Perpetual Motion – Part 3

A new piece. Tiny due to the fact that I was brainstorming most of the time but I hope I´ll start adding more chapters slowly as I´ve grown infatuated with this story. As always, trigger warning: this is an unedited piece.

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“Good morning, Matheo,” Jill’s curly hair, tied in a ponytail, bounced from side to side as she merrily searched for the key to my locker, “I heard from a very reliable source that your rematch is today.”

“Wow, you sure are well informed but tell Alexander that this wasn´t a big secret or anything,” I inspected the blade of the sword, “everyone knows already.”

“Who said it was Alex?” Jill winked.

Sheathing my sword, I walked to the door, “I´m not sure myself. Minister Tatiana seemed so eager to watch us duke it out. I think she enjoys seeing me getting punched into submission.”

 

Every squire ran up to their respective floors, entering their classrooms. Their boots clicking against the floor, as the clanking of swords echoed across the building. I walked into the classroom but it was empty, except for one person who was sitting idly by, reading an old book. Alice slowly turned the pages, carefully caressing it´s texture. As I walked by her chair, she got up and walked towards me. Moving her hair from her face, Alice fixed her short golden strands, tucking them beneath her small cap.

 

Extending her left arm, Alice offered me her hand; the same way she did after she pounded my skull during our last confrontation, “I hope you don´t hate me because of what happened last time. Whoever wins, let the best mage win.”

“Sure,” I responded, ignoring her hand.

Taking off her gloves, her fair skin was as smooth as silk. Alice offered her hand once more. I shook it, “May the best magus win, alright.”

 

As Alice turned around, I noticed she wasn´t carrying her sword today.

 

“You must really think you´ll win if you didn´t bring your sword today.” I grabbed the hilt of my sword, “it´s common etiquette between mages to show some respect on the battlefield. A sword is a must or do you think you are better than your opponent?”

Alice slipped her hands into her brown leather gloves, “I´m not much of a swordswoman but when it comes to hand-to-hand combat: I have no doubt in my ability.”

“We´ll see about that,” I replied.

 

***

“Okay man, it´s all you. You can do this, Matheo. You can beat her.” Luther commented over and over, as he patted my back, “this is your day of reckoning.”

 

I stepped into the arena, as Minister Tatiana placed a small piece of paper on the ground. Muttering an enchantment, a seal burned on the paper, activating a larger seal that encircled the arena. A short magical barrier was erected around us.

 

I tossed my sword over the barrier, as Luther caught it.

“You´re not going to use it?” Luther asked.

“Alice won´t use a weapon and neither will I.” Fixing my collar, I scanned the arena.

 

Striking a pose, Alice readied herself.

 

“Ready, Squires? Begin!” Minister Tatiana shouted.

 

I ran towards Alice as my fists were blocked with a quick reaction of her arms, counterattacking with quick jabs. I evaded her attack and made some distance between Alice and me. Those jabs seemed normal but last time I learned what exactly they were: mana infused punches. One jab from those and Alice disrupted my mana flow and muscle control. That´s how she defeated me the last time we fought.

With a swift kick, I tossed Alice over to a side, yet she cartwheeled herself back to her feet. Not missing a beat, she ran towards me, pushing herself with an impressive force. There was no doubt that magic was involved. Her movements were graceful, as if she was dancing in front of a cheering crowd, as her dodges synchronized with her counterattacks – multiple knifehand strikes in quick succession; I blocked most but some hit me directly on the left side of my torso and on my right leg.

Nuclear Winter

A short love story? I’m not sure. I did enjoy writing this piece. As always, this has not been edited so it’s filled with mistakes. You have been warned.

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Waving crashing on the road leading to the nearest town, tiny stars glimmering in the darkness of the night sky; mother was right – this was truly the best time to mend a broken heart. The leaves on the apple tree, rustling as a gentle breeze caressed its silky texture; slightly undulating grass blades bowing before the breeze, glistering underneath the sandy shores of the aether. Sliding his hands out of his pocket, he struck the ground with his pocket knife; holding his breath, he let out a long sigh. A light haze sprang forth from his mouth; his mind wandered into the past as it materialized into a voice. “Hope, Hope, Hope” it whispered. A warmth touched his shoulder as he turned around. Nothing. It was a warmth long gone.

