The ultimate fight of nature…
The ultimate fight of nature…
A swarm of bees VS a suburban mum and her pie.
A blank canvas is left over the land,
And silence falls close behind.
Done is the ice and cold.
The cycle begins once more.
What the fuck! It was the only thing he could think, on a loop. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck. He could barely see where he was going. the world around him blurred and cloudy. He blinked hard, yet this did nothing to help, only producing a speckle of bright white spots.
He was running: that was one of the two things he was sure about. That and that who he was running from was trying to shoot him. There was shouting from behind him, men yelling incoherently and gun fire. He remembered gun fire. He remembered causing it.
He didn’t want to die. But what did he want? Fuck if he knew. The world around him was still blurred into streaks of light and dark greys as he raced past. The world twisted and caved in on itself like crashing waves. He slammed into a wall, unable to stop in time, his head banged hard against the corner bricks.
A bullet clipped the back of his neck and planted itself in the wall with a phut. He started running again, with blood dripping down his ear.
The world was now darker; a claustrophobic sense fell upon him. It wasn’t until the world brighten again, did he make the realise he had been in an alleyway. He didn’t think he’d been this confused beforehand. But he didn’t remember what had been occurring beforehand. Nothing. He tried to think back, strain and reach back in his mind. The world turned white as he tried to think of anything.
He shook his head. What had happened? Where was he? Who was he? That question scared him more than any other. He should remember who he was, and he knew that at one point he had been someone, he just couldn’t think who he had been. Come on, what the fuck! How could he not know who he was? He was him! Who was him?
He shook his head more violently, the grey world turned ninety degrees and hit him in the chest. His body started flying up the floating pavement, his hair being torn, his palms scraping against it as he tried to cling on as he was taken off his feet. He clung tightly to the floor as he hovered for a few second before the wall righted itself and he slumped ungracefully on the hot tarmac. He closed his eyes, the blankness in his head making the sounds around him ear-achingly loud.
From the sound of people, chatting and yelling, he could tell he was on a crowded street. People muttered as he lay on the ground. This wasn’t normal, he knew that deep inside, they didn’t like what he was doing. He didn’t care, he was too exhausted from- there was no gun fire. He pushed himself up quickly, making a woman behind him shout and swear at him. He turned around, staring up at the sky, but he couldn’t see shit. But he definitely couldn’t hear anything and given how long he’d been staying still they would have shot him by now. So where had they gone? Who the hell had they even been?
“Excuse me?” a sharp voice snapped.
He looked down at the small woman glaring at him. When he didn’t move she pushed past him. He wobbled over to the nearby wall and slid down it, panting. What the fuck! What. The. Fuck. He hugged his knees as he sat on the hot and sticky ground, still trying to catch his breath. They must have stop shooting given the amount of people.
He sat more comfortably on the ground, cross legged. If he stayed here, he’d be safe from them, whoever they were. He rubbed his eyes, pain gathering behind them. Had he hit his head? Was that why he couldn’t remember anything? He couldn’t remember doing that. Well he couldn’t remember anything.
“Excuse me,” this voice was gentler and deeper than the other one. He looked up and blinked, a man wearing thin black glasses was hunched over him. Did he know him? Did he know anyone? He must, it would be silly not to know anyone. And yet…
“You’re bleeding,” the hunched over man said thickly, gesturing to the side of his face where the blood was running down. He touched his cheek with his left hand. It came up wet.
He swallowed finally speaking, “I…I don’t…I don’t know where I am. Who…somethings happened,” he stumbled over his words as if he had not spoken in years. For all he knew that could be the case. The man standing over him straightened up then slowly looked round before nodding. He pulled a large plastic device from his purple suit. He burrowed his eyebrows, purple seemed wrong to wear. How could he remember fashion tips and not his own name? The man was speaking into the device, yes that seemed right, he remembered others doing that. He suddenly felt wary.
“W-what are you doing?”
