jlee0790
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Write one story a month
Star this Commitment
Week 52 of 52
jlee0790 commits to:
Write one story a month
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My Commitment Journal
 jlee0790
July 2, 2016, 7:25 AM
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| the word count might need to be shortened since red days are here at work. it's a lot more work than i initially thought and i'm multitasking different projects. | |
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jlee0790
July 2, 2016, 7:21 AM
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THE FALLEN Chapter One: Hole in the Sky A bitter cold numbness grew from the ground, creeping its way through the air as death desperately latched itself onto any warmth that remained. The land looked as though a palette of grays and browns had been carelessly thrown across an old worn canvas; one that was dropped in a pile of ash and dying fire, left to suffer the agonizingly slow scorch of decay. The world struggled to survive this losing battle that had left it in such a decrepit state, but despite the unforgiving conditions, life still endured. In a vast field of desiccated earth, riddled with patches of dead grass and trees, lay a man. His eyes suddenly opened as he looked up toward the sky. With a detached look on his face, he remained still in complete solace. For a brief moment, he was immersed in a feeling of complete ignorance to the rest of the world. In this moment of awakening, everything seemed so familiar - like he had been here before - but it was all shrouded in a dark veil of mystery. An unwarranted rush of emotions mixed with the chill of death created an unwanted anxiety that shocked him back to reality. This reality was not familiar at all. In the dull ceiling of gray clouds was a warm curtain of blinding light that flowed down from the sky to the ground. It appeared as though something had made an opening in the clouds for the sun to shine through to the earth. He reached out his hand to feel the comfort of the light but the beam began to slowly unravel and shrink until it wound down to a narrow stiff thread. It seemed as if someone was tugging a lose strand from this luminous golden drape, pulling faster and faster as the frantic search for the end of that string grew more urgent. He recoiled his hand as the clouds converged over the light. Everything in sight seemed to stretch out toward the warmth but as soon he withdrew his hand, the land followed his act and steadily slumped back to a state of misery. The thread was now plucked, leaving the land in a sickly overcast. The man's heart sank as all of his senses enhanced his fears. Not a single trace of humanity could be felt. Not a single voice. No birds chirping or machines humming. No sounds at all. He was alone. The silence grew so loud that it became unbearable. Within his hazy mind, questions began to multiply and fester like spreading poison. Now, the only sounds he could hear were the millions of voices inside his head demanding inexplicable explanations. Thoughts flew frantically around his brain like hundreds of flies bumbling around a bright stray light in the land of absolute darkness. He slowly propped himself up, trying to stay calm as he looked around to gain his bearings. The dreary smell of filth and decay clung to the inside of his nose as each breath begged for freedom from the lung wrenching vapors. The air was stagnant and thick from the lack of sunlight and felt as though he was breathing with an old moldy washrag sealed over his face. As he rubbed his eyes, he managed to manipulate the blurry backgrounds into distinguishable shadows. The remains of destroyed factories and billboards sit ruined off in the distance, but still, nothing seemed familiar. Shaking his head as if the pesky questions had manifested, he finally gained some control over the voices. The concerns began to dissipate as he narrowed his focus down to figure out one questions - where am I? He could not seem to remember his past, let alone how he woke up in the middle of this field. As he shuffled around on the ground, he realized that he had been sitting on something. Hidden by the dirt were the torn and tattered pages of an old newspaper. “The Chicago Sun Times?” He rasped, trying to clear his voice. He looked up towards the buildings and was able to make out the large white print written on a large sign. The word GENEVA shone bright against the black welcome board. Unexpectedly, the fact that he lives - or lived - in Illinois flashed through his mind. Vague memories were coming back, but the questions at hand remained unanswered. He looked back down at the paper in search for more clues, but his eyes focused onto one thing. “November, 12th 20XX” In more confusion than before, he thought about how long it would even take for the paper to be in its current condition. His brain strained as he struggled to remember. “This has to be a joke.” he scoffed. “It’s not 20XX…” He paused to reassure himself. “I mean, it’s not even November.” He started to get restless as the questions began to reanimate. "What is going on?" he asked himself, slowly standing up. His legs felt weak and brittle like the crumbling, cracked dirt under his feet. "How did I get here? What year is it? Who am I?" Unexpectedly, a wave of complete darkness began to