Sirens off shore, echoing in the distance; he tried to listen to its warning. It sang of an impending danger, it sang of an uncertain future but most of all… it sang of a long forgotten past. As a small firecracker set off, his instincts sprang forth. Turning around, grabbing a hold of his knife, he saw her: dressed in a striped, long, flowing dress, she grabbed a hold of her sun hat. He could barely distinguish her face amidst the darkness but it was that scent. It was the way she moved. It was the way she held her bag. It was her intoxicating spirit that called to him.

She stopped a few steps away from him, taking off her hat. A powerful wind threw her off balance as he sprang towards her, holding her side. She looked up at his face, gazing at his eyes; he smiled back as his flustered face tried not to waver.

“Do you always hold on so gently?” She asked, grabbing her long dark hair as it covered her face. Holding it with one hand, her lips formed a smile, “I remembered you were the clumsy one.”

Holding on to her, he grabbed her hands, helping her to her feet. “You didn’t stay long enough to find out, Hope.”

Hope turned away, looking at the road as it snaked its way along the sea. Waves crashing on the road, agitated, scared; something had intimidated Poseidon. She remembered almost as it was yesterday: she was standing in this same spot, holding her weight against its rough surface. It was cold, no, it was freezing. She couldn’t feel her finger tips or her legs. Her breath raising through the echoes of a feast. Firecrackers and booze; it all clouded her judgment. Hope couldn’t remember what words came out of her mouth but she knew what they meant.

“It was my fault… all of it,” she held the tips of her fingers, it wasn’t cold. “Francis, it was entirely my fault,” tears fell down her cheeks, “it’s funny how I’m still crying at he same old spot.”

Francis looked down at the road, the same road he traversed twelve years ago. He was young and fooling; madly in love with a young woman as foolish as he was. He walked that cold road, barefooted, as waves crashed and water splashed before him. Feet wet, pants soaked; he trembled from cold’s frigid embrace. A cigarette in his right hand, it’s fire had long since been dozed by the salty spray. He remembered being so disheartened, so ashamed of himself. How he begged and cried but not even God listened. Words that still echo in his head – don’t chase that which you can never obtain.

“You seemed pretty happy at that time.” He said. “I guess love’s never really been a solution to anything.”

“The next day, you left without saying goodbye.” Hope replied.

“I didn’t have anyone to say goodbye to.”

“You had me.”

“I had nobody.”

“I waited for you here, I asked you to stay.”

“I asked you to come with me, that’s why I never came.”

Francis remembered looking out his window and seeing her standing beneath the same tree, crying. He knew it was for the best. He knew Hope was a pillar that would soon collapse upon him. Smiling, Hope looked at the carving on the tree’s bark, caressing the shape and the initials inscribed within it. Francis knew he’d only have one last chance.

“Francis, isn’t th-” Hope’s lips made full contact with Francis’ cold lips. As cold became consumed by the warmth, she held him in her arms, slowly sliding the tips of her fingers along his back as he caressed her sides down to her buttocks. Her eyes reflected the stars in the darkness of oblivion as she became hypnotized by a bright light. Looking back, Francis gazed at the horizon as it light up in a spectacular golden hue. Several bright spheres of light slowly falling down the earth, farther away from the mainland.

“What do you think that is?” She whispered.

“Not a clue.” Francis replied.

The sirens sounded in the distance, as he finally understood why they rang. Bright red flares rose from the mainland as sirens soon invaded the silence of the night. The surrounding towns and cities contaminating the night with their desperate plea for help. Flare rose from even closer settlements. The siren from their hometown shattered the remaining silence as flares rose from the town hall.

“What’s going on?” Hope held on tightly to Francis’ arm, “Is something the matter?” She looked up at Francis’ face, he had grown pale as the bright red light illuminated his face.

Large explosions were heard on the distance as a bright flash engulfed the nearby city. A bright dust cloud came rushing over the water as the sea receded. Throwing Hope into the ground, he kissed her forehead one last time as the light consumed them both.

*****

“And then what happened?” A small child’s voice whispered into her old ears, “Did they survive?”

