’s fucking with me. I feel,” I kept my eyes down while scanning our surroundings to make sure no one was listening in on us, “like I’m missing part of myself.” Wide and bright, yet those eyes were empty. “Forget it.”

“Don’t think I’m dissing you. I just don’t know that I believe in all that stuff you were talking about.” At least a considerate way of disagreeing with me. “I think you believe it, but I don’t see it.” He ended it with a soft shrug.

“So, I’m either crazy or alone?” The spite sort of just slipped out.

“I don’t think you’re crazy.” His eyes were kept low. Even when exhausted, social indicators are easily noticeable. “Things are just crazy, and you’re under a lot of stress.”

“I know what I saw.”

“But you can’t remember your dreams. It’s another bag on the pile that you can’t explain.” He wasn’t wrong, but it wouldn’t stop my teenage brain from firing up the offended-meter. How could I explain feelings; let alone feelings of something abnormal?

“I don’t expect you to understand everything. I sure as hell don’t.” My voice carried a bit more than I’d have liked. I shifted myself in my seat and scooched to the edge closest to Cage. “But I know something’s up. Like someone’s watching me all the time. It’s like being under a microscope with needles and chemicals, and I’m just floating around in the goop.”

Something caught my nose. Singed hairs or an aged stack of fruit; some compost that flies would swarm to. Cage shook his head and exhaled. His hands twitched around on his lap while he searched for his answer. His words sounded like they were coming from across a tunnel, “I think you just need some rest.” I forced myself to breathe through the odors.

I’d have succeeded if the frozen touch hadn’t returned. Countless, tiny fingers tapped across my skin. A few would take hold of my ribs, another group would seize my spine (forcing me to straighten up in my seat), and still others poked into the back of my skull. It was if they were constraining me to my chair for the operation to begin—subjecting me to the offensive stench and all the flickering lights these episodes usually brought.

It was my own personal CIA training. MK-Ultra-Fucked-Up.

“I’d rest if it’d let me.” Though I was held up, my eyes were unshackled. They scanned area for the unseen sadist. “If it’d just leave me alone.”

“What? If what would?” Cage’s breathing was harsher. He matched my examination of the room without any particular intention. “If you could point it out or name it.”

“I don’t know who it is.” It felt dumb, but that’s the pattern. “Or what it is.”

“Then I can’t really help or agree.” Fidgeting with his papers, he rearranged them at random until they came back to their starting order. Chaos to order, and eventually chaos would return. All the while, that scorched stench only parasites and scavengers could enjoy wafted about in a potent cloud. “Maybe we need to talk about the things in life that could actually harm you.”

“Don’t.” I hissed a bit. His notion of my home life being the root of my problems might not have been wrong, but I knew… I knew that there was more going on. “This is different.”

The horrendous odor became unavoidable. It overtook the air like some vapor pumped into a sealed building to incapacitate the inhabitants. I felt a bit woozy in the thick air. Each spoken word carried this aroma forward; seeping into the short carpet and attempting to curl the white paint off the walls.

“How can you be sure?” His voice was as quiet as mine, but it was as filled with determination. I didn’t want my mind corrupted from the path. I was already anxious with one problem. I didn’t need another slumbering issue revitalized. “I don’t see any other reason.”

One strong breath of putrid air caused my throat to tighten. There might even have been water welling up in my eyes. Noxious fumes burned deep in my lungs.

“Welcome!” I heard Mr. Sanders call out to someone. My heavy eyes fought to track his.

It was her. Brittany Bell.

“You can take your place in the open chair near the back. Zach can help you get set up with your instruments. If you need anything else, please let me know. I’d be happy to help.” He was cheerful to invite another musician to the group.

She swept her hair over her left ear and turned in the direction he pointed. She glanced over the group with those wondrous orbs of blue. To find her place in the back with the percussion students, she had to look past me.

Her eyes didn’t continue. Clear skies across the sea, reflecting the sun off each wave, stared back at me. Her left cheek pulled back into a gorgeous smile, and I couldn’t look away. Love at first sight was true enough for me, but love at second sight was unexpectedly more surreal.

“Dude.” Cage was still beside me, but his voice had reminded me I wasn’t in some dream or unreal landscape. I was still in school. I was still in band. I was still just me sitting next to him. “Wasn’t she in our art class?”

I nodded slowly while trying to blink and pull away. Instead, Brittany and I shared in a moment that lifted itself above the painful gases, the troubling realities, and the emotionally troubling bonds.

“Yeah.”

“Take your place back there, Ms. Bell. Class, let’s begin.” Mr. Sanders called us all to attention. Brittany’s eyes fell; replaced by a full smile. She moved around the seats to the back of the room where the drums, cymbals, and other percussion tools were waiting for her talented hands. I tried to stop staring, but that proved to be harder than expected. She swayed with each step. Her hair and body bounced to a rhythm that set my heart racing.

Music, my usual safety net, drifted to second chair beside the purity I’d just experienced. It never occurred to me that all of life’s troubles could be remedied with one set of eyes. This clarity seemed a benevolent opening of my path—a clearing of the dark clouds above the waves of the abyss.

Throughout the practice, I would turn to steal glances. I couldn’t come to terms with it. Life and dreams had seemed to blur together, but it seemed odd to find someone smiling at me the way they usually stared at Cage. Each time I looked to her, she was smiling back. Each time was another first meeting with the girl I’d fallen for, and I’d still never talked to her.

No matter the extent of my sleep deprivation, my soul fought to see her again. Infatuation is a beautiful thing—almost making the brain believe that the first moments of something new aren’t terrifying or dangerous. Yet, I took the chances I had.

“Dude, staring is a bit creepy.” Cage caught on to my consistent turning around.

“Whatever.” The rest of practice went by easily. When it ended, I found myself refreshed; daring to dream for something more out of life. Feeling like a man for once in my life. “What do I do?”

“What do you mean?” Cage stuffed his disorganized pile of papers into a purple folder. His voice was rough, and his eyes were straining to keep themselves from mine.

“I,” my throat ached to speak words I never considered. It was like swallowing back a rock. “What do I say to her?”

He stopped what he was doing to rub his thumb across the bottom of his nose. He scrunched his face and inhaled sharply. “I don’t know, man.” He shot a look over his right shoulder to look in her direction. She was talking to Zach in the back of the room—she seemed to be politely trying to withdraw from that conversation.

“You’re the one always talking to girls. What do you say?”

“Well, I talk to girls I know like me.” He went back to shoving papers and binders into his backpack. “What makes you think she likes you?”

It could have been an honest question. It could have been innocent, but it didn’t feel that way. My cranky, child-like behavior resurfaced at his abstaining from simply helping me out. Perhaps, a master knows little of why the wanderer asks for enlightenment. Perhaps, the master’s instinctual desire to dominate keeps his tongue still in the presence of the wanderer.

“She couldn’t? Is that it?”

“That’s not what I said.” A waft of the burned tobacco filled the air. My spine tingled at the familiar scent. It was an uncomfortable and unwelcomed reunion. “I’m just making sure you don’t make a fool of yourself.”

I couldn’t find the heart to say anything else. Words don’t kill, but they do find their way into the flesh like shrapnel—even when the intent was debatable. Moments like that make the single soul, the ones that stare out over the waves of the void in solitude, understand the appeal of the various chests imprisoned in those blackened depths. The twisted face of one’s own self can offer such peace when faced with simple words.

A teenage mind is fragile, and so it flips easily from hope to dismay. It felt right to look into her eyes. It almost felt right to just give in; wait at the shoreline until a boat with my destiny arrived.

“Thomas, right?” Had I been more awake, my body might have flung itself forward into my stand. Startled, I turned like a deer caught in headlights to see Brittany standing between, and slightly behind, Cage and me.

“Y-yes?” That damn rock wouldn’t go down easily.

“Hi.” It was an awkward moment I’d never had the pleasure of having.

“Hi.”

Cage’s eyes looked from the ground to her legs and then to me. He stood and swung the bag over his shoulder. “I’ll catch up with you later. Band practice tomorrow, so work on the songs. We have to get ready.” As if I hadn’t already memorized all my parts.

“I’ll be there.” That last lifeline that tethered me to my stable reality departed. He left in a hurry; leaving behind that scorched, bitter leaf to mingle with the unfamiliar decay. I knew he wasn’t the smelly kid in our school, and this only made it more frustrating to know my truth had been lost.

“My name’s Brittany.” I was snapped out of my momentary silence by that soft voice of an angel. I looked up to her gorgeous eyes and felt my heart fumble.

“I know.” I did my best to keep my young throat from squeaking out the words. “Art class yesterday. You’re an artist and a musician? What a combo.” It felt a bit wrong to even talk to her. Batting way out of my league.

“Guess we have a lot in common.” She held her folder over her chest with both arms crossed. It was a cute, innocent gesture. “I’m a fan as well.”

“What?”

She motioned with her head for me to examine my own shirt. Lamb of God twisted around in thick, orange lettering around a skeleton of a bird—perhaps some dove or raven. “Oh, one of my favorites.”

“Mine, too.” She took a quick nod toward the back of the room. “They’re why I got into the drums.”

“Always fun to bang around on those.”

There was that moment of realizing my words were far worse than my brain had first thought. That rock jumped back up into my throat as I tried to force a corrective statement. My face felt as if it’d burst into flames.

“It’d be a lie to disagree.” She giggled a bit and smiled down at me. “It’s fine. I knew what you meant.” Her head motioned to the side. “Would you like to walk with me to class?”

Blue spheres of majestic seascapes pulled me toward unseen territory. I could only nod. My legs felt shaky beneath me, yet my body went on autopilot to stand. We started off; leaving behind that empty room of white paint and short carpeting. The stench of rot never really left, but I couldn’t care less.

Chapter 37

Finally home that night, I focused on Cupid’s curse. The hours of grueling classes were only worsened by separation. Luckily, my hand had some pen on it that matched the ten-digit code to Brittany. The lines were worn and redrawn several times to ensure they didn’t fade before I got home. Looking back, a piece of paper in my pocket would have been easier.

I’d barely been able to hold a real conversation or muster the courage to begin one, but she caught me between a few classes. That face of hers was the best drug I’d ever had—only really competing with one other.

My bike went into the mess of a garage. The blue vehicle that slept within the walls of peeling paint and trashy decor was covered with the usual film of whites and browns. Its pathetic existence used to make me fear the future, but I walked past its depressing condition. Dust and mud could cake itself on, make a shell around the metal, and it would mean nothing to me.

One dull light stemming from the motor to the garage door lit the disastrous workplace connected to the home. Tools were scattered across the ground, the wobbly shelves, and the decrepit workbench. Items from my father’s life and work thrown to the side like scraps to appease some selfish, hording deity. The future held no hope for that dungeon of forgotten trinkets and moldy ambitions, but it did carve itself into my memory—never let yourself get to that point.

If I’d let myself fall into that sort of habit, it wouldn’t have mattered how well I faked my smile. Our environment we keep reflects us as much as the image of our person. What does a place like that say about my father? What could a rusty vehicle left to collect and wear its passing years say of the man? Before you even saw him, what would his tools, cast out like unwanted orphans, speak of his person? What would the condition of his grimy garage do to convince you of his morality or resolve?

Not much… unless you knew the man before.

I moved to the door. My day had given me hope for something more than horded ruins and artifacts. Damn, I almost felt like things could be normal.

But the universe had other plans. I was beginning to think this fricking universe had it out for me. Don’t go thinking you can be happy. What gives you the right? Right before it kicks you square in the balls.

“I’m fucking sick and tired of this. Now I can’t find one of my lighters.” It only took that black-haired witch about a week to figure it out. “It’s always dirty around here, and I’m out of smokes.” My stepmother was flailing her arms out to sides with each sentence while searching through the emptied contents of her purse. While shutting the door softly behind me, I could see the table filled with useless trinkets like a gypsy’s blanket in the movies.

Even as the new happiness sped through my veins, the anticipation of the escalating situation began to overpower the joy with anxiety. My heart continued to race, but the sensation was no longer exciting.

“Useless.” She threw a lighter from her hand to the floor. It bounced across the kitchen and hit a wooden cabinet. My back straightened, but my eyes fell. Obviously, the lighter was of no more use to her.

Get upstairs. Quickly.