overtake the land as the faint silhouette of the sun set from behind the clouds. The once depressing land quickly turned into a nightmare in the blink of an eye. Once the flood of night settled, the first signs of life began to make their presence known. Unfamiliar noises - growls and howls - broke through the deafening silence and grew louder as each distinct sound fought to fend for its territory. He regretted his earlier want of someone to talk to. He would happily take back the voices in his head instead of the monstrous noises that pierced his ears. An unnerving roar that hushed the rest of the animalistic clamor thundered from behind him. The unearthly sound made him feel completely exposed, like a deer stuck in an open field with rabid predators staring intently at their next kill. He turned around cautiously, terrified that his heavy heart beats were beckoning the beasts to attack. All he could see behind him was a line of trees shrouded in shadows darker than night sky. In the distance, he noticed a sharp rustling in the brush. His heart began to beat so hard that with each thump, he had to try his best to swallow it down. The darkness itself was coming alive. His legs felt weaker than before with all his blood pumping and rushing to his chest, leaving them feeling frozen. Suddenly, something bolted from the trees straight toward him. He tried to get a better view of the animal but his legs began moving despite the numb, tingling pain. They moved on their own as he fought his instinctual curiosity to look back. All he could focus on were the town buildings, chaotically torn apart and worn by the brutal beat of time. He had never felt this alienated before running aimlessly toward an unfamiliar town, lost with where to even go. No matter how fast he ran he could not out-run the feeling that something was hovering over his shoulder; an unwelcome phantom breathing chills down his neck. He pumped his legs harder as his eyes narrowed down to the least menacing, most illuminated street. As he moved closer, he noticed that most of the building windows were boarded up with the rest laying shattered all over the ground. Certain buildings were gutted out while others were completely destroyed. The town was dead. Despite the destruction, there was an ironic comfort to be found in the ruins of the town. He desperately needed the cover of the buildings but could not push himself any harder. His legs were slowly getting heavier to lift, as if each step went further into quicksand. He closed his eye and pushed his legs so hard that they could not keep up with one another, throwing himself into the air as he clipped his own foot. He awkwardly skipped across the grey gravel trying to catch himself to continue running when he realized how close he now was to the town line. In this moment of stillness, he glanced back at his feet to see if he had fallen over anything but the ground was eerily barren. In the corner of his eye, he saw a white streak rapidly approaching. “Is that a wolf?” he mumbled to himself. He leaned in, trying to get a better look, only to see a dark, brooding behemoth of a shadow charging behind the animal. He scrambled, stirring the dusty dirt up around him, before bolting across the hard blackened road. A flash of white fur raced pass him, causing a sharp shocked gasp to break his heavy, steady breathing. He tried his best to keep up with what looked like a wolf but even with concrete gripping against his shoes, the canine quickly disappeared into the night. After searching around some corners, the fatigue began to set into his muscles the minute he realized there was nothing chasing him. Once the noises became distant enough to be fully muffled by the wind, he tried to rationalize what just happened. "What was that thing?" he thought to himself, in a surreal state of shock. “What in the hell is going on?!” His question echoed through the streets mocking his confusion and solidifying his solitary status. Feeling as though he had just exposed his whereabouts, he began to take action over his predicament. Before anything, he knew he needed to find a safe place to spend the night. As he quietly walked through the ghost town, he felt as though ghosts would not even dare inhabit this place. Dead cars, overgrown weeds, and old trash filled the streets of broken buildings. This entire place was looted and rioted, and the wear that the comes with time could be seen in every corner and alley. In the maze of buildings, he somehow found himself in front of an archaic church. It was located in what appeared to be the town square; standing tall and proud with little damage to its structure. The immense fortress with its majestic arches and grand windows stood out against all the other buildings he had seen so far. For some strange reason, the windows of the church were still intact and the building appeared to have been left alone out of respect. Its intimidating appearance was easily overlooked as the secure and stable shelter gave welcome to the weary wanderer. He walked through the beautifully crafted gateway and proceeded optimistically up the front steps only to arrive at a locked door. The large, rustic wooden frame towered over him with heavy metal handles that refused to budge. “Hello?!” he shouted, demanding an answer. “Is anyone there?!” The church bellowed with every knock as he desperately waited for a