“That is a story for another night, okay?” She replied.

“But, if the nukes fell sixty years ago, then… they must be old right now.”

A young woman walked into the room, holding a small pillow. “Honey, go to sleep. Your grandmother’s tired, she needs her medicine.”

“Okay…” The little girl muttered.

“I’ll continue tomorrow, okay?” Her grandmother reassured her. “After all, not even fire could keep this strong body down.”

The Smog

Okay, here you go. A new short piece. As always, it’s unedited… you’ve been warned.

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There was a light in the distance, amidst the dense fog. Her footsteps echoed as she made her way across the street. Whispers, voices called her name; beckoning to get closer – she hurriedly made her way to the bus stop.  The air was still. Her skirt swayed to her movements of her long slender legs. High heels tapping on the surface of a pavemented street; checking her watch, it was still too early for the sun to come out.

The voices kept on calling her name. Vivian, Vivian, Vivian, they whispered as each time they grew louder and more violent. Faces formed in the mist, speaking words she could not understand. They coughed embers with each passing. Holding on to her coat, she sped up towards the light. As it came closer, the bus stop was beneath it. A small lamp post illuminated the tiny bus stop. Three brown moths encircled the light, tapping with their large wings, the plastic covering. Small faces on the moths’ abdomen grinned with a sadistic smile as their eyes glowed in a sinister crimson light.

A tap on the thin metallic sheet that covered her head, a tap on the ground; the scent of rain overwhelmed her. As rain showered the hidden street, she could see the flashes of lightning surrounding her, outlasting the now flickering light of the lamp post. More moths had gathered around the light, as the mist engulfed her.

Her phone rang; she took out it out of her small pink bag. It was the alarm, five thirty in the morning: she was going to be late. Out in the distance, two head lights dimly came into view. She walked to the door, still closed, foggy and nearly indistinguishable from the rest of the vehicle. Knocking on the cold glass, as tiny crystalline drops slid down the window, it opened. The driver greeted her as he took off his bright red hat. Long, unkempt beard, covered in grey hairs and white; sweaty face, sprinkled with sweat draining down his nose. Taking out her bus card, the machine beeped, as she walked down the empty isle to the back.

Wiping the fog from the window, she could barely see outside. The bus stop disappeared a few feet from the bus. As she gazed outside, staring at the dim lights that zipped past them, a face appeared before her. Sliding to the seat next to her, the image dissipated with the cold breeze, as five months held on to the window. Their faces glowing, nibbling at the window; she looked at the bus driver as he stared at her through the rear view mirror, “you must be new here,” he said.

The Moth

It’s been a while since I wrote something… it’s short with no plans on expanding it – maybe not anytime soon, anyways. As always: it’s unedited, so read at your own peril.

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A loud scream ripped through the vail of silence; the curtains of darkness were ripped apart as she awakened. Her eyes hazily scanned the room. It was more akin to the squeal of a pig, or a large boar. Sweat slowly ran down her spine, a quick shiver of her body and an outbreak of goosebumps that covered her arms down to her wrists. What had she been dreaming about? Her mind was lost in a sea of confusion; all she could remember was a thick tar-like fluid covering her body- adrift in a sea of nightmares.

A cool light air settled in the room. She looked at her window yet it was still closed, covered by crimson curtains, as light from the street pierced through. Slowly sliding to a side of her bed, she slid both feet inside her sandals and walked over to the window. The closer she got, the cooler the air became. Opening the window, she was dumbfounded by the sight: a thick fog covered everything. The glow from the light post was completely hidden away, reduced to the image of a radiated pile of clouds slightly illuminating the room.

As she was about to turn around, a large brown moth crashed into the window. Startled, she let out a scream. The moth vanished. She leaned closer to the window, as she noticed the creature fluttering by till it settled on the glass. Inspecting the insect, she saw what appeared to be a face on its torso… a human face.  Stupefied, she collapsed on the floor. Gazing at the face, it smiled, revealing a full set of teeth.

She couldn’t scream; her legs became numb as her body slouched over to a side. The floor was cold. It all faded to black.