“It’s fine, mom. You can go get more.” Samantha had one leg raised up on her chair so her bare skin blocked out the revealing top she was wearing. She raised one eyebrow as if the answer was obvious—which it was. “The gas station down the road is still open.”

“It’s fucking cold out. I’m not going back out there.” The raging pseudo-woman traipsed to the connecting wall between the dining room and the living room. “Do you have any smokes on you? I need one.” Always a need. “Well that’s fucking perfect!” Those hands flew up again; accompanied by black strands of hair lashing out at the air hoping to strike at something… anything.

Sam looked me over and scrunched her nose up. My father’s voice came from the other room as a whisper—emotionless and lifeless. There wasn’t much hope in that building for a positive outcome. I’d rather have faced off against Goliath… at least he’d have the common courtesy to end the pain.

“Look who the hell decided to come home.” I hadn’t gained a clear line to pass up to my room, and it seemed that chance would never come. “I swear, you come home later and later every damn night.” Her voice was shrill; a vermin’s voice when staring down a dog or raptor. “Do you know where my lighter went?” She stood by the opening between the kitchen and living room. Her eyes were wide with intensity; a passion for rage. “Are you stealing my shit?”

“What?” I had, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to admit that. I pulled my case and backpack as close to me as I could. Patterns come about, and eventually you forget to hope. I had a day I believed worth all this suffering, but then you get thrown back into the pit, whipped, and pushed beneath the black pitch. Hope suffocates long before you do.

“I said,” her eyes rolled back into her head as if my question had caused some form of stroke, “did you steal my shit? Huh? Are you going through my stuff you little freak?”

Freak. The matriarch of the house had pointed the finger, and judgement seemed to be set before the jury was out. Her hands flailed out in front of her as she moved toward me. Her heels clicked across the floor like the boots of someone ready to send others to their deaths—either on the front lines or on the gallows.

“I didn’t take anything.” Truth or a lie, either will piss off someone already on the war path. So many refuse to listen, but some will only feed on your resistance. They are some race of soul-suckers. Their fury doesn’t sleep, it just waits impatiently for the next chance to stomp around and break things.

“You didn’t? And why would I believe you? A fuckup like you must be smoking or stealing. Why not both?” She flashed a quick smile, but her face flipped right back to the one with the perpetual frown. Black strands swung madly about her head. I knew she wasn’t the harpy or witch I’d believed her to be, but I saw her for the gorgon she was.

I’d come to miss the touch of those icy fingers of some unknown person or thing. Something about them seemed less threatening than the physical monster that stood between me and my room. She clothed her vile body in expensive clothes and masked her stench with some high-end perfumes. I could smell the spicy scents of amber and something like cinnamon mixed up with a sweet flower. It was spread over her neck, but I could smell it as if she were only inches away instead of a foot. My dad’s money was going to good causes, I guess.

Though, a gussied up pig is still a shit-wallowing pig.

“I’ve never had a cigarette, and I don’t need to steal things from you.” Quiet is the mutt when approached by the ferocious mouse. I couldn’t look directly into her eyes. The irrational fear that they would turn me to solid stone kept me moving between her slightly twitching lips and her sharp cheeks.

“You don’t steal? That sounds like a load of shit.” Her hands flew out like the open mouth of the viper. One claw grabbed the headphones I had resting over the neck opening of my sweatshirt. Her other hand shoved me against the door; my backpack created an odd lump that my back had to arch around. My guitar case bounced against the door, but I held onto it awkwardly as its handle was now ahead of me. “Then how do you explain this?” Claws yanked at the chord and moved down my body to my pocket. Pulling my MP3 player from my pants, she separated the headphones from the device before I could try to grab it from her.

“I bought that!” It was only an electronic, but it was filled with the aspects of humanity I loved most. I tried to lunge forward to save it, but her free hand slapped my arm away. It then came back up to land a blow against the side of my head. Not a heavy strike, but enough to make me recoil and defend with my available arm.

“How did you buy it? That shit job you have? You expect me to believe that?” She held it up in front of herself to get a good look at the black body and screen. “My stuff goes missing and you get a nice new toy? I’m not stupid.” Guilty was her verdict based on no evidence or logical reasoning. Wide eyed and furious, she wasn’t about to listen to me.

My heart fell deeper into my chest. I could feel the hole where it had pumped lively just hours ago, but now it retreated away from life to avoid the unfurling scene.

“Please! I didn’t steal anything from you.” I shook my head several times. “I saved up for that.” I lowered myself a bit at the knees to lean over and drop the guitar safely to the floor. It needed to stay safe. I couldn’t lose both my prized possessions.

“Shut up! I swear to Christ, you are worthless.” A quick strike from an arched cobra, her claw shoved me back against the door. She didn’t want any momentum built up against her. She was on a roll, and she wasn’t going to be slowing down. “You stole from me. I know you did. Don’t you lie to me.”

“I d—”

That same outstretched hand from before swung around to slither past my head again. This time, it collided at a slant, creating a sound like a singular clap of applause. My eyes stayed on the device in her hand. I would endure what I needed to in order to get that back. Barbara’s barbarism wouldn’t be tolerable without its medicating sounds.

“You shut your damn mouth.” Her fangs exposed themselves behind quivering lips. I’d have expected her to cry with such frustration in her, but she seemed almost incapable of such a humanly expression. Eyes of some violent and corrupted animal gazed into me. A toxic scent of burned meat, of that spice on her neck, and something along the lines of a pile of laundry all came together. I hoped the scent was enough to make me vomit on her—no such luck. “I don’t want to hear another fucking word from you.”

A backhand came across the area just above my right temple. A pressure built up behind my eyes. Trying to regain focus was like drinking upside down. Those blows were often unrestrained, and I’m sure numerous concussions do little to assist the brain. That place, that position, and that damn woman were a repeating torment. Obvious as that is, it does nothing to ease the pain of memory. Surviving has been a chore, and remembering has been a crippling thorn in my side. I am what I am and would not be who I am should I forget.

At the time, I couldn’t consider the significance of the events. I could only try to stay standing. Just doing my best to avoid the most pain.

“You work, don’t you? You’re always gone. You come home and eat our food, sleep in our beds, and use our electricity. Right?” She waited for a moment. My silence, which I thought appropriate, only breathed a deep gust into the flame’s heart (or lack thereof). “I asked you a damn question. We pay for you, don’t we? Don’t we?!” I nodded once as quickly as I could. “Damn right we do! You should be a bit more grateful!” She continued to scream in my face. My attention remained on the device until my eyes drew her rage. “Look at me!

“All you have, and you need more. Some child you are.” Her free hand held my face; pinching my cheeks against teeth that luckily were never forcibly removed. “Fucking useless. You don’t pay for a damn thing, and you still steal? Your mother would be ashamed.” Her voice went after what her hands couldn’t, “She’s probably glad to be dead.”

Lungs sometimes hiccup or spasm, but this was a seizing of my breathing. It was as if her putrid soul had jabbed me right in the heart—bypassing all the flesh and bones to hit the organ directly. Venom began to fill me though my heart couldn’t find the energy to beat.

Why? Why is this happening? Mom? Dad? Dad, help me.

Of course, he didn’t. Not a single muttering or groan from the other room. I can only imagine he was sitting in his chair trying to keep the tears in and the emotions restrained behind a flood of alcohol. A parent should have protected me; a child ready to break. No one would come. What can a child do when faced with a living hell but retreat to the shores of their mind and pray to any creature that would answer from beneath the waves?

The beast that would mimic my face and offer an end to the ruined island seemed like a viable option. I’d have given it more thought, but my brain couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t take the deafening silence that followed her spiteful words. Sam kept her eyes on the table as if looking would give some form of hope or assumption of comradery. My father remained still as the dead beyond the walls. I was alone.

“Fuck you.”

“What the hell did you just say?”

Frozen fingers opened the back of my throat and pushed against my teeth; resisting her grip. The knuckles of their hands chilled my neck as they pushed up against the tissue. Whatever creature had come from beneath the waves of blackness, it had provided the means for a voice—if only it had brought force to back up the words.

“I said,” I extended my neck toward her, “Fuck. You.”

I’d said what needed to be said. I have that freedom. I had that right. As an American, we love our freedom to speak as we desire… but so many times we seem to forget freedom of speech does not mean freedom from consequence.

My head hit the door hard enough that all light swirled together to birth countless sparkling stars. I felt the hair at the front of my head get pulled forward, but the pain spreading through my skull and down my spine was enough to keep me from reacting. Another blow to the door, my brain shook at the clash of bone and wood. Thunderous claps boomed as the dense door withstood beating.

Trying to regain myself, I could see the kitchen light bounce off my possession’s screen. It was my goal to save one of my pieces—the part of myself that sparked to life to replay the music that always cycled in my head. I had to retrieve what was stolen from me.

A noise came from afar. The call of some suffering being that knows nothing of why he suffers—other than myself. I could feel the agony in that creature, and I felt some deep longing to console them. Yet, I seemed alone in such parental instincts.

“For fuck’s sake!” Her free hand flew upward as if I’d created some inconvenience for her. I thought I was in the clear. I hoped for some relief at the sparing cry of my half-brother, but I made the mistake of hoping again. From above, the hand that slithered in a chaotic path came down into the side of my head.

Ringing deafened the rest of the noises in the house. I felt as if I were standing on a boat rocked by gentle waves near the shore. My legs pushed and relaxed to keep from letting my body collapse.

What a shitty human being. Savage and despicable, she was everything I’d hoped to avoid in a future wife. That moment was a revelation, a confirmation, that there was no saving her. The soul of Barbara Trent was far more lost than the gathered fog of Gwen and her parasitic acolytes.

A mother would carry her child, bound in cloth and love, through flame and frost hoping to postpone the reaper’s harvest. A mother parts with a portion of herself so that her child will surpass her. A mother would tear Heaven and Hell asunder, watch them burn together, and piss on the ashes if it granted her offspring unfathomable heights. A mother would not take pleasure in the wailing of the weak to drown out the neglected cries of her child.

She was not a mother. She was an unholy serpent that had bred; such is nature’s course. Nothing less. Nothing more.

Still, the child cried. Dillon called out from his crib upstairs—the cage he remained in for most of his life so mother and father needn’t be bothered with his needs. Heartless is the beast that despises that which is itself.

“Sam! Get your brother!” As I thought. The bitch couldn’t let her prey get away. This was more important to her than being the slightest bit caring. Sam’s eyes rolled a complete orbit, and a harsh sigh scraped through my ears. I could sense the affects of that exhaling; a fresh breath into the heart of the fire. “Sam!”

My stepsister got up from the chair to move slowly toward her baby-brother’s room. Upstairs was where I wanted to be. I’d have taken the task of checking in on Dillon. Picking him up and rocking him to sleep was not much of a chore. He was so often a quiet and forgiving child. A few moments of human contact was more than enough for him.

That creeping, vestigial courage filled my mouth at the tips of frozen fingers. Each digit of these chilled hands prodded my mouth and tongue to form the proper words. Maybe it was a concussion, but I can’t remember purposefully expelling the words.

“What a cunt.”

I don’t believe I’d seen such fury bleed from someone until after the war began. Once in a while, I wish the instincts would stay quiet… but that wouldn’t be much help to me in the long run. So, a sacrifice had to be made. The words were sent into the world. Let whatever happens happen. Let the wrath of the foulest of serpents be unleashed.

Either you die here, or you live knowing she’s heard someone say it to her face and survive. Thinking this, for a split second, lifted my lips into a partial grin. It felt good to smile within those walls, and it felt even better to smile knowing I’d justly enraged her.

But as I said, and I hate that I have, sacrifices must be made. I had spoken out of turn and out of my mind. With a noble and precious hostage at stake, my blurred mind couldn’t comprehend the obvious outcome.

That free hand, a reptilian claw wrapped in human flesh, sprung out to trap my throat against the door. A third knocking sounded out through the house.

“Fucking little shit!” Pressure built against my throat. Closing space between the door and her claw, my neck gave in. Air pinched off, my lungs screamed like mute banshees.

