Not Exactly Time Travel

clockIt happened when he was sixteen. He was a few days off seventeen, not that meant anything now. They just…stopped.

Every person.

Every animal.

The sea froze mid-motion and the day never became night. He remembered crying out for several hours as he had run from his house screaming for someone, anyone to tell him why his mother wasn’t moving.

He’d cried a lot in those first few weeks. Especially when his seventeenth birthday still came around. He had moved his mother and sister into the living room, not that it mattered, there was no TV to watch, the electricity no longer worked.

He no longer needed to eat. He no longer felt hungry nor thirsty. It was like he had frozen as well. But he was not frozen, as the years waned with no days to count his hair greyed and his skin wrinkled. He had been everywhere in that time, he had walked across oceans and stayed in golden palaces. Though he soon realised what was the point of being the riches man in the world when no one was to see him in his throne.

He lost use of his voice and memories of movement became whispers. He wondered if he had just imagined it.

He returned home to die. He couldn’t remember which had been his house, nor even what his parents had looked like. All of it was gone. But it was still a sunny midday here.

Now old and frail he could no longer move. He remembered long ago, stories about people being eaten alive by wolves and bears. But there was no longer animals to eat him alive, he would not starve, only rot into dust. Perhaps then the world would start revolving again. Just this time without him.

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Burning at Dawn

The sounds he made were disgusting even to his own ears. But he couldn’t help himself, the taste was too much. The blood dripped down the man’s side and his tongue chased after it, his claws ripping in deeper into the flesh, holding down the prey as if the man was still moving. He was definitely breathing, his pounding heart bringing fresh warm blood to the vampire’s mouth.

HighwaySuddenly the trees exploded in red and pink. He tore himself away so quickly, a little bit of flesh came up with his teeth. The sun was blooming far off in the horizon. If he still he needed to breathe, it would be getting stuck in his throat.

Terror wasn’t an emotion he was used to, surprisingly there wasn’t much that could scare the undead, not many people carried stakes nowadays. But the sun and its rays of pure light was an ever-present danger.

He stood, letting the half-dead man roll over. He couldn’t care about that right now. He’d chased his game over several acres of farmland, with no shelter in sight. He started to back away. Was he really going to try and outrun the Sun? Looking over his shoulder at the rolling hills he realised yes, yes, he was.

***

No one could work out what had happened. The bodies were far away from each other, though it seemed like the biggest coincidence of the century for them not to be connected. The first man looked like he’d been torn apart by a savage animal and quite a big one at that, which was unlikely in the middle of Coventry. The other…well the other was the real mystery. Spontaneous combustion they called it. And it was apparently a thing. But usually the victim wouldn’t know it was happening until it was too late. And if that was the case, why had the nearby residents heard screams and sobs as he had ran through the fields.

Unemployed and Bored

If she thought about it, this was like a game, potion making if you will. The constant boil and cooling, making sure everything was at the perfect temperature so it was just right. And with the smell coming from the bubbling pots and pans she could understand why many called cooking an art.

But if she didn’t think about it she realised how shit this was. Four pots covered her stove not to mention the bowl and stacks of jam jars that covered every surface of the kitchen and disgusting gloop seemed to follow them wherever they were sticking to her lovely clean worktops and somehow her ceiling.

Oh well it would give her something to do tomorrow.

She stepped back from the steaming concoction she was making and huffed as if she had been running. Her forehead was certainly sweating, perhaps this was a workout. Though, she was sure there was so much evaporated sugar in the air that it would give her diabetes.

She sighed, there was no turning back now. She wiped her forehead and felt cold jelly stick to it. Shit.

The door opened and shut.

“Honey I’m – oh…”

“Hey dear.”

Dan surveyed the kitchen while she refused to look back.

“So,” he said slowly, “did we have too many strawberries?”

“Yep, and apples and gooseberries.”

“I’m not even sure I know what a gooseberry is.”

She tittered, stirring one of her pots again as Dan backed out.

“You need to get a job!” he called out as he ran up the stairs.

“Are you hiring?” she called back.

Strawberries

Famously

Interrogation Room

The woman spat blood to the floor, the tears now falling much heavier down her face. Her shoulders heaved once again as sobs shook her head and the creak of rope strained against her.

The blond man shook out his hand, hissing as he did.

“She’s got a tough face,” he noted to his black haired companion. The red head was now drooling pink spit falling to her blouse as she continued to sob.

“I don’t know what you want from me! I’m not Hiza.”

“Of course not,” the Black-Haired Man said, his voice dull and grey. He sighed and folded his arms across his chest, “hit her again,” he said in the same tone.

The Blond Man sighed as well but stepped towards the Red Head again.

She screamed, what little movement her legs had she used to try and push herself away from the two men. It didn’t work, and his fist fell with a dull thud. The Red Head sniffled.

“I’m not Hiza!”

“Sure.”

“Do I even look like them!?”

The Blond Man joined his companion with his arms folded.

“Well famously no one knows what Hiza looks like.”

The Black-Haired Man let out a long sigh.

“Well why do you think I am them!?”

The two men looked at each other, at the sight of his partner’s arms the Black-Haired man shook his arms out.

“We have good information that you are Hiza.”

“No, I’m not I’m Caroline Hansen.”

The woman’s sobs became louder, crying into her chest. The two men stood frozen for a minute,  making the woman rock in the chair, her sobs becoming screams.