Awakened by an itch on her left hand, she clumsily got up. The window was covered by these moths, as their faces all moved… almost as if they were laughing, nibbling at the window. Their wings flapped, constantly hitting the window. The noise echoed inside her head, scratching and hitting. She fell on the floor, covering her ears with both hands, as tightly as she could. She tried screaming but to no avail, her screams drowned amidst the sound of the scratches.

Crawling to her bathroom, the itch continued. Scratching her hand, she noticed a small bump. Anxiety overwhelmed her. Her finger nails scratched the surface, still the pink irritation turned into red – her nails had pierced her skin. She couldn’t stop as the itch only worsened, spreading to her left arm and her right cheek. Scratching and scratching, it didn’t hurt, not even after the skin pealed before her eyes, not even after the flesh was ripped apart from her vessels and nerves. Her nails hit the bone, and even then, as fleshy chunks fell on the kitchen sink and blood turned the water scarlet red – she kept on scratching and ripping. Tears fell down cheeks and into the bone; horrified at the sight of her body.

The window shattered and the bathroom became flooded with moths as they attached to her flesh; nibbling, biting, hitting and ripping with their tiny legs; all dark brown with white antennas. A white moth, considerably bigger than the rest, landed on her eye – its face grinned and her world became dark.

She awakened, covered in a cold sweat. Her mother opened the door and walked into her room, “Now, now… lay down, your fever has yet to go down. You’ll be alright, honey.” A small towel soaked in cool water; she placed it on her daughter’s forehead. “It’ll all be over soon, baby.”

Haven – 03

This took me a while to upload… it’s not much, but I’ve been getting off my butt and right into writing. As always, this is unedited, so be aware of the mistakes. Mistakes galore!

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DAY 13

It’s been three days since the Research City closed its gates after the lockdown. Nobody really asked why, since inside the city was safer than wandering around the outside world. Eventhough it was well distanced from the city, its influence could be felt within the monochromatic walls of every structure: the fear, the incapability to change one’s luck, the insecurity and the desire to reshape the situation. High crime rate and violence, it was no wonder everyone strived to work with the Q3 Corporation. The Black Stars usually patrolled within the buildings, suspiciously at the same hour every day for the past three days. Something was happening or was about to happen, probably something had gone missing and they were willing to do whatever it took to corner the thief.

I looked around for a bit, before starting my shift. Janet stood by the door of the R-6 building; she looked worried. We had been friends, back in our university days; when she was nervous, she’d constantly play with her hair – she was doing that right now. As I walked towards her, I noticed an older fellow walking straight to her. They engaged in conversation as I watched from afar. The expression on her face was that of fear… but why? The old man, grey hair, a long lab coat covered his wide chest, standing well above her head, his short grey beard ran up to his side burns, and a grey metallic briefcase on his right hand. He gave her a keycard and entered the building. I promptly made my way to where she was. She was on the verge of tears.

“What’s wrong? What happened”? I tried talking to her but she made no sense.

“I fucked up… I fucked up real bad,” she repeated over and over again. Lifting her hands to cover her face, she smiled. “I sold my soul to the devil, Michael. Now, it has come looking for that which I promised.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I signed up for a shitty experiment… an experiment I knew there was a .1% chance of survival,” she slid the keycard into her pocket. “I didn’t expect that they’d go ahead with it.”

“What did you get yourself into?”

“There are secrets confined within this place… dark secrets. The devil’s lurking within these walls.”

“What? You knew didn’t you? You knew exactly what you were getting into… you knew what my sister got into! You knew all along!” I stared into her eyes. She tried averting my gaze. “Damn it! What happened to her? You know I’ve been worried sick about her…”

“Mike… right now’s not a good time,” she moved her eyes. A camera, we were being monitored.

She motioned for me to go. As I turned around, she gave me a crumpled piece of paper. Never once did I look back, never once did I even think of saying good bye. Something inside of me whispered that this would be the last time I’d see her alive.

On my way back, I bumped into Ms. Rosa. She stopped and dragged me over to the G-3. She grabbed a piece of paper and wrote something on it, I was unable to make out what it was. Folding it neatly, she placed it inside my pocket and walked away. Jesus Christ, it’ll be a long day.