My assailant pressed her weight into the attack. Black hair bounced like bolts of darkness across a lit sky. Her eyes were that of a rabid creature—unafraid and mindless in action. Excruciatingly unhurried, she took her time to feast on my agony. I couldn’t breathe, yet the smell of spices and a balancing floral elixir stung my nose. It overwhelmed me as oxygen became a fantastical memory of grander times.

Barbara stopped moving when her lips were near my right ear. A warm breeze, heavy with fermented hops, swept over my skin. It felt like some gel behind a curtained hole you’d stick your hand in. Guess what you feel! I knew what I felt, and the alcohol’s disgusting touch was like a thick stain dripping down the curves of my ear to forever discolor my flesh.

“You stupid, son of a bitch.”

It echoed in my ear; bouncing around like a bullet shot into a room of thick metal walls. They scratched, stung, and pounded their way until they fell to rest in my brain.

I couldn’t restrain it then. Some unhallowed instinct came forth. Puppet strings, pulled by the odd fingers of ice within me, yanked me into action. My closed throat was building pressure to release a scream, and the rest of the body needed to express that built energy.

My left hand shot up to cup itself around the joint where the arm meets the shoulder. I shoved enough that her grip loosened for a moment. One immaculate breath was taken in before she tried to press herself back against me.

The world was still a vision cast through frosted windows. I’d lost the upper hand of sobriety. My strength was enough; however, and I felt my body send the signals to begin the operation. Her body tilted, but it wobbled back and flew toward me. That claw extended to clench the throat it had just lost.

My muscles ached for it. A burning for her end came over me. It was as if the waves of the void had given me a freebie. Take her down. I could. Hit her. Don’t stop. Hit her again and again. I wanted to. Oh God, did I want to.

But I couldn’t.

There was a pressure in the base of my spine, a geyser ready to shoot, that yearned for the moment. I wanted to stand over her, breathing or not, and look down at her helpless body. I wanted to laugh at her annihilation. I wanted to point at her and scream in her bleeding face. Most of all, I wanted to see her eyes fill with the realization they had moments ago when my words reminded her of her own truth—her final moments spent staring at her laughing killer who saw her for what she was.

I could have done it. Know that. I could have beat her down into a bloody pulp before my drunken father or uncaring stepsister found their way to stopping me. I could have spread Barbara over the floor and walls like some squishy fruit.

Yet, I stood in place as her hand found my throat and pressed me against the door again. Arteries pumped thick spouts of blood up my neck as I flexed against her grip. She had me in her hands, but my airway remained opened. Free to breathe.

Her other hand flew over my head. My device was tightly bound by her claws. That monolith to music prevented the collapse of her hand. It came crashing down with a hollow thud. Darkness took over my sight. Stars burst into blackholes that stole away all the light in my world.

She could have been spread over the kitchen. I could have used her as a paintbrush to give a deeper color, a warmer shade, to the house. My smile could have been a chilling duality to the ends of my gray spectrum. But I let it hit me the same, and my everything became nothing.

Chapter 39

Flames consumed the darkness. Or, at least I believed them to. It was something that, even when awakened, my mind couldn’t recall with detail. It felt as though darkness burst into a flickering light—melting away from the center toward the edges. Landscapes and people I’d never seen lived out their existence just beyond my reach. Each person going home to their secret lives, every animal stepping from one branch of the tree of life onto another, and each valley lifted to become a great mountain.

Though one portal was burned open for me, a thousand different scenes felt like they were shining through. It was a cosmic exposure that left the photograph an overwhelming combination of realities. All that energy came through, too. Each feeling. Each emotional tie or turmoil. Burning towers and drowning seas stood beside lush fields of flowers and marriage parties.

It was a cluster-fuck of the human condition.

I’d been pulled in to the space between worlds. A grayness stuck at the edge of reality and nonexistence. It was soothing, terrifying, and lovely all in one. I drank of those worlds until my soul felt lifted and the memory of life escaped me.

The adrenaline of someone zooming through the sky toward the ground—full of life in a situation most would fear. A burden thrust upon the shoulders of a man upon a throne—years stolen from his youth and replaced with cracks in his skin. Rushing jolts of electricity across the fingertips of a lurking shadow—crimson sprayed over the scene he’s left behind for all to fear. Unconditional, unparalleled love given to an offspring—a parent’s treasured heirloom.

It was incredible. I’d witnessed and fed across timelines and worlds. I know nothing of those people or their lives because it sped by so quickly. Their energies funneled through that burning portal. I hated, cried, laughed, and loved all together like a psychopath. They were all in my head.

These are all the feelings I have of those events, but any specifics seem to be my imagination filling in the blanks. But one thing did stick out.

One, horrible thing.

That howl-bark shook the flames that surrounded the opening to countless worlds. Tremors rippled the vision of what was shown to me, and quakes moved through the darkness and into my limbs. It was a powerful wail; one that contained certainty.

I was its target.

The images rippled in front of me. Worlds must have continued to flash by, but I remember the odd interruptions bleeding through. It was like watching a staticky television or some video where a hacker overtakes the channel.

Flickering images interjected into the cinematic showcase. Flames wrapped around the windows, but that creature was overtaking the feed. I didn’t react, but I did watch as that monstrous deer stepped into the light of the flames—his vision seeming to come from the shadows of an open cave instead of the rippling screen. I saw the beast as if I were peering into his den.

It was like walking through a waterfall to find a waking bear… or a dragon. The shadows slid over his snout and branching antlers. Bending flames formed the border to the spastic portal-cave. They retreated away from the living flame that lit the way for the monster. His heart stood open. Encased in those harsh fires, his organ beat furiously.

Muscles contracted and spasmed. Each beat puffed out the fire of his chest. In unison with the heart, his limbs flexed as he moved closer to the gateway. The pale flesh, as if all of him were bone, remained tight and telling of his might.

The worlds beyond my known universe ceased their speeding stories. It was simply a doorway that I might enter—or the monster might escape. His burning eyes were fixed on me. They were filled with some emotional blend I couldn’t quite interpret.

This part I can recall.

Staring into those eyes, I felt a pressure overtake me. The Anima of the creature was like staring into an active volcano that spewed lightning from the center of the Earth into the Heavens. Ash bellowed up to form ravenous clouds. I might have been lost in his spirit—the physical form and his eternal spirit melding together like the portal and cave entrance.

Impressive muscles, thick antlers, roaring fires, sparks of lightning, a voice like a maelstrom… this beast was laid plain before me. Within those muscles, looking beyond them, I felt as if I were transported to an empty land beneath massive, volatile clouds. Pillars of light fell from their bubbled bodies to strike the darkness and unseen grounds. I imagined myself holding an old antenna in the fields below.

He moved closer to me, entering the mouth of his den, while I gazed into the mesmerizing tempest of the creature’s spirit. I remember, caught between his forms, the smell of burning metal and approaching rains—the heaviness of the air carried within the moisture. His energy jumped over my skin like bolts from a prop on an old Frankenstein movie.

Chilled hands tightened around my brainstem with the surge of electricity. I felt my spine straighten. The inner world of relentless lightning gave way to the form of a towering deer with fire erupting from his chest. There wasn’t much I could do when faced with the monster—my memory of our last encounter kept chained behind some sunken door beneath crushing blackness. Curiosity was working through this cat’s nine lives quickly.

I could have absorbed it all. Lightning and flames alike should have been swallowed by my soul, but I gawked at the creature that radiated pride. My stomach churned with the pressure asserted by the beast and the static that seemed to lift me. Then, as before, he stood over me with his intense eyes bearing down on me.

His mouth opened wide. Perpetually exposed teeth separated so that his gullet was directly overhead. Black blood dripped over his teeth. A roar was building up in his throat, and a thunderous explosion of fire was coming. I didn’t remember, but I could feel the fresh intention of his actions. He meant to envelop me in a howl-bark that put any crematorium to shame. I could only gaze up into the darkness of the deer-monster’s mouth as if experiencing some sort of Hell exclusively for hunters.

A spark of blue light ignited a flame. Fury rushed toward me. Unable to move, I remained perfectly still as my burning end fell toward me. The deafening voice of the beast called for my death, and my body awaited it.

“I’m so sorry.”

I opened my eyes and saw the dark ceiling of my room. My eyes were a bit fuzzy, but I could tell it was my room. My hands squeezed blankets at my side. The dream slipped away into the waves; sinking behind some door that opened just long enough for it to be welcomed in. Welcome back to the nightmare menagerie!

I’d been placed in my bed after my beating, but it felt as if I were just hit a second ago.

Pushing into my pillow, my head turned to the left. I strained my eyes to settle on the figure in my desk chair. My father was slouched over with his arms resting on his knees. Darkness permeated the sad form.

His Anima was visible—almost clear as day. A colorless film slid over him in torn sheets. It was like watching thin layers of snow drift across a country road. It had no clear purpose, no direction as they overlapped in aimless scattering, and no aspect of it reached out to join or claim. Sniffing as discretely as I could, no obvious flavor or scents existed.

My father, what memories I have of him, sat limp in his son’s chair. My father’s rough hands wrung about themselves. Pointless streams of the bland energy drifted over those worn fingers; each arch of the aura was sent and recycled by the stilled soul. There was no storm within. I saw no fields, no infernos, no blizzards, and no space of darkness.

It was nothing. It was a soul emptied and forgotten. It was a soul that had taken some deal upon the island; some agreement struck with one of the sunken curses. He had not been washed away into the void, but he had no land on which to build himself upon. It wasn’t like peering out across the darkness of the void’s seas but into an end that has no eternal encore. Emptiness, black and white were nowhere to be found, hallowed out my father’s self-forsaken husk.

The Anima of the yielding soul can be one of various sparks or buried forces… not all though. The Anima of the forfeiter is one that folds after a few bad hands then keeps betting just to throw the cards back after the deal. He leaned over his legs as if he intended to console me, but his emotionless energy pulled back to cover him in the numbing nothingness.

“I’m sorry that happened to you.” I could see how it affected him to say it. The soul doesn’t lie. After the war, almost none could hide from me. I barely focused, and the voice of the eternal within the person cried out to me like a songbird tattling on the cat.

Swirls and waves of the inconsistent dustings over his form kept their speed and thoughtless patterns. Was it that he didn’t love me anymore? Was it that he blamed me? Did he just forget how to be a person? I don’t know, and I began to lose the ability to care.

“Tell me the truth.”

His eyes hadn’t found their way to me yet. They were half open and red along the edges; still watching his hands wring themselves. His stubble was obvious in the dim lighting of the room—my desk lamp beaming over his left shoulder. When he did look, his eyes matched the song of his soul.

Dry lips, pealed back in flakes of white, almost shined in the shadows cast over the front of his body. “I’m sorry—”

“Stop lying.”

A pressure moved about the room. I could feel the words’ weight leave my chest. It wasn’t a thundering boom or a wailing howl-bark. It was a frigid command like the frozen hands of some distant king falling across the table.

I… I couldn’t stand the sight of him. What he’d become and what was inside of him. It was like I was looking at a marionette some sick son of a bitch carved out to make me feel better about losing a parent—life sized and filled with a few recorded, emotionless lines from the past. My throat swelled with words worth saying, but the brain kept the mouth shut long enough for him to attempt saving what was left of my respect.

Little that did.

“Why would I lie?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” I wanted to sit up, but my head spun as I spoke. I could either stand my ground in voice or posture, but not both. “Why wouldn’t you give a good-God-damn about your son’s wellbeing? Huh? Why not?”

“Thomas. Please.”

“I said tell me the truth.” I felt my chest lift and fall like pistons revving toward the claim of victory. My eyes moved back and forth from the lifeless walls to the soulless eyes. “Is that too hard? Is it easier to lie and watch?”

“Don’t—”

“Of course, it is.” I noticed the steady inhaling and exhaling through my nose. It wasn’t just the sight of him or his pathetic Anima. His voice had become a droning hum of some broken machinery. “The booze must make it all easier to swallow.”

“You won’t talk to me that way!”

“There’s the man.” I turned from the wall to look directly into my father’s eyes. I wanted to ignite something in them. I wished for some light to flicker and spark, but nothing came out of him except his rough voice.

Restraining the frozen fingers was impossible. They prodded and poked until my lips shot the words out. Anxieties be damned. My voice was as frigid as the fingers that molded my words.

My father shook his head as if he could deny it all. “How did it come to this?”

“How?” Words. Features. Questions. I despised it all. “I can’t imagine.

