Lovers in their final moments.
Lovers in their final moments.
Jordie scraped her long nails across Sam’s hands. He screamed but kept his thumbs pressed down over her neck.
“Tell me you bitch! Tell me how to get out of here!” Sam shouted, his hands now red with blood. When the blue faced Jordie didn’t respond, Sam slammed her head down twice into the metal grating, “Tell me! Tell me!”
Cristine couldn’t take her eyes away from his bloodied hands. She stared at them intently keeping her hands clasped over her mouth. Bryan’s blood was a different shade to Sam’s own and the fact that Cristine now knew that sickened her.
She had hidden herself under one of the line of metal school benches pressed against the walls. The room did remind her of old nightmares. Fears of coming into her classroom naked or being laughed at for handing in something wrong. Of course, it had been a while since she had had such dreams, but now they came rushing back to her, vividly remembering the fear and how childish it was when faced with what she saw. The bodies on the floor were only half of the mess of the small classroom. Along with the class benches there were too small chairs now scattered across the room, some broken against the door, one of them was covered in blood. At the front of the room was a large electrical projector, only showing a large red countdown. Twenty-four hours were now down to two minutes. None of them knew each other or why they had even wound up locked in this room. There had been six of them and for the first twenty-three hours, the six of them had mostly ignored each other. But with the last hour counting down a question had to be asked:
What happened when it reached zero?
Sam reared up from the body, Jordie’s bloodshot eyes now staring at the ceiling light, its light bouncing off her opaque eyes.
He come for Cristine next.
Sam hadn’t been the first to turn bloodthirsty. Michael had broken Lucy’s arm for answers and then her neck, Amy wrestled with him until Bryan had silenced them both. Then Sam had taken first to Bryan and now to Jordie. Now it was only the two of them left, with a minute on the clock.
“Cristine, so it was you.”
She pressed hard against her mouth until she bit her own palm.
“Why didn’t you tell me!? Why haven’t you released us?”
He rammed into her desk. She screamed, scrabbling away but he still sought her ankle. Her hands tried to grab hold of the floor, but nothing could stop him from pulling her out and pressing his foot into her throat.
Had he lied to himself? He had never thought that possible and yet…the bodies littered the floor and each of them he had checked over, he had torn open their necks just to be sure. He sat down on the floor cross-legged, picking at the blood in his fingernails as he watched the timer ticked slowly down.
He closed his eyes and bright white light enveloped him, the sound of the air conditioning unit stopped, his breathing stopped, and all was left was the white light against his eyelid. Finally, after an eternity, he
opened his eyes again.
He was still there. Same room, same people. They were alive, or perhaps they were all dead. He didn’t have long to think on before Jordie ran at him and gauged his eyes out with her nails.
“And the Award goes to…!”
I already know who it is before they open the envelope. But I act surprised and clap along with everyone else. I know the cameras are on me, wanting me to be enraged that my award has been snubbed from me…again. But I smile and give a standing ovation. Maybe next year, she won’t steal my glory…it’s not at all like every year, like clockwork, she wins.
I bite my lip as she waves to the audience.
‘God, she’s trying to act so humble, just hurry up and get up the damn stairs.’
And yet she takes her time, a perfect tear rolling down her perfect face as she holds her hand over her chest. When she finally reaches the stage, she takes the award from the presenter’s hand.
‘Too bad,’ I think, ‘I actually kind of liked him, it’s a pity he’ll wind up dead tomorrow.’
I don’t think too much on it, knowing she’ll be dead too. Like I said, every year, like clockwork, she gets hold of the award.
The man prods the sleeping cat.
Lazy bastard, all she does is sleep.
Little does he know, she is merely conserving energy to bring him many ‘special’ gifts in the night.
“Do I have to go to bed?” Sammy asked, as if he didn’t look like death walking.
He’d been complaining all day. Too hot, too cold. Starving and then violently throwing up. His face was still covered in dried tears and snot as his mother tried to wipe him down. He sniffled again, perhaps she’d rubbed too hard or perhaps twelve hours straight with no sleep wasn’t particularly good for a six-year-old.
“Because if you don’t the vampires will eat you.”
Sammy didn’t like listening to logic but throw in a vampire or two and he’d do whatever you told him. His mother knew him well. She picked him up, her legs shaking as she stood straight. Clearly twelve hours with no sleep wasn’t good for a thirty-year-old either. She felt just as sick, her skin was sweaty and soaked her hair.