*****

Lying on my bed, I look up at the ceiling. It was white, absolutely white, with not a scratch or imperfection to be found. It was a lonely place, sometimes I’d wish my girlfriend was here to cheer me up. This job was making me lose my mind. Whenever she called, I had to hide everything that was considered sensitive information from her. The walls had ears and so did the computers.

I got off my bed and walked into the bathroom. Locking the door, I looked at the piece of paper that Janet had left behind. It had a few things written on it: RSTP00986, and below a: Genysis78. Was this a username and a password? If so, where would I input these things? Maybe there was a log in for people in Janet’s position.  Now looking at Ms. Rosa’s paper, it was more of a direct command: meet me at 11 by the G-5 gate. Easier said than done… I had to evade the guards and probably the Black Stars. What was even more puzzling was the fact that she didn’t even ask for directions to the place. She didn’t even believe me when I told her that such a place existed.

Two hours and a few beers later, I awakened to the sound of static: somehow my pc’s monitor had been turned on. Static? I don’t remember that happening on an LCD screen. The computer started, loading all programs till a couple of windows appeared. It had a logo and two spaces for a login and a password. The keyboard started typing by itself, adding the same login name and password written on the crumpled piece of paper Janet had given me. As it logged in, multiples windows appeared on the monitor: fragments of reports, statistics, lists… Emilia Alejandra Guerra… my sister! I crawled closer to the edge of my bed, closer to the screen. Suddenly, the shadows that adorned my room began to fill every nook and cranny, sliding and covering everything – including the light from the windows and LCD. With the fading glimmer of light, a scream echoed through my room – I woke up covered in sweat, as the empty cans of bears fell of my bed. Was it all a dream? Managing to pull my weight, I made my way into the bathroom.

I found myself walking towards our meeting place. The bioluminescent shrubbery glowed as the night sky was illuminated by the tiny glimmer of starlight. The moon was a bright crimson crescent, hovering next to a bright start glowing in gold. The was no wind, the walls blocked most of the air currents but a slight breeze could be felt from time to time; it was a relief that the inside of every building had air conditioning and small fans to mimic a slight breeze at certain locations.

Each building was five stories tall, with no exceptions, and absolutely no windows. Only the cafeteria was allowed to have windows. Inside every building there was a world of its own: its adjusted temperature, humidity, elimination of allergens and static; even the inside pressure had been tweaked.

Still pretty clumsy, my drunken state became apparent as the dizziness grew even more obstructive to tonight’s plans – whatever they may be. On the distance, I could see Ms. Rosa, leaning against the wall. Her hair was tied in a bun, unlikely of her – maybe there would be something that would have us running around like criminals. I shuddered at the sound of that; I wouldn’t let anything or anybody risk my research. I was going to find my sister, no matter the cost.

Haven – 02

Wow, I actually made a part 2… I guess I’m starting to like this story. It’s coming along slowly because I have summer school and an exam every week. I did a slight wtf jump somewhere and still trying to fix it… no inspiration is flowing today. Enjoy and as always – it’s unedited and filled with mistakes, so tread lightly. Leave a comment if you found it amusing, good, bad, or anything.

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DAY 8

                It’s been a whole week. Early morning and late evening, the stress was kicking in. My fingers were so adapted to the whole procedure; I couldn’t even hold a spoon without pressing my thumb unto the tip of its handle. It wasn’t a very technical job but the pay was good.

The cafeteria seemed so vacant, just a few souls lingering about. My supervisor used to sit by herself. She’d seldom speak to anybody beside job related topics. She would always have her hair tied in a bun and her big conspicuous glasses always slipped down her small nose. Her name was America, strange name for a strange girl.

“Good morning, Ms. Rosa, how are you?” I sat next to her. She didn’t even look up but still managed to respond, somehow.

“Mr. Guerra, I’m okay but I’ll be back to work in a few minutes.” Her voice was as cold as the first day that I met her. “And you should hurry up too.”

“Hey, I was wondering… Can I ask you a question?” She didn’t even flinch. “It’s kind of a strange question so try not to laugh.”

“Mr. Guerra, I can assure you that I don’t have a very good sense of humor.”

That explains a lot. “Okay… Here goes: have you heard anything, any rumors or anything at all about G-5 and what lays beyond that gate?”