“Was it the drinking? The wallowing in self-pity? Marrying that bitch?”

“You watch your language!” My father’s voice attempted to command the frozen king within my throat, but I’d witnessed his Anima. I’d seen the resolve that remained. Even his scolding was hushed by fear.

“Hard to watch anything with a concussion.”

He swallowed hard enough for me to hear it grind down his dry throat—if only I couldn’t smell the residual booze covering him. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop.” That broken machine grinded and squealed in my ears. “If you cared, you’d stop it. You’d stop apologizing and stop all of,” my teeth were clenched, “all of this.”

My father shuffled in his shadows and momentarily blocked the light behind him. His rough hands continued the distracting dance. Sighing, he looked to the counter beside me.

“What would your mother think?”

“Mother?” Quieter than before, I hissed through my teeth. I turned my head on my pillow to stare directly into that nothingness within the man. All that I hated was in those eyes. “Acting the way you do, you don’t get to talk about her.”

From the room next to mine, we could hear the faint, building cries of my brother. Our words had stirred him.

Father’s eyes fell from his beloved—the half of his soul that had fallen beyond his grasp. He stood from the chair and hung his head. He had nothing left to say to his damaged son; at least not while she watched from her tomb of glass and wood. His words were as hallow as he was, and she’d remember it.

He moved one hand into his pocket and took a step toward me. His hand came out to place something on the bed beside me. I couldn’t look at him again, and so I looked to the ceiling having said all I needed for him to know a portion of the pain he’d left me in.

One rough hand gently patted my shoulder. A father’s hand, coarse with years, is meant to build and deliver his child. It is meant to direct, discipline, and mentor… it is not meant to deliver his young into evil. Yet, he attempted to embrace me as a father would. He tried, for one moment, to right some of the wrongs.

All I felt was the unpleasant touch of some crippled doll.

I should feel some form of regret that this was the last conversation I’d have with my father. I should… shouldn’t I? I should have some form of longing to right the wrongs. People always seem to look back and say they wish it’d gone differently or they could take back what they said.

Yeah, I prayed it’d gone differently with my dad. I wish he’d have carried me with those rough hands of his—taken me beyond the black shores. He didn’t. He emptied himself and forsook me.

He left the room with a quiet opening and closing of the door. He didn’t look back because there was nothing for him to look back to but his damaged son and lost wife. He walked away without trying to right his wrongs, so why should I have cared to right mine?

I should have. I could have. But, I watched him leave instead.

Soon, the sounds of my younger brother simmered down into the usual silence of his sleeping. I always thought it was odd how much he slept for a young child. At least it kept the demonic gorgon from getting agitated.

I wanted out. I wanted to be gone, and my plans for the coming years would be a shining light at the end of my black tunnel. Nothing would stop me, or so I thought.

Turning my head again, I saw the item that was left by the puppet that resembled my dad. Peter Markey’s final gift rested in two connected pieces with shattered bits missing. My MP3 player was smashed and dismantled. The screen was full of cracks from one black edge to the next. It’d never be repaired, and my purchase seemed a distant memory of happiness.

Teeth clenched, I pulled my lips back to smile at the hope I’d had. It was wrong to hope then. It was a curse to hope for any bliss in that Hell of a home. I smiled as best I could so my mother could see from where she stood above the resting emblem of Michael. I wanted her to see that even though hope was fleeting and suffering was plentiful, at least one of her loved ones could still do as she asked.

I smiled as best I could while crying myself to sleep.

Chapter 40

What would you do if it was the last day of your life? What trivial things would you do—or not do? Who would you talk to? What would you say? Is there someone you’d spill your heart to, or perhaps you’d prefer to tell them how deeply you’ve despised them? Would you try new things like exotic foods, getting a hooker, copious amounts of drugs? Maybe even jumping off a bridge or skyscraper? Why not?! You’re dying anyway, right?

Perhaps, you could call all your loved ones and tell them goodbye. Don’t explain you know its coming. At least, I feel that would waste most of your day talking through it. Twenty-four hours or less. That’s all you know.

I’d like to think, had I really known, that I’d have found the nearest musical festival or concert and gone. Most likely, it’d be some pop band I cared nothing about, but I’d get to spend my final hours dancing and absorbing the scene. Waves from the amps would flood me with that tingle that runs the length of my spine. Get that good vibration in the loins. The musicians would go through their set for the adoring crowd, and I’d watch with wonder and jealousy at their accomplishments.

After I had my fill of the jumping and screaming, I’d find a quiet place to watch the day turn to night. I hope it would be a dusk that burned with a pink sun that cast purples and reds across the happy, little clouds overhead. Atop some tall building or hill, away from people, I could watch as the sky turns into a painting of the soothing seas that meets the sloping lands—tricking my brain into believing I’m looking down the winding path toward the shores where the clouds crash over the trees and lands.

Hours would pass and the sun would disappear behind the horizon. Pinks and purples would simmer until the cool blacks and blues of the night overtook the sky. I’d pray for the clouds to thin out and move along in quick wisps so that their ghostly hands only stroked at the rising moon. It would be full and cast a spectacular circle through the magnifying sheet of clouds. I’d love to watch it rise among the stars and dominate all the distant powers.

But, I did not know life was coming to an end. I should have known. It was obvious to me later on… hindsight is 20/20, right? Everything I’d seen, felt, and all that was coming out of the woodwork should have raised some flags. I went to school like any other day. I biked my way through the cold streets as quickly as I could. That chilled day brought the first snow of the year. It was gentle and it all melted as it touched the ground, but the day would continue and some of those flakes would gather to remain in clumps in the shadows around buildings or near the curbs.

Snow was always something I enjoyed. What’s not to love? Pure and just a bit cold, the powder brushed past my face. My last day in those walls and I didn’t even get a diploma. What the hell was it all for then? I never wanted to drop out, but they usually don’t let criminals participate in classes while they’re supposed to be serving time.

Well then, I should wrap up this chapter of my life. You’ve stuck with me this far.

Impressive.

Then again, I guess everyone loves a good train wreck. It’s hard to look away when someone else’s life hits the fan, and you’re at a safe distance. You get to live it vicariously through me… I pray that’s enough for you.

“Ready for practice tonight?” Cage was already pumped for the day’s events. Some music, some art, some mindless classes, and band practice. Those wide, brown eyes of his were shining at the prospect.

Loud noises were a bit of an issue that day. My stepmother’s loving touch hadn’t quite healed, but band practice was just the medicine for it. I was hoping the loud noises would just kill off those nerves.

“Oh yeah. You know it.” I gave him a thumbs up. One has to appreciate how quickly any disagreement between friends can get swept under the rug. “I’ll head over with you after school.”

“Sweet. David and Luis will meet us there.” Cage fell into his chair with his base guitar in hand; our amps humming quietly behind us. “We can finalize the set. That way we can polish the songs up.” Listening to his childish joy made my head hurt a little less, but it was difficult to focus on everything he said as he went through each song, his plans for us on stage, and the spotlight he hoped this would throw us into. It was an interesting fantasy; our school talent show thrusting us into stardom.

“Yeah, man. We’ll kill it.” I spun the dial on my guitar to one of the lowest settings so I could do a warm up. My fingers glided over the strings as I started from the breakdown of a song and built into the chorus. Nylon hissed as I slid my fingers over the silky material. It was if I’d never been knocked unconscious or shouted at my dad. It just all felt… numb.

It was a pleasant state. Cage kept talking while I warmed up, and I found it easy to smile and nod even after the beating I’d taken. My music player was lost, and that didn’t seem to bother me as much as I thought it would.

Looking to Cage, I could see the dim flickers of a purple ember trying to ignite across his shoulders. The conversation gave it enough life to form several flames no bigger than my pinky. Vanilla ran over my tongue as if the tobacco scent his Anima produced hadn’t been lit on the purple flames yet. It was still bitter, yet some hint of sweetness was found in the dominating aroma.

Duality in all things. Grayness blurred between whites and blacks even in moments as simple as talking about music or looking over a room. I enjoyed those purple flames in moments like that. His energy was a gentle pressure of passion and resolve. I wish I could have remained in the tender glow over the years, but the vanilla would be swallowed by the burning leaf and the flames would lash out as best they could against stronger infernos.

“Morning, Tom.” She snuck up on us like a cat. I jumped a bit and turned toward Brittany. She leaned in a bit between Cage and I, and Cage’s eyes rolled at the intrusion.

“Morning.” I smiled back as best I could—anxiety telling me not to smile big enough to look like a goon, but smile enough that it didn’t pinch my lips together like a creep. It had to be perfect, or I’d lose my chance. “How’s it going today?” Make sure your voice doesn’t crack. Please, just don’t crack. I swallowed back as best I could to moisten up my throat.

“Alright.” She twisted her head away from me and gave a quick wave to Cage. He offered a quick grin and pleasant hand-raise, but it felt ingenuine. A cute giggle ended the interaction with Cage, and she turned back toward me. “What are you doing after school today?”

I looked at Cage. Part of me hoped he’d sense the need for him to give his blessing. I was the omega in our pack, and the alpha needs to sign the permission slips.

The other part of me wanted him to say nothing and for my body to catch up to my soul—grow some balls. But, that meant giving into the numbness that the icy fingers had recently injected me with. Human nature isn’t one to give into numbness. Allowing yourself to hollow out is what leads you to shaking some demon’s hand or becoming an alcoholic that watches your child get beaten like a mule on the old trails.

Grayness.

“I have band practice with Cage and the guys.” I said it with a smile because I wanted to smile. It was my holy meditation, and I wasn’t about to change that about myself… unless she wanted me to. That idea of submissiveness made me swallow again to keep the throat from drying out and exposing my weak voice. “Getting ready for the talent show.”

“Oh!” She crouched down a bit with one arm on the back of my chair. It was as if I could feel it against me, though it was a few inches away. I could smell some perfume coming off her. It wasn’t something overwhelming, but it was a noticeably fruitier scent that the mixture my stepmother used. “What songs are you playing?” She glanced between Cage and me.

Cage went through the list of finalists in our list. He did it with the same excited energy he’d done with me moments ago; even overcoming his apparent disinterest in the girl to share our plans, “I’m hoping we can at least get a Disturbed song in.”

“One of my favorite bands.” Brittany giggled again and stood. Her arm left the back of my chair.

“We should probably open with “Holy Diver”.”

“Killswitch or Dio?”

“I think David would rather get some screams in. We’ll probably do a more Killswitch-style cover.” Cage and Brittany discussed the songs he’d chosen while I watched in awe as my moment slipped away. Her smell lingered, but I could see her gravitating toward the grander choice. Alphas mate while omegas sulk.

My back tingled as my shoulders gave in and hunched over. Numbness wasn’t something that lasted long; especially not when those teenage hormones take over. It’s so easy to fall back into the lonely gaze across the void, and sometimes it just feels like it’s for the best.

“Can you play the solos though?”

I saw Brittany close to me again. Large hooped earrings bobbled at the side of her head, and I saw odd designs like runes in the circles. Those gorgeous blue eyes were wide open. I’d have said anything to keep her looking at me like that.

“Y-yeah.” Voice didn’t crack. Good job.

“Awesome!” She smiled again. My blood rushed in response. “Maybe we could hang at lunch then, since you’ll be busy tonight.” Her cheeks pulled up to her eyes. A freaking puppy couldn’t have looked cuter with those innocent eyes.

“Sure.” I nodded several times. Too much. Stop. “I’ll meet you in the cafeteria.”

“See you then.” Standing straight, she bounced a bit. I tried my best to not look at the region calling my attention. Though she wore a black shirt like the rest of our group, hers protruded and pulled downward around the neckline. It was difficult to correctly read the band names on her shirts the first time around.

Brittany waved a hand at each of us and turned back toward the percussion section. Cage and I both spun in our seats to watch her walk away; swaying hips hypnotize men of all minds and intents.

“Well then.” Cage turned around before I could pull myself away.

“What?”

“You blind?” Cage shook his head and slid his left hand under his nose. “She’s practically begging.”

Heat flushed my cheeks. I tried my best not to blush like an innocent child, but my innocence was something the body couldn’t lie about. Our bodies give us away every time. “Nah. She wouldn’t.”