“…As in Fredrick Hansen’s daughter?”

She sniffed, “you know my father? He’ll kill you when he finds out what you did to me? He’ll break every bone in your body! He’ll burn you alive.”

The men looked at each other for a long time.

“If he finds out,” the Blond Man repeated.

The Black Haired man nodded and drew his gun.

 

You couldn’t have waited?

Wedding Cake

Samantha beamed at her groom though she wasn’t really paying him any attention. She was smiling for how perfect the day was going. Her train was being held by her beautiful niece and her dress were dazzling white. Her hair was curled, her makeup was flawless. Everything was prefect. Even the groom was, a twenty-five hunk with an oil baron father, days from dying. She smiled for the crowd who was simpering as the groom read his vows. She dabbed the corners of her eyes. She wasn’t listening to what he was saying but didn’t matter really. He just needed to say his and then she’d say hers and then they’d be flying to the Bahamas.

The church doors opened and at first Samantha paid no attention to the screams from the aisle, they had been very over dramatic all day. Only when the gunshots started did she scream herself, pushing the groom away as she dived. Everything happened in slow motion and Samantha was able to turn just in time to see her groom riddled with bullets, ruining his three-piece suit with his blood. She sobbed as the vicar fell gracelessly across him. She had been so close. The bullet storm still streamed overhead, but she could see the cloak room from where she was. If she could just crawl unnoticed to it…maybe she could see what the law said about marrying a dead man. She slipped when she took her first step, biting her red lipstick in pain. She turned over, her whiten dress was now stained by blood.

“Shit,” she hissed. The shooting had quietened though the screaming had not. Samantha held her blood stained dress and looked across at the groom. He wasn’t moving, deathly still. She sniffed and sobbed again. So close. Heavy footsteps approached her, and she groaned and rolled her eyes as the shooter came into view.

He was masked and held the gun to her head, still all she did was exasperatedly mutter, “You couldn’t have waited until he said I do.”

 

“Who’s Your God?”

Helen hissed and raised her gun to the knight who was now standing opposite her. He was faceless, his helmet twisted and like the rest of his armour, it looked melded to his very skin. His sword was thin and poised in his left hand.

“This isn’t cornering you solider!”

He didn’t move, still ready to attack. Helen sighed and fired. The knight only left a cloud of dust in his place as he leapt over the yellow explosion left by the Magma powder. Her gun was slow to reload and the solider came down on her, sword raised. But the gun proved to be sturdy as well and as the man’s sword hurtled toward her, the flank of her gun came to meet it. The force behind the blade shot through her so powerfully, that once it racked its way out of her body it shattered the earth beneath her.

She groaned as the solider jumped away and stood with his back towards her, standing like a dancer, barely effected by the fight, while Helen stumbled.

The guard had made a good choice when choosing his God. Her legs shook, and her skin now felt like it was burning. Where was hers? Quiet as always.

She stood straight and cocked her gun again. She aimed and shot before the solider had turned around. The red shot of lightening scattered as it hit the blade now between it and its target. The sound of the clash reverberated through the small village and Helen was sent backwards by the force. She groaned again as the sand burnt her eyes and she spat it to the ground. By the time she looked up the knight was already over her, pressing his foot into her chest.

She huffed, “fine you win, happy?”

The helmeted man cocked his head, “who is your God?”

Helen raised her eyebrows: woman, helmeted woman. She was only baffled for a second before her gun was taken from her clutches by one of the townspeople and her hands were taken by another.

“Hey! Get off of that! I have no God! The weapon is just mine.”

The woman solider was unphased and stepped off her chest, allowing Helen to be taken.

“Mine is the God of Fire…you probably want to start using ice powders if you’re going to defeat me next time.”

Next time.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Helen yelled as she was dragged away.

“It’s Lucy!”

“I’m Helen, see you around Luc’.”

She broken out of cells before, she hoped this time was a little more eventful.

Hitching a Ride

Hitchhiking

Emily wondered if a thumb could be worn out. Hers certainly felt tingly as she stuck it out again. The car past her without it’s brake lights even flashing. She sighed stuffing her hand back in her jacket.

“Fuckers,” Michelle grumbled, mimicking Emily’s action.

“They don’t have to stop, they don’t know who we are.”

Michelle huffed. She was still frustrated at Emily for turning down a car a few miles back.

“She had kids in the back,” Emily had reasoned.

Michele was still grumbling. The sound of the wet gravel being turned up behind them made her stick her thumb out again. This time the car did slow, and she leant down to the open window. No kids this time. Three men and a woman dressed in ironed dress wear.

“Need a lift,” the driver said, he looked old, at least older than her, with thinning hair and deep wrinkles under his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m heading to Merryside, you heading that way?”

“Ah there about,” the man beamed, “we have room for one more.”

Emily smiled, “thanks.”

She opened the door and squeezed in next to the two in the back of the car.

Michelle huffed, “bit tight.”

“Oh, don’t complain now,” Emily hissed.

“Sorry?” the man said.

“Oh, nothing.”

They couldn’t let these people think she was mad now that they were in the car. She felt nervous.

“Oh, you can’t chicken out now,” Michelle said, “it’ll be fun.”

Emily felt the butcher knife in her jacket pocket and squeezed the hilt.

Yes, it would be fun.