“I’m calling you an ambulance, you look hurt,”
No shit. It wasn’t at all like blood was running down his face.
“What’s an ambulance?” he asked, the purple suited man just shook his head, smiling quickly, before continuing to talk to himself.
The ambulance, it turned out, was a van with loud and flashing blue lights that made him jump up in fear until the man told him it was alright. He also had to be assured by the man when two green suited men tried to put him in the van.
He didn’t want to be left alone with them. Still when the doors were shut, and they set off the men did was wipe his face clean and ask him questions. None of them he knew the answer to anyway; What was his name? Where did he live? Did he have any family? Any close friends? He just shook his head to each of the questions.
“Well if you can’t tell us anything then-”
It wasn’t like the other gun shots. It came from under the truck and was louder. It shook the van taking it off their wheels. The equipment littering the shelves above him scattering to the floor but as the van tipped the bottles and bandages floated mid-air along with the two men who had been helping him. As they screamed in terror, he clutched onto the shelf above him as the van continue to spin. He was flung from side to side, his legs being slammed repeated into the side of the bed he had just been sitting on, the men toppling around him their pained moans echoing with the crushing metal as the van fell. Finally, it came to a screeching halt and shook once more making him fall onto his already bruised legs. He bit his lip and looked at the devastated inside of the ambulance. It was smaller now, the walls bent inwards. Bottles of medicines had burst open, the tablets littering the floor and the stench of chemicals filled the air.
The two green suited men were leant up against the walls as he was, only they were covered in a lot more blood. Behind him he heard another gun shot. He sat straighter, though his legs still hurt. They had shot the driver, whoever they were.
He stumbled to his feet as the doors were kicked open. These men were wearing black, just like him, though had a mask covering their faces. The one that stepped through the door looked familiar, despite his face being covered. Though it was hard to trust a man who was holding a gun.
“Help,” one of the ambulance crew said feebly.
For one moment he thought these black masked gun wielding men were here to help. The thought was put to rest when the masked man shot the green suited guy in the head, his chin lolling on his chest with a final groan. The masked man walked over to the other paramedic who was unconscious, blood dripping from his nose pooling as dark red in between his lips. He watched wide eyed as the masked figure shot him as well. He fisted his left hand, slowly standing up.
“Ah so you can walk.”
He froze, pressing his back against the wall, “who are you?”
He looked down at the bodies.
“Hey if you can walk out of here, then I won’t have to shoot you.”
The man just shrugged. He stayed by the wall, some part of him believe that he could easily defeat the man, something told him he knew a bit about fighting. But he couldn’t remember if that was true or not. He was also outnumbered and out gunned three to one. The masked man raised his gun, and he put his hands up to surrender, shuffling as best he could past the bodies. The two men outside also aimed at him, yet when neither of them shot he thought they might be keeping their word.
Why did he always have to be wrong? He felt a sharp pinch in his neck and in panic swung his arm at the man behind him. But he hardly got through the movement before his arm felt twice as heavy and he stumbled to the side under its weight, falling, his bruised knees colliding with the deserted roads. He started panting, the air feeling thicker. The fucker had done something to him, God fucking dammit, what the fuck was going on? He was so tired, but something would happen if he closed his eyes, he had no fucking clue what, but something.
“Wait,” he mumbled his lips feeling numb and thick, “who am I? What are you?”
Their only reply was to tightly grab his aching limbs and practically dragged him away, refusing to answer his persistent, yet quieter questions before he was forced asleep. What dickheads.
You incubate a mysterious egg. You don’t know what’s inside.
And so beautifully too.
As if missing the warmth,
The trees burn in red.
It happened when he was sixteen. He was a few days off seventeen, not that meant anything now. They just…stopped.
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.
And muddied rivers
That seem to last a life time.
Despite the dread of cold
And the need for warmth,
Regret boils for the want of heat.
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.
Suddenly 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.
Lying in Court.