“Seems out there, but she definitely does.” It was easy to ignore his backhanded comment as he smiled to finish the sentence off. “Don’t screw it up.” His smile dampened as the eyes fell away from me. His fingers slid under his nose as he sniffed sharply. His free hand then went to arrange the sheets of music.

My heart pounded in my chest. Cartoon characters that saw their heart explode through their ribs didn’t seem so fictional as worlds collided in my head. She likes you? I thought of that lovely body strutting toward me and those cooling eyes of blue stunning me. Is this how Cage feels every day? I knew it wasn’t. Not as the burning tobacco flavor overwhelmed any trace of vanilla in the air—mixing with a faint rotting stench that seemed to have stuck into the plastic of the chairs and carpet.

What is having a girlfriend like? What if I mess up asking her out? What if she turns me down? Don’t be freaking weird today. You can do it, I hope. My thoughts were not very reassuring. She’ll run when she sees you outside this school—how you live. I could have shrugged that thought off… but it came back, carried on the frozen fingers of some chilling entity to mold the fear and doubt over my spinal cord.

What you’re becoming. She’ll run. She’ll see you for what has taken you.

A numbness overtook me. I stood in the gray between splendor and depression as the anticipation of either outcome dissolved into the back of my thoughts. Though those frozen fingers brought torment, they offered a remedy that erased emotional response. Truth comes whether we want it or not, but it’s a blessing to be able to accept that truth in any form it takes.

Don’t get me wrong. Change the truth if you can and want. That’s up to you, but what good does sulking do? Not a damn bit of good, that’s what. I know I bitch about what happened to me a lot, but it wasn’t all as bad as I make it out to be. Some evolutions and symbiotic transfers were pretty great.

Feeling my heart slow back down to a steady pace was an amazing improvement. It seemed as though an obese walrus had been lifted off my shoulders and the storms across the voids had sputtered out to a soft breeze across the waves. I stared at my papers, as if I needed them, with a cooled sensation of numbness—of acceptance.

My fingers holding my pick, ready to play, swung up and slid under my nose. “I’ll do my best.”

Chapter 41

Brittany was waiting for me around the corner from the entrance to the cafeteria lines. The tables at our high school were spaced out ovals that could fold in the middle. Seats were attached and fell from the sides. I had to weave between the crowded tables and those that stood around them chatting with their friends.

I parted the sea of students to get close to her. She was leaning against the wall with one leg lifted so the foot rested flat against the gray stone. The jeans she wore pulled tightly against her as she kicked off the wall and turned toward me. A heavy, black sweatshirt covered her torso. It had white lines scribbled across it for some band I’d never heard of—if I could even have read those indecipherable splatters.

Blue swirled from a darker outside to a lighter inside around her pupils. From a frozen landscape under a full moon to a sea under the burning sun, her eyes told a story of the life of water across our world. I thought of writing some song lyrics for those eyes. It could have been an attempt at a power ballad or something along those lines. That smooth shit. Black hair bordered her pale skin like a drawn character having their important features exaggerated by thick shading. Those odd earrings poked out from under the hair.

“Ready?”

“Ready for what?” It was difficult to comprehend the game being set up right in front of me. The smells and energies were forgotten as my male predisposition silenced a rather newly formed instinct.

Brittany’s eyes seemed to glisten in the lights sent from our two or three-story ceiling in the common area. She leaned forward a bit with the front of her feet lifting off the ground. “I thought we could go for a walk. It’s so pretty out. The snow’s already sticking.”

I was glad I already had my coat and sweatshirt with me. Skipping lunch wasn’t a problem; the benefits seemed to outweigh any hunger I’d have for the rest of the school day. Figuring Cage’s parents would have snacks, I didn’t mind skipping a meal. My physique painted me as a guy that loved food, so it was impressive that she’d taken my mind off greasy pizza or soft pretzels with dipping cheese.

“We can go out the back doors. Then walk out along the woods toward the baseball field.” There was a nice little pond out behind the school also. I figured it’d be a nice setting for me to take her around, then follow the course she’d planned. Cage’s home turf was our destination. I hoped I’d be able to imitate my friend and idol in that promising time. “If that’s alright.”

“I’m down.” A knot was twisting in my stomach and my throat felt swollen, but I wasn’t going to say no. There were large glass doors and windows that stretched the width of the wall at the back of the commons. White and gray bricks formed a large corridor toward the exit, and I could see the puffy whiteness falling beyond that wall of glass. It was the type of snow fall you could look up with your tongue out—not too windy to breathe and not to chilling to expose your face. “Let’s go.”

Brittany turned and waited for me to walk to her side before heading toward the doors. It felt like eyes were on me as we walked along the edge of the tables. Students I barely knew or grew indifferent toward gawked and whispered at their tables, but I couldn’t tell if they were talking about us or discussing other topics. Odd how our brains automatically seem to put ourselves in the center of everyone’s thoughts as if we actually matter to anyone else.

“Isn’t it lovely?” She had both hands stuffed into the large pocket in the center of her sweatshirt. I kept pace while hurriedly shoving both arms into the jacket.

I tried to think of some poetic thing to say. Wanting to be the smooth gentlemen from the movies, lyrics of some impromptu poem were forming in my head. Then a second passed, and I knew the opening had closed. Numbness was gone, and the panic of silence and uncertainty made me question myself.

Talk.

“It sure is.” Smooth like the movies. A regular ol’ James Bond, aren’t you?

She giggled a bit. “You don’t need to be so stiff.” I lunged forward a bit to press the bar on the door to swing it open for her. Her cheeks swelled up as her lips pulled back.

“Sorry.” I shrugged a bit and dropped my eyes to the rugs that were laid out between the sets of doors. A loud contraption was set up against the wall to spit out constant air across the matts, and its harsh hum flustered me further. “I don’t get out much.”

“That’s kind of obvious.” Brittany took two long strides to curve past me and open the second door. I gave her a nod of thanks and walked through. “I was just hoping we could hang out a bit and get to know each other.” The first few steps she took kicked at the thin layer of white across the ground.

I lifted my hood and put my hands in the separated pockets on either side of my sweatshirt’s zipper. It wasn’t cold, but I didn’t want to worry about what to do with my hands.

A few benches were out back around the walkways that split for a few memorial trees planted to honor lost teachers or students. We began to walk around one when I saw a newly planted tree in the corner along the exterior wall of the gymnasium. Directing our path toward the new addition, I began walking along the left-most path.

Resting under the fresh snow, a plaque stood a few inches in front of the thin, barren tree. Turning to face it, I knelt down and examined it. I’d only been in the back of the school a few times. A few trees were spaced out across the gardens they planted to make the setting more pleasant for those that waited for busses at the end of the day.

“What is it?”

“Each tree is for someone that died. I guess we got a new one recently.” I reached forward and brushed the snow from the engraved plate that was bolted into a neatly carved stone.

“Who’s Gwen Stetson?”

“She killed herself recently.” I remained kneeling as I reread the memorial left for a teenager’s life. In loving memory of Gwen Stetson. That was it. That’s all that was left for her at that school, and it was a silent twig in the back where people only gathered to leave. After a few seconds of rereading that one sentence, I twisted to look at the scattered copies of this odd shrine.

“Did you know her?” Brittany’s voice was soft and caring—a warmth in the cool air.

“Not really.” Standing, I patted my knees to get the powder off. “No need to talk about that. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s fine.” Her voice was a lovely pitch. It spread between the flakes like the building notes of some acclaimed opera. Those beautiful eyes stood as the inviting stage that would play out in the pure skies of white. All things that I could have said, but I simply stared and gave a tight smile that made her giggle.

“I figured we could head around the long side of the pond.” I pointed to where the white landscape sloped downward a bit. “Then we can head up to the baseball diamond.” She nodded in agreement, and I began the first romantic walk of my life.

“Sounds great!” She clapped and bounced a bit. The sweatshirt did little to hide her body.

“So,” the white flakes swirled around Brittany’s black hair; occasional specks landing in the void of her locks like stars in the night sky. “Where did you come from?”

“My mom and dad.” A snigger punctuated the joke. “I moved from L.A. My mother worked for some tycoon out there. Company called Ever Strong.”

She waited for me to comment, but I was still reeling from the fact that I was going for a stroll with a girl. That, and I really wanted to make sure my voice wouldn’t crack.

“Never heard of it.” I shrugged as we stepped off the curb toward the parking spaces. From there, we had to walk around some cars nearest the entrance to the gymnasium and an equipment shed.

Brittany exhaled heavily at my ignorance of her mother’s previous employer. “They deal in all sorts of things. They mostly do investments and then assist in managing assets or properties. They’re a pretty huge company, but my mother said she needed to get away from it all. Apparently, there’s some questionable dealings or shady shit going on over there. Guessing they aren’t above sexual harassment either.”

She cocked a head over at me with a stern expression. I swear I wasn’t looking, but I felt she might have aimed it toward me. The seriousness quickly melted into another giggling fit. Heat filled my cheeks again.

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” She shook her head and pushed me gently with her left hand. It was incredible how laid back she was. It felt normal talking to her. Like talking to females was just talking to another person and not some tossup between a possible harpy or a goddess.

“Sorry.” It felt like an actual grin on my face. It didn’t hurt or hide anything, and it felt like it wasn’t the type of smile that made people wonder if they needed pepper spray.

“Dork.” She kept close to me as we walked. Her eyes would catch me glancing at her, and I’d do the same. “I’m glad we moved though. California’s a hellhole.”

I nodded at the concept. “Sounds like it. I don’t see many headlines disputing that. I,” I stumbled a bit over my words. “I hope you like it here.”

“It’s nice.” She turned around to take in the scenery. Naked trees were catching snow across the pond. The school was slowly shrinking behind us. “It’s pretty out here.”

“Almost as—”

I stopped myself and shook my head a bit.

“As what?”

“Nah.”

“No, say it. Almost as what?”

She nudged me with her shoulder. I could feel a bit of her energy prod at me. I instinctively pulled back. It didn’t seem to faze her, but I grunted a bit to play it off.

“I,” in for a penny, “I was going to say, ‘Almost as pretty as you.’ But that’d be cheesy, huh?”

“Very cheesy.” She laughed.

I laughed.

“I’m glad you think so.”

I glanced over to see her gazing directly into my eyes. One side of her lips pulled back as a hand brushed hair over her ear. Her fingers began rubbing over the metal of her earing. She was freaking adorable.

But there I went being happy again. The frigid fingers poked into my spine, and the world shook with a pressure that pulled down at my shoulders and stressed my lungs. A split second of entrapment flushed me full of an anxiety as if I were being put on display in a dark room beneath one harsh light.

I’d finally gotten a date, and all the world had to go fade away. Blocked behind some unknown door beneath the black waves, it was torn from my memories. Truth deserted me.

Chapter 42

I’d been staring at my ceiling for some time. Cool moisture slid down the hair around my ears; chilling my pillow. I’d taken a shower at some point, but memories couldn’t fill in the cracks in time. I’d opened my eyes while light still shined through the slightly lifted blinds. I’d laid there long after the sun had fallen.

Fright or panic should have thrown me from bed, but I felt content. Just looking at the ceiling, it’s all I wanted to do. A breeze blew through the partially opened window. The temperature was perfect for snow. Change was coming. Sensing this was like swinging in a hammock on a beach. Though I couldn’t recall the day, I breathed in the quiet.

My door remained shut for the entire night. I knew the demons were out there, but I couldn’t be bothered with them. Footsteps creaked beyond the walls. Doors opened and closed as voices murmured unimportant details. My meditations kept them at a distance; like hearing them through layers of gel. The door provided a perfect seal to their distractions. Only that grayness I found in the ceiling truly mattered.

Night finally came as a thief to swipe the last of the light from the room. My limbs remained still. I simply reveled in the moment as if I’d accomplished some great feat. I’d slain no World Serpent and found no Covenant.

No questions. No attempt to reclaim the lost memory. Whatever I’d done, whatever I’d succeeded in, was worth the hours of peace.

The darkness had come, the fingers had pulled my strings, and the doors of my mind were unlocking one by one. Party time.