The house had also been seen to by the ill child. Every room was a mess of either toys or dried vomit as Sammy had gone through each and every one, trying to find somewhere in the house that would magically make him feel better.
“But what if I’m sick again?” he whined, rubbing his runny nose on her dress.
“Then mummy will help you clean up.”
“What if I’m hungry?”
“Then I will make you a sandwich.”
“Will you be awake?”
She was falling asleep as she walked upstairs.
“Of course,” she said, convincingly enough for a small child to believe.
He buried his face into her shoulder.
“I’m sorry mummy. Do you still love me?”
“Of course,” she repeated. Well, maybe she could forgive him in a couple of years. After all she had twelve more years of this to come.
“Hey…Cissa, it’s me.”
“Oh, hi hun’…are you okay?”
“Umm…sure. How are you? How’s your day been?”
“It’s been fine, I haven’t done much, mostly slept. Baby kept me up in the night.”
“Aww…but what else? Ho have you been?”
“Honey…what’s that noise?”
“It’s nothing, just talk to me.”
“Dan, you’re scaring me.”
“I know Cissa, I’m so sorry. Please just talk to me.”
“Oh God Dan, what’s going on?”
“…I’m not going to be able to come home tonight. I’m so sorry.”
“Honey…I love you.”
“I know, I love you too so much. I wish I could see you again. And the baby-”
“Don’t think about that.”
“But I want to…they’re going to be the best child I could ever have had. Promise me, you’ll love them and cherish them, no matter what. And let them know…let them know I loved them.”
“What are we going to name them?”
“Oh, I’m sure You’ll think of something great.”
“I want us to decide that.”
“Wow you really want them to be picked last in the register.”
“…Cissa…I love you…so much.”
“I love you too. Honey I love you so much.”
The main narrative arc of your story should lead to a final, satisfying outcome. The process of getting to that point, however, is made far more interesting by subplots.
“Yes, Mr President?”
“Why can’t they shoot laser?”
“Why can’t they shoot…well it was hard enough to get subjects who can control objects with their mind, telekinesis if you will-”
“I will not.”
“Okay then. But the genetic manipulation was beyond complicated and restricted given how secretive it must be…to repeat the process again with something that isn’t even feasible possible in human natural is-”
“Ah Bill! The twins have got me again!”
“Just stay calm, we don’t need another broken spine. Just remember your training.”
“…I’m sorry Racheal can you repeat that?”
“Why do the mutants have control over your lab assistant. Why isn’t she carrying a Taser?”
“Well can’t Taser the…mutants Mr President. Especially ones that can move objects with their mind, they’ll just take the Taser off her.”
“Which is why they need to shoot laser. They can’t disarm anyone if they have lasers.”
“Yes but…they’ll be able to shoot laser.”
“Exactly! I know I can rely on you Doctor.”
“…Yes, Mr President.”
“I think I’ll need a new lab assistant, Mr President.”
The tiny back room was a light shade of baby blue paint that covered over the smooth plaster walls. It left the windowless room feeling bright and calm. He loves it that way, he needed a place where he could relax. For everything in the needed to be perfect for his collection. Each of the floor to ceiling cabinets were filled with glass jars.
The first few of empty, dirty and broken. He started actually buying jars when he was eight and filled them with shiny pebbles that caught his eyes. The plants he collected were the ones that inspired him to collect more living things. Watching them wilt and their colours fade. It had been delightful to watch.
But… the spiders from his room were better. Trapped in the jars with no air, he watched them scuttle in panic, crawling as far up as they could, before falling back down. Their small crumpled forms with their legs bent over their corpses were fascinating to him and he knew he needed more. For the mice and small birds, he caught he allowed to breathe in their tiny jars. And then he watched them panic and scream as days past and their movements became sluggish until they lay panting and finally went still.
The cabinets were mostly filled with this collection; however, his latest cabinet was part of his new collection. He snapped when a small tabby cat had come bounding up to him. It had wanted food but instead he had strangled it. But of course, a cat was too big for a jar. So, he had cut off the tip of it’s tail and collected that instead. He now had tails, paws, even the squished remains of one eye. He loved this new collection and it helped itch the itch in the back of his head.
But of course soon he’d want to start collecting bigger things…
Well, a finger would have to do.
You can’t breathe,
everything is sharp,
the colours too bright,
the voices too loud.
All of them crowding,
angry and screaming.
You curl in to stop the pain but it spreads,
crippling you, paralysing you.
Your heart beating too fast,
and panic beats faster.
You drown as all becomes dark
and voices now echoing.
Something is coming,