She stared at me, silently, examining if I was pulling her leg. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“G-5 doesn’t even exist; it’s a myth used to scare newbies,” she grabbed a tiny red pill and swallowed it with some fruit juice. “That’s like asking if local folklore is real.”

“Between you and me, there is some freaky stuff happening and it’s all tied to the G-5 stories.” Sitting up, I stared into her small blue eyes. “I saw the place.”

Her face shifted from a burst-into-laughter to a are-you-serious expression. Slipping into her white lab coat, she grabbed her water bottle and finished her juice. I sat next to her, carefully measuring her mood. She wanted to say something but it seemed as if she couldn’t quite piece it together.

“You say G-5?”Skeptial, as always.

“I did but I’ll continue after we get back from our shift,” as I stood, she grabbed my shoulder and shoved me into the chair.

“You are not going anywhere,” she wouldn’t let me go without a thorough explanation.

“I got lost a few days ago and followed the wall. I thought that the wall would lead me straight to a gate… it did but it wasn’t the gate I was looking for. G-5 stood ominous, it was still active but there seemed nobody inside. An old guard told me that freaky stuff happen on the other side of that gate.”

She bit her lip. Placing her hands inside the pockets of the lab coat, she played with her eyes. Looking around, hoping that nobody was eavesdropping on the conversation.

“G-5 is not supposed to exist and even if it did… there is no sane reasoning for keeping such a place,” she raised her fingers. “Testing and Experimentation are within G-2, Research within G-3 and Production within the G-4; there is no reason to have a G-5.”

DAY 10

After a few days of traveling to and from the city, I decided to stay within the compound. The apartments were small yet comfortable; a bet, a closet, a small bathroom and a small table. There were nine buildings, all ordered into three triangles. I saved time and money, things that were precious to me. That morning, Ms. Rosa sent me a message: I want to see the G-5. She seldom talked but the moment she did, things got serious.

That evening, I waited for her outside the building. Late as usual, she was a thorough worker – probably suffering from obsessive compulsive disorder. She was wearing a small black dress; the lab coat was for show as she worked inside an office.

“How were the numbers today?” I looked at my watch, it was already past six thirty.  The sun had already set.

“Ha ha ha,” she replied dryly. “Was that a joke?”

“I just don’t see the need for a lab coat inside an office.”

“It’s part of procedure, okay?” Her high heels knocked the sidewalk with such force, it echoed amongst the building. As tall as monoliths, these building were dead remnants of a green area that was burned to the ground to make way for this facility. “I have to keep a close eye on those numbers. Stabilizing the environment means that reactions take place at a controlled pace. I’m mother nature.”

“Morris told me that these bioluminescent plants were your idea.”

“In a way, yes. I was working with splicing jellyfish DNA with living things. It was a pretty straight forward work, testing the whole splicing business and then it hit me: save the grid, plant living light posts,” she grabbed her phone and showed me the digital photos of the first experiments. “We made trees but thought that small and medium sized bushes would do the trick.”

“But you still use LED light.”

“Yes, but these bioluminescent plants generate around 45% of the light needed to traverse around the compound. A simple way of saving money and keeping this planet clean.”

We walked into the cafeteria of a nearby building to grab a bite, already sensing that the adventure would definitely take its time. The place was empty, except for two or three persons still eating and the staff. The air conditioner had been turned off but a soft breeze was being pumped from the outside. It was dark, probably around seven thirty but you could see, through the transparent windows, the glow of the bioluminescent shrubbery; a light blue glow.

“So, you were in the Botanical Gardens, next to the Biodome?” I played around with my soup. “There’s a research lab within the confines of the glass dome, right?”

“Yes, I was. I worked there with another colleague; we were in-charge of the Cytogenetics Department and Cryogenics.” She fixed her blonde hair, as it dangled from between her fingers. Making a short ponytail, she continued: “She was moved to the Necrobiology Department… I think she had a degree in Thanatology or something like that.”

She sat fixated on her spoon, swirling things around her plate. “Taphonomy too, I guess. She was well versed on every topic pertaining to death.”