Countless gateways were opening beneath the waves of my mind. I could almost see my ceiling stretch into the eternal void. The waves slid and fell in odd directions as the doors within its great body created vacuums. I laid on the beach and watched the sea of black churn violently. Memories, thoughts, attributes, gifts, curses, creatures, angels, demons, gods, people, and all that makes the worlds beside our own began to congregate in the sea nearest my shores.

Which will threaten my lands and which will defend the shores?

The voice in my head sounded deeper to me. It was sure, philosophically inclined, and agreeable to what was to come and what had occurred. Consequences were pushed far out to sea to be swallowed by the unspeakable horrors that had freed themselves. They were hunting now. My inner voice considered these events with little worry of what might surface.

They’ll come, and we’ll be ready. They are but bacteria before the eternity that I have founded. One is not enough, and all will mean my end. I will cull what must be reaped, and I will leave what must remain. Spines of great fins, steam of damned breaths, bubbling circles, flickers of various lights, roars that shook the surface, and other signals of impending danger found their way to the surface, yet I watched on in hopes that one such beast would find me upon the shore. Let them come, and let them die.

The light of day had gone and left madness to cultivate. The numbness of humanity had wrought the despicable needs I now suffer. Life’s ultimate goal is death, and Death’s goal is to carry out His eternal duty until life and death become indistinguishable.

No matter the invader, I was confident that the darkness escaping those open doors would provide me the solution. They might have come from such a world, but I fed upon what they brought. Their freedom meant my feast. Their freedom, my tyranny.

Tendrils, thousands, lifted from the sea. Black vapors twisted in search of destiny, and they found me upon the shore. I let my soul call to them. Each aimed itself as a viper, but the bite was my own.

Come. Fill me if you can, and become the fuel for The End.

In meditation, the lines between our worlds blurred. I could feel the coarse sand shift under me. Getting to my feet, I nestled my shoes into small pits to stand evenly against the darkness that came from the portals beneath the black waves.

Do you see it all? Do you feel it all?

I can.

My inner voice answered itself in a mad dialogue. They were coming for me—the various spawns of worlds beyond mankind’s grasp. Some were devouring others. Some took to fleeing. Some took to the depths in hopes of capitalizing on some underhanded victory. But, many came for me. They rushed the shores in arrogant ignorance of the power that awaited them. They didn’t break the doors down—they were herded in.

Cycling clouds above spat lightning bolts in a failed hope of brightening the skies. They did, however, offer more energy for me to gather. I could smell the thick and salty waves, the sizzling atmosphere, and the damp wind that carried them all to me—and each took their place in my soul. Child winds galloped across my warmed skin. I looked on in my numbed desire to destroy.

Good. You are compatible. We are compatible.

I knew the voice that mimicked my own. We watched together through one set of eyes as the storms gathered into a maelstrom. The sea mirrored the skies above as each spun and sped. I felt the chill of the unknown fingers, but they were on my right shoulder.

Show them what you have become. Show them what we are.

A shadowy figure, one of existence and nonexistence, came into my peripheral vision. Darkness and light could not penetrate the being, yet I felt the purpose that was shared through his touch. I knew what was to be done. I knew it as one knows to breathe or blink. The guests were coming, and I was to greet them as He does.

My arms lifted out to call forth the power that had been thrust unto me.

Forever and ever shall I reap. Forever I shall have purpose.

Sparks of lightning, the flow of the seas, the speed of the winds, and the strength of the lands all flowed to my open palms. I faced them toward the sea of pitiful creatures. It felt natural and right to let my soul reach out and do as was meant to be done. I released the power of my soul and the cosmic entity beside me.

Flames erupted across the seas. The blackened skies and seas recoiled at the sudden explosion. I saw it as only a single, purple flame igniting in the middle of the vortexes above and below, but it engulfed the horizon in an instant with a brilliant orange. The shockwave lifted the sand of the beach and threw it inland, it forced the concaving of waters and clouds, and it tore the weakest among the refugees asunder.

Mighty flames split the black sea to cremate the survivors of the initial blast. Whatever beasts fled to the skies were set alight to fall as meteors through the living inferno. Falling stars plummeted from darkness to join the decimated ranks below. A constant gust of warm air rushed over my face and lifted my hair. My eyes remained open through the force of the blast to enjoy the scenic extermination.

In those seconds, experienced in delayed time, I felt the countless lives taken. Their spirits were carried back beyond those odd doors to other lands, but much of their energy remained. Absorbed into the black tendrils, their ends fed my beginning. I feasted on their souls as the blaze continued to slowly manipulate the entirety of the horizon.

Beautiful.

It truly was. The brilliant ruin was art. Splendid colors painted the skies and seas as the fire covered everything in a hue of a reds and oranges. The crashing waves attempting to return to equilibrium, the howling of the air, the last of the agonizing screams of inhuman beasts, and the thundering call of the heavens blended into a wondrous opera of demise.

All had been extinguished by flames. I’d carried out my duty—my need.

Soon, my entire vision was filled with the growing fire as it swept over the retreating waves. Glorious light filled the world of darkness I saw upon that beach.

Then came the crescendo to my piece.

A howl-bark of the unholy beast rippled through the expanding inferno. I watched, standing beside the entity of the end, as one heavy hand extended through the closest wall of the flames; only twenty or thirty feet from my place on the beach. Then the front tongs of the antlers—branches stabbing through the fire that couldn’t burn them.

Bright red orbs blazed in the skull of the white beast—fur lifting in the heat without blackening. Dark pits encased the eyes as caves opening to the furious breath of the dragon hidden within. His revealed teeth were clenched tightly. I could see the thick muscles of the beast roll over his frame as he walked through the fire as if it’d made a fine red carpet.

He came to a halt when half of his body had exited the undying fires—a world of new and fantastic colors spreading over the canvas behind him. Two human-like hands propped him up like a gorilla standing on its knuckles. Flames rushed from his open chest with every breath. These tongues of fire sped up and over his body to join the unending eruption.

We kept our eyes locked for some time. Even at that distance, I could clearly see his crimson eyes locked on me. Within him, I could sense the storm I had seen once before—a frenzied tempest that pulsed through every limb of the beast. I pulled in the lightning I felt. An offering to my glutinous appetite.

I felt the high voltage of his energy jump through my nerves and into my spine. I arched my back and stood with my chest out. A spiritual fork in the universe’s outlet. Storm clouds, enough to cover the world a hundred times over, sparked bolts within the beast. I took them into myself and felt my soul rise.

He has come for you. He offers a tribute.

I’ll take it.

How does it feel?

As if I’m holding the last candle and the world is going dark.

I could have thought of a thousand different ways to express that feeling. I was the man with a nuke standing above those of the Middle Ages. I was a hurricane to the simple fisherman pulled out to sea. I was a volcano escaping the oceans. I was the god to the bacteria.

But, I felt, in that moment, that I had a choice. One candle to do with as I saw fit. I could share its light and inspiration, or I could dowse it in gasoline and kick the Apocalypse off right. What is a teenage boy given the keys to eternity to do?

I held the eyes of the beast as I stood beside my ethereal companion. I took what the beast offered and what the weak couldn’t retain. Icy fingers numbed me from the shoulder inward—veins flushed with the spiritual coolant. My unleashed fury heated me with the rage and purpose of my new truths. The creature’s homage shocked The Fourth as if to revive the stilled heart of this mortal.

It lives!

The world seen from the shores of some lonely blackened isle had known a cataclysmic event, and it was then that my truth was needed to be spread. I needed to carry my purpose and curse across the void into my grayed world of harsh lights and darkness.

Go.

The great beast opened its mouth wide and cried one great howl-bark to shake me clear of the world.

I blinked and opened my eyes to a world of mortals and flesh. I wasn’t able to distinguish the worlds at first, for fire raged in both of my realities. My hands were both clenched at my sides as I stood at the edge of a snowy curb; white breathes turning orange as they were swept away.

My body was wrapped in my usual sweatshirt and jacket combination as I came out of some loss of time. I felt sick with the gap of memories. Dropping to my knees, I began to cough. More white clouds escaped me as I tried to cope.

Flickering lights caught my panicked attention, and I lifted my head in hopes of finding some anchor to still the anxiety. None such assistance was found, as the house I’d come to hate smoldered and collapsed as roaring flames overtook it. Windows shattered as balls of fire spewed from within. The hell I’d come to know in life was consumed with the cleansing light of destruction.

It was the dead of night. The sky was canopied by thick clouds dropping puffy, white flakes. Thick, choking smoke sent a pillar up to stain the snow. I hadn’t noticed the people that had begun to flock out to their yards in pajamas to see the commotion. I hadn’t even realized that my hands had dropped my backpack and my guitar case into the snow at my sides.

What I noticed was the pillar of fire removing my life from the world. I’d suffered through that hell in hopes of carrying that backpack and guitar toward something grander, but now I watched as my life burned toward the inevitability of ash. Wood crackled and glass cracked in the heat, but some other sound bellowed from the bowels of the accursed house.

Screams of those trapped inside.

I could hear my stepmother’s voice screeching like the harpy she was. She sounded as if she’d been backed into a corner and had no way to escape as the devilish flames collapsed on her. A high-pitched voice screamed from the lower story. This young female sounded as if the flames had engulfed her—only her agonizing shrieks could attempt to dull the pain.

I didn’t hear my father’s voice. He must have died to the smoke while breathing heavily in his usual alcohol-induced coma. I’m not sure if he felt any pain or how his life was ended. I saw no reapers come for them, but I did hear the most horrifying sound of all.

A child’s call for his parent. It was the sorrowful wail of an innocent who cried daily because every day is the most vibrant experience of any emotion or stimulation to date. My brother cried out from his crib as the fire roared on. Those screams overtook the two women’s, and I watched on in horror as his voice echoed in my head.

Until it all stopped.

They were gone, and I saw blackened tendrils, holding thin strands of various colors, lift from the house with the smoke. This heavy darkness fell from the ash and embers to drift somberly toward me. In my distress, I couldn’t resist or pull away.

I took in what they left behind as their final screams signified their exit from this reality. I fed on what their souls left behind because of my inability to pick and choose my meals. Sorrow, torment, terror… these were seasonings that left a foul taste in my mouth and an empty pit in my stomach.

Frozen veins ran down my cheeks as I watched the bonfire continue. People ran to our home in hopes of helping, but there was nothing to save. Some came near me and spoke, but I heard nothing. I could only watch the fire continue its rampage.

I could only look on as the white spikes poked through the fire spewing from the front door. Those burning eyes that floated in pits of dismal darkness looked directly into me as I knelt on the snowy curb.

He only lifted his great head enough for me to know that he was all that lived within those flames. His mighty head lifted. His teeth separated.

A howl-bark like thunder shook my reality. I fell forward into the white snow. I listened to the beast’s call resonate in my mind until the snow, reflecting the dancing oranges of the glowing flame, turned to black.

I had been called to see, and I saw.

Chapter 43

Light poured over my face through the large pane windows. One eyelid peeled back before the other could respond. Warm light poured over me, but I couldn’t find the energy to lean away or shield my face. My chest felt heavy as if my soul tried to sip the sun’s rays but couldn’t quite get the straw in its mouth.

My mouth tried to wet itself, but even my tongue felt cracked as I dragged it over my bottom lip—catching on the peeling skin like ice skating into a patch of dirt. Wherever I was, it was blinding and incredibly uncomfortable. Both hands were rested on chair arms at my side. Slightly hunched over, I strained to lift myself back to examine the room.

Shapes and colors were trying to separate as my vision adapted. Grays, whites, and the heated yellow of the sun became distinguished after a minute of blinking moisture back into my eyes. White walls with tall windows opened the view to the distant landscape and sky. Snow was falling beyond the walls. Sunlight shot from between thin clouds to cast a shimmer across each flake and the clumps that spread over the dying grass.

Then I noticed the windows and what encased them. Gray lengths of crossing metal formed cages between the glass and me. They were thin but evenly spaced. This was cause for concern when waking up from a blackout.

Exhaustion, like I’d been awake for weeks on end, took hold of me. I could barely manage pushing against the chair arms to straighten up. There was no headrest. Letting my head droop to one side, I saw thin metal supports keeping my arm lifted with a rubber wheel curving around the side of the chair.

An off-white T-shirt hung loosely on my arm. I tried to swallow back what felt like sand. Rolling my head downward, I realized I’d been changed into a new shirt and a gray pair of sweatpants. Both of these bunched and rested into pits where I’d believed my own clothes had been more filled out.