“No shit, she was modern day necromancer.” I moved my plate over to a side. “We’re way off topic. The thing is, this G-5 does exist and I want to know why it’s not on the map.”

The LCD screens, overhead, were pouring an absurd amount of local news. Something was going on outside, riots and blockades. Due to this very incident, many were unable to make it to work. The floor was tense, on the eve of the Phage’s release, the Research City was undermanned. The Black Stars were patrolling within the building, almost as if bracing for something.

“Is it that bad?” I asked.

“What is?” She looked around at the passing heavily armored soldiers.

“The riots outside the Research City.”

“Even if a volcano erupted, the walls of this city are reinforced. They can take artillery fire and not crumble.” She slid off her coat. “The Black Stars are the anti-contamination unit. They are called in when a severe outbreak occurs and quarantine is evoked upon the facility; and when I say evoked I mean that they force you to sit by and die.”

Carrying gas masks connected by a large tube over to a tank strapped to their backs, every soldier carried a semi-automatic rifle, a riot shield and a couple other firearms. The rifles were covered in a black ink-like substance with a bayonet on its tip, its long handle was lined with a sharp blade – the rifle could double as a spear or an axe, by the looks of it.  The riot shields were darkened, metal plates with a small slit at the tip and hole on the right side. These men were armed and ready for an invasion, not a contamination breech.

Their shadows painted the glimmering tiled floor, as their shoes echoed with each step. The white walls that furnished the building became dull and gloomy. I became tense. I always got tense around soldiers, especially those who looked as if they were about to butcher a community.

“Something’s not right,” a woman’s voice could be heard from over a distance.

“To hell with this,” someone else commented.

The Village Standing on God’s Feet – 01

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Here is part two! Yes, they are very small but I’m taking it step by step… Again, a warning to those Grammar Nazis… it’s unedited.

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Tossing the plant over to a side, he sat on the floor. The sun was still at the peak of the sky, burning anyone who would dare challenge him. When would God call down a mighty storm? His people were crying and pleading. When would he call unto God, selfishly, for help? Was it time to give up? The lack of plates and food in his home, dusty, soot covered furniture and torn pages from an old diary – they all adorned a silent little home. Walking up to a small clay container, he poured some its contents on a tiny, stained cup. His hands shook with fatigue.

“Camille! Camille!” Lena’s voice filtered through the thinly woven cloth that divided each room from the other. “Mother is searching for you.”

He walked over to the door, scraping the floor with its uneven corner, he forced it open. “Lena, I thought you were at the early meet n’ greet.”

“Yes, we were, and you weren’t there. What’s wrong? My family is in debt to your parent’s… they promised to keep you safe.”

“My father was doing his job, you know that.”

“Camille… don’t do this. Let’s go.”

He turned away, but his attempts at hiding were thwarted by a soft tug on his dusty shirt. “Camille, please?”

Escaping her soft grip, he shooed her; slowly closing the door. Much to his dismay, she forced herself, halfway through. Staring blankly at her eyes, he turned around. “Do as you may.”

“Camille! Why must you be so stubborn?”

“Lena, why are YOU stubborn?” Tossing his cup at a small statue, holding the door to the living room open, he turned to her. She wouldn’t back down. “I don’t need anybody’s debt paid. My parents are gone. The debt has been settled. Go home.”

Silence ensued. A strong breeze shook the very foundation of the ill-maintained building. “Tomorrow, I’ll climb the mountain of God.” Camille’s eyes were burning with determination; a fire that engulfed Lena’s smile. “If God will not come to us, then I shall go to Him.”

That night, he sat by the well at the edge of the village. Holding his father’s diary in his hands, he read what he had gone through that faithful day: the day he died.

“Two hours till the break of dawn, my hands are numb, my lips are dry. The feeling running down my spine is ominous and depressive as the black, tar-like fluid that runs deep in my veins. The feeling of fire burning through my entrails is second only to the fear of leaving those whom I love the most, behind. Never forget that God watches over every one of us, lest we fall into despair, never forget to look up and thank him every time you find yourself staring up at His Mountain.”

Closing the book, he looked up at the bright lights that never seemed to fade away. God must surely know why his people are suffering so. God must know why he lost everything. God must know, he was sure of it.