Too tired to panic, I could only squirm in my seat. The oddity of my surroundings, the mystery of the transition, was farthest from my mind. In all the madness of the sunlight shining across metal bars, the wheelchair, and the sudden extreme weight loss, only some distant form of necessity pricked the back of my mind. All that transpired seemed to be a hazy memory trying to anchor itself in the light before it was swallowed back into the void.

I was hungry.

That came to the foremost trench of my defensive awakening. It wasn’t a growling in my stomach, but there was a growling beneath the flesh and in the bones. I opened my mouth to breath in the sunlight—the only energy readily available. Tasting a heated meal, like sitting at the table for the first time in weeks, was heavenly. It had the flavor like the warm air you see lifting off the blacktop; a wave of spices like rosemary and sage flowing over my tongue.

Focus came to me as I sipped from the star. It was some time before the numbness began to fade and humanity returned. I leaned back in my chair to take in my surroundings. Lots of snow had already accumulated. Wheeling myself closer to the window, I examined the thick, metal bars to find they were stiff and well made. American to last, for sure. They were only slightly cooler than the air of the room. It was impressively insulated for how large the windows were.

My arms stretched out to slide down two of the bars. Shock should have made me freak out or, at the very least, utter some sort of surprise. Instead, I looked over my own arms as the skin had tightened against the slight muscle built around the bones. Twisting my wrists, it was apparent that I’d drastically lost some stuffing. Both arms dropped to lift the shirt that bunched around my waist.

Fat had disappeared to reveal the slender form of someone bordering anorexia. I hadn’t been that skinny since I was a child, always running around with my mother and father. After her death, and the eventual damnation of my father’s unholy second marriage, I’d found comfort in food and motionless activity. Sedentary in solitude, the modern age’s blessed nature.

Disturbing as it was, grayness had stolen any anxiety concerning the matter. It was a fact and nothing more. I did, however, wonder how it could have happened. Humanity was still trying to take control over the accursed Horseman’s mentality. The body, the world, the emotions, and so on were all meaningless in the moment. Information was key.

But humanity was slowly waking up—a deep sleep brought on by the starvation of the soul. It was just like trying to get out of bed without hitting the snooze button.

Turning my chair slightly, I pushed myself forward and out of the chair. My legs wobbled a bit, but I forced them to steady. Looking over the room, I saw groups of couches, tables, and chairs with several spaced-out occupants. Each was wearing similar clothes; the same that felt like curtains draped over my thinned form.

I saw two men at a circular table with a checkerboard pushed to one edge between them. One man, aged by several harsh decades, stared into the board’s pattern with eyes that saw nothing in the red and black squares. He held one chip to his lips as he whispered silent words to it. The chip brushed against unkempt facial hair that connected to his short hair—all of it gray with brown stains brushed into the strands. Dark skin only emphasized the colors of his hair and the whites of his eyes as his pupils looked to nothing in particular.

The other man, younger by at least half of his opponent’s years, had a buzzcut. He was considerably white. I’d always been fair-skinned, but I seemed tanned in comparison. Thinking back, it was probably good that he sat away from the windows. That reflective snow could have caused him some problems.

Pale skin stayed motionless as that second man peered at the board without motivation to proceed. I couldn’t tell if he’d grown tired of the game or he’d accepted defeat at the hands of a man who whispered secret strategies to his game pieces.

I turned from them to see one man curled up on a couch with his thumb in his mouth. Wide eyed, he stared forward. His knees were jammed into his chest as his other arm wrapped around them.

There were several others, but the result was the same. Each had a feeling of distant, or devoid of, energy. No Animas took shape. Only sputters of energy without substance lifted from them. Each bit of energy dissipated like a breath into the chilled winds beyond the barred windows.

Each hallway was another problem. Doors with little devices beside them blocked every route. Red lights shined on each device. It was obvious I wasn’t going to get out without some sort of code or key to make the red turn green. Always red to green.

Some sort of hospital for the mentally impaired. It was matter-of-fact in my head—a voice that analyzed with cold composure. There were a variety of persons in the expansive room. They were all men except one woman I saw sitting behind a desk. Lined glass encased the curved counter. Her skin was far darker than the aged wizard at the table. Her frame stood out against the bright white of the room behind her.

She sat so that most of her torso was visible above the counter that stuck into both sides of a hole in the wall. The glass was planted into the edge of the desk and up into the ceiling. A square opening was the only connection between her world and these men’s.

She seemed sane enough from a distance. Blue patterned scrubs seemed a bit loud for the quieted and bland surroundings. My mind gathered these little bits of information as my legs began the journey. It was about forty feet or so to her desk, and I took the time to breathe and prepare.

“Excuse me,” I stopped a foot or so away from the window.

This woman, a plump build, paused her typing for a second as her right index finger lifted from the keyboard. She exhaled heavily through her nose and continued typing the final thoughts she’d prepared. Once they were done, she dramatically licked her lips and spun in her chair to face me. She rested both elbows on the edge of her workstation. A subtle giggle to the arms made me wince; recalling my own weight that had mysteriously burned off.

Her eyes looked at me over the rim of her glasses. Those brown orbs had seen a lifetime’s worth of wasted time. It was as if she meant to freeze me with those eyes.

“Yes?” It was drawn out and exhausted, but I couldn’t let her expectations sway me.

“Where am I?”

Her hands had tangled together in front of her, but one hand released the other so it could fall to the table. Each finger fell one after the next as the nails clicked on the desk; another little giggle rippled from the impacts.

“ADO.”

She felt that was a suitable answer. I took a moment to inhale and exaggerate my irritation. It must have been her cherry on the crap sandwich she called a job, because she almost seemed pleased with herself. Sitting there, a mound of flesh, talking down to me for no real gain. The humanity in me struggled to speak, but the grayness held the reins.

“Where and what is that?”

Those brown orbs were aimed upward, yet I could feel her looking down. Another flurry of tapping fingernails preceded her response. “Have you taken your medication today?” One eyebrow raised up as another series of taps fell in a wave across the counter. “Do I need to call the doctors down, or can you settle yourself?”

“Settle?” Humanity was stretching and trying to roll out from beneath the covers. A growing concern of oncoming confrontation clashed with the grayed uncaring of such arrogance. These little battles would become a constant as the two halves struggled for dominance. “Just tell me where I am.” My voice was quieter as I dropped my eyes to the desk. No longer worrying about the pain of spiritual hunger or the drastic change in my features, I tried to get an answer without seeming aggressive.

“You’re at the ADO facility. Same place you’ve been for some time now.” She kept her eyes going up and down; her head moving a bit with each directional change so she could see around her glass frames. “I think we should get Dr. Geiger down here.” She pulled her head back a bit so the rolls of her neck pushed outward. Another tap of those fingers shook my bones as if it were a command for me to drop and sit like an obedient animal.

I didn’t know any Dr. Geiger, but that only meant there was another point of friction building this soon after I’d woken up. Emotions were answering the call of my awoken humanity. The mindset of my mortal self took hold of the situation like a man who slept through his alarm.

“Who? Sure. Anyone that can answer me.” I shrugged to emphasize my dissatisfying service. “Where am I? What happened last night?”

“Last night?” The woman’s face contorted in what I believed was meant to be confusion and not disgust—perhaps her face was incapable of expressing the difference. Perhaps I’d have gotten to know her more, but time wouldn’t keep me around for long. “The same thing as every other night. Quite a change.”

Her hands had ended their unnecessary clicking, but she moved both her meaty hands to the phone that rested beside the computer monitor. One hand lifted the phone to her face while the other tapped across the buttons on the console. Nails clacked across the plastic in an aggravatingly, unnecessarily loud fashion. It only took four buttons to dial the code she needed, but it was enough to drag humanity into the foreground. The grayness had left, and the shock of the reentering emotions threw me into a bit of an unsettled state.

“Last night. The fire? Who are you calling? Where am I?” I moved forward without thinking. My mind couldn’t adjust so quickly to the sudden numbing or introduction of the natural humanity. “Nothing?” I was becoming a bit… well, upset would be a good description. Livid was the point I was building toward as she ignored me and waited for someone to pick up her call. “That’s all you have?”

I lifted my hands and set them on the glass; palms facing toward the white room with the large woman in blue print scrubs.

“Sir, please remove your hands from the glass.” I leaned forward to place more of my lesser weight into my palms. Blood was rushing as the memories began to flood back into me—seeping through those momentarily closed doors. A sudden reestablishing of my soul thrust my emotions into twelfth gear. Arteries and veins lifted to the surface of my skin to create that dragging sensation over my flesh. “Sir, please back away.”

Her voice was now suddenly less demeaning and more flustered. I lost focus of the tastes and smells. Everything was as a human experiences it, and my anger was on the rise. My right hand balled itself up and curved downward to then arc back into the glass. Only a bit of a wobble sounded out in response as the gridded glass remained intact.

“What’s going on?!” I shouted as the memories came. The fire threw smoke into the sky to blacken the dancing snow. “What happened?!” Their screams split the crackling of the fire and the silent city. My brother shrieked for his mother but found no embrace except the welcoming arms of the inferno. I could hear them. I could remember their souls reaching me—the pain that lingered in the air like a cigarette on your clothes. “Where am I?!”

The room was beginning to blur as I swung another fist at the glass. Warm as the room was, I could feel heat rising into my head. I took yet another strike at the glass before the woman dropped the phone and put her hand beneath the desk to her right. Caring little for whatever she might have prepared for me, air rushed though my lungs as the fury increased.

A door to my right, only visible at the edge of my vision, gave a click. The device on the wall beside it changed from red to green. Two men in gray uniforms entered the room. Turning to them, I could see that they carried a variety of tools with them. It felt like I was backed into a corner—barred into a heating room and surrounded with thick glass and red lights. My human side began to react as any animal would.

“Remain calm.” One of the men lifted a hand out toward me while his other hand reached for something at his side. “Get on the ground.” The rented officer prepared himself for glory. His face was misshaped in the warmth that swelled my head.

“Just,” heart racing, my limbs felt heavy as I tried to steady myself. “Just tell me.” I wanted to raise a fist, but my world began to spin around me.

Doors within me were opening and shutting randomly. Certain circuits were closed and others were connected. It felt like a series of misfires all shooting sparks across my brain. Two selves fought for the right to control the truth, yet neither could take the wheel. I began to spin out.

“Sir!” The second man shoved past the first. As I fell, he came to my side. The memories had taken hold of me, humanity had rejoined my reality, and the grayness morphed into darkness. Their screams filled my head again. Their suffering lingered as a mouthfeel from some delicacy sipped the night before.

One man took hold of me as I collapsed. The white walls stretched on. Two guards tried to steady me. The woman in blue moved away from the open slot. I saw her face near a small crack that webbed in the glass.

Then I heard the howl-bark of the great beast in the flames. His burning heart and thunderous voice tore through the darkness of my mind for a moment, and then all was black.

Chapter 43.5

I awake. Not from sleep but from unconsciousness—a darkness lifting so the reality of the alternate truth become real. Sights, smells, sounds, tastes, and energies rush over the fabricated scenario. One could lose themselves in this type of dream. You don’t realize it’s a dream until it’s over. Even then, you question whether what you experienced was real to some degree. It couldn’t have been simply a fictional story.

Dreams have to come from somewhere.

Lifting my heavy head, I feel as if I’d gone seven rounds with Rocky. Warmth runs down my body. Each movement stokes the fires across my limbs.

Once my eyes adjust to the dim light, I find barbed wire woven around me so tightly I can’t arc my back enough to look up the structure I’m been tied to. To either side, I can see dirty white reaching from the floor to the ceiling—everything painted the same as if I’m supposed to be in a chemically treated and preserved environment.

Crimson soaks my clothes. I’m wearing jeans, heavy boots, and a simple T-shirt. My skin seems tanner than usual; visible under the metal casing and streams of blood. The sight of my life spilling out makes me feel woozy.

My brain goes through issues beyond myself. Where’s Lucy? What happened at the party? Increased heartbeat, onset by absolute terror and ignorance, pumps more liquid through my open wounds. Each breath digs the metal spikes further into the flesh. I can feel each one prodding inside the meat. We were at the hotel. We landed in Germany and travelled to the eastern side of Poland. We met some guys.

What did they do?

I relive flashing memories of tanned teenagers meeting on a train. A lovely young woman cuddled up to me—Lucy. Her hair’s a reflective brown, and her eyes are like the forest trapped in glass balls. She always smells of lavender. It was the happiest day of my life when she agreed to travel Europe with me; wearing her new jewelry.

Then a scream.

“Lucy!” I hear her and looked around the white room of empty pillars with no visible escape. Harsh lights hum high above me. Another scream leads the echoing shrieks back to their origin.

Lucy’s just two pillars to my right and one ahead. She’s facing toward my side of the room and trapped in a similar fashion. A man’s in front of her. Straining myself to focus, I see his white sleeves rolled up over the elbows. A black hat shadows his neck and face in the distance.

I’d call out to him in instinct, but then I see his torso wrapped in a rubber apron. A tray of objects waits beside him. He reaches out to her and puts one hand over her mouth. He roars some order at her. She screams in muffled fear.

Those two guys. They did this. Where are we? The unknown caught me. The unknown bore the fear. It fed it until sense fades to the need to survive.

“Leave her alone!” My throat’s dry. I need to sound in control, but the fear brakes my voice.

At least it worked. The man spins his head toward me. I can’t make out his facial features at this point, but I can see the shining teeth of a mad grin. Blood pumps out of me faster. Chills replace the missing liquid in my veins.

“Alright.” His voice only amplifies the smile’s affect.

He takes his time moving the cart. Grabbing the handle, he begins pulling it with one hand toward me; exerting some effort to haul the load.

“Leave him alone!”

“Lucy!”

“John!”

We call out to one another. I can feel the longing in her voice. Longing for her safety in my arms. Longing for our escape from this nightmare. Longing for the peace of mind that we’ll laugh this all away someday.

That day would never come. Instead, two men come to me—John only notices one. The figure prepared for butchery closes the gap, but the other came through the pillar ahead of me. Both have come for the same reason, but their intentions differ.

The aproned man takes his position ahead of me. John keeps him in view. My mind; however, remains fixated on the newly entered man who phased through a solid pillar—draped in a black coat, suit, and a formal hat. This second man’s face isn’t concealed. Instead, it seemingly glows in the darkness cast by his hat. Thick wrinkles of skin ripple over his face like hills and valleys carved by glaciers millions of years ago.

However, my fleshy vehicle can’t fathom this intruder. Our eyes can only watch in horror as the man with the cart begins rummaging through the tools that had been prepared for him. Saws, drills, knives, pliers, nails, hammers, and other electrical or manual tools sprawl out in a silvery display. His playthings are ready, and so is he.

“You bastard. Let us go!” I try to push myself against the barbed wire, but I only succeed in wincing as the metallic thorns plunge deeper into me. “Let her go.” A voice of a cornered beast can often sound similar to someone begging. It’s the final effort of a soul knowing the end is near. Both find a similar end in many cases, and they bring forth the aged men and women in their fine black garments.

“I can’t let you go. I paid good money for this.” The man in the rubber apron runs his bare finger across the edge of a knife and replaces it in its spot atop the cart; soft enough it barely rings or scrape the metal tray. “Damn good money.” His smile shines from under the rim of his downward-facing hat.

“Please,” my eyes can’t contain the tears. Cold metal keeps me skewered as my reaper and killer gather. “Please, just let her go.”

There’re three steps. One to move to his right. One to step forward. One to land his feet side by side. A drill rests in his hands as he feels along the plastic body. He smiles down at the tool and gives it a single rev.

I suppress a scream into a muffled moan. My lips draw inward as my chest tightens at the sound. Tensing my core, barbs twist inward. The drill bit spins and the smile of my captor grows larger. I don’t want to watch. I can’t handle what’s coming.

Why can’t my heart just pump the blood out faster? Those bastards on the train brought us here. This overjoyed bastard isn’t going to let us go… he’s going to relish every penny he apparently put into this sick purchase. Two-for-one, what a steal!

A hand strikes my throat and forces my head into the pillar. I’d droop over against the wires, but he keeps me pinned. I hold my eyes shut. Howling winds roar in my ears as the muscles in my head tighten.

“Here we go!” The revving accompanies his cackles. Why can’t he make it painless? Go for the heart. Go for the brain.

He goes for the shoulder. Twisting metal tears flesh out like an auger through the ice on a pond. I can’t see it, but I know bits of me are being flung across his arm. In and out. Just go back! He drops the angle of the drill so the bit faces forty-five degrees upward. Vibrations shake my collarbone. Grooves chip pieces of the bone away. Each spec drags through the wound before firing out onto the white floor.

He removes the drill and booms another laugh. “Wow! This is crazy! It’s so much easier than I thought it’d be.” The drill doesn’t stop spinning, but it does find another point of entry. Just under my ribcage, the bit spins up toward a lung. I can’t tell if it punctured that soft organ because my previous screams tore up the dried-out throat.

“John!” Lucy cries out for me. Her voice is becoming distant as the man who walked through the pillar begins closing in. He’s not anxious like my lover and me. Even with my eyes closed, I can feel him waiting patiently for the moment he’ll carry me beyond the room of white. “John! Dear God! John!”

Another rev of the drill makes me flinch in anticipation. Instead of a stab, it’s dragged across the left side of my face until it separates flesh from my temple. Deafening as it is, the grind of the drill is overshadowed by the agony. My ear gets caught and yanked off in a split-second. My whole head tries to move with the separated flesh, but my tormentor’s hand keeps me still.

Take me. My body’s owner hasn’t known the man in black has been waiting for him, but he calls out for him nonetheless. It takes four more stabs of the drill to still my shared body. Four grueling penetrations of the high-speed metal. Organs collapse and air escapes us, but finally the reaper comes.

The reaper, with a cool hand, touches our shoulder and releases us from the nightmare. I don’t open my eyes. I simply listen to the voice of the man as darkness begins to replace the shadowy world behind our eyelids. Darkness beyond death is not like the darkness we create. It’s a soothing end to pain, and a lover’s promise for something more.

I love you, Lucy. I’ll see you soon.

And the darkness fades from shut eyes, to the moment of departure, to the moment before I wake. I’d felt a reaper’s touch, and it was a familiar embrace.

Chapter 44

“Mr. Markey?”

I blinked myself awake. There was barely any light coming through the window at the head of the room. As every shape took form, I saw decorations and furniture made of fine woods. A man leaned against the front of the reddish desk with his arms crossed. Glasses rested across his face, but they almost seemed to float within tiny rims.

“Where am I?” My throat felt dry and my soul famished. Unable to control it, my body began to absorb what little energy it could find in the room. I was too drained to witness the lights and Anima of the doctor—he that taught me the word. My Qui-Gon without the force or training.

“You were asking that in the dayroom, I hear. Is that correct?” He kept his arms tight against his chest, but his eyes provided a more relaxed atmosphere. He couldn’t have been older than his late thirties or early forties. Blonde hair was gelled to his left side; cut neatly and regularly from the looks of it. No facial hair meant you could see the thin outline of his cheeks. In no way did he seem fragile, but he didn’t seem the sturdy type with his thin physique and soft eyes of a deep, royal blue. “You’ve been asking questions, and you were responding to Nurse Jefferson. Yes?” He waited for me to answer with one of his eyebrows raised. In a breath, it felt as if the air about him were one of interest and not condescension.

Looking down, I found my hands and feet tethered by chains and cuffs. The chair I sat in was of a fine wood with a similar stain as the desk. Turning, I saw there was one man in a uniform that matched the two from before. He stood stiffly near the closed door with fogged glass, but his demeanor was far less welcoming than the man with the spectacles.

I took a moment to examine the room. The man on the desk waited patiently as I studied my surroundings. Beside him, on the desk, was an engraved metal with gold lettering. It read “Head of Psychiatric Treatment – Doctor Stanley Geiger”.

Psychiatric treatment? I’m in a secured psycho ward? I longed for some form of numbness to take me. If only those frozen fingers could have taken hold and forced the conversation, my heart wouldn’t have begun to race. It should have at least been understandable. A boy found alive after a fire killed his family would need a place to go and be examined psychologically, but the cuffs and chains didn’t exactly make me feel like I was at a simple family physician.

“Where am I?” I looked to the man’s chest where his arms were folded. Eye contact had always felt like a power struggle between wolves, and I’d never pined for the seat of alpha. The situation in that office, the guard behind me (with a series of devices on his belt I had no interest in seeing up close), and a lot of unknowns made me want to sit there quietly and listen with my tail firmly between my legs. I’d whimper, too, if it’d benefit me.

“You’re a patient at ADO. Do you know where this is?” After a few seconds, I slowly shook my head. Geiger’s voice was soft as he tried to pull me out of myself. “It’s in Illinois. We’re near the Wisconsin border. Do you remember how you got here?” His questions were simple enough, and he always made a point to not overload me. One at a time to help narrow in on the solution. Shaking my head again made him nod his own. “Alright. Then we have much to talk about.” As far as shrinks go, he could have been one of the better ones. He was definitely the best at ADO. “Are you going to be calm?”

I tried to swallow, but it only strained my throat. One nod was my answer.

“You can leave us. Please return if you hear anything or if I call you. We should be fine, though.” I could see Geiger was confident. Unbeknownst to me, my spirit had already begun to gradually replenish itself. He waited for the guard to shut the door behind him before continuing. “You’ve been quiet for some time.”

The reaction was involuntary. My eyebrow raised up and my ears pulled back at hearing this news. For some time. Two selves began to conflict inside of me. That explains the weight loss. I slowly crossed my arms over my stomach as I tried to connect my memories to this loss of time.

“This troubles you.” Dr. Geiger nodded a bit with pursed lips. He explained the expression of human reaction on my face, but he couldn’t have perceived the acceptance stemming from a grayness. “We’ve been treating you since your arrival here. My colleagues and I. After several weeks, you were placed with those that were beyond our reach using conventional means.” He gave me a moment so he could gauge my reaction. My eyes only moved between his stomach and the desk while I thought over those final moments of fire and screams of agony—of my little brother’s wails.

“You withdrew into yourself as far as any of us could tell. In the beginning, I would have diagnosed an extreme case of avoidant personality disorder. Understandable, considering the tragedies you’d been a part of.” The good doctor swapped his legs around so the weight changed to his left foot. “I thought we’d lost you to yourself, but I’m hoping this is the first step on the road to recovery. We’ll discuss this in greater length over time. I’d prefer to avoid any relapses.”

How long have I been here? Questions filled my head. I clenched at my sides. What happened that night? Where did that beast go? I was dreaming. Doors within that scorched sea of black opened and closed, but so much of my past seemed to blur at the edge of memory. Dillon was crying. I missed band practice. Brittany and I went for a walk.

It was a flurry of images and feelings. Lights, unreal events, and energies that reached into me from unknown sources sped through my thoughts in incomplete pictures. The necklace. Mother died. My stepmother burned. Life is a collection of experiences. My two lives now fought for the right to control. Blood. That howl-bark. Thunder and fire carved through darkness. Burned tobacco and stale beer.

Uncontrollable and furious, my mind raced through these important blocks of which my life was built. The smell of shit that tastes like a rotting corpse. My fingers can play it all. What was real? Doors opened and chests unlocked. Three dots above the eyebrow hang on a tree. It mirrors their face. Where would I end?

Dark matter moves alongside me. Frozen fingers and the form that swallows light. He’s here with me. I am here with Him. Eternal. Flames. Fury. Eternal. End.

Destroyer. Reap. Souls. Darkness. Light. Grayness. Vessel. Tendrils. Fear. Love.

Death.

“Thomas,” Dr. Geiger pulled me out of my manic inquisition. “Are you alright?”

I could only look him in the yes for a few seconds. Beads of sweat were beginning to swell over my skin. I began to feel a bit itchy in my standard issue psycho gear.

“Do you need to call it quits for tonight?” The doctor pushed his glasses up. This sincere empathy kept me from drifting further into the slideshow of past experiences. “Please, don’t retreat. You need to continue speaking.” Trying to moisten my throat, I swallowed in the parched, winter air. “You haven’t conversed with anyone since you’ve been here; in any understandable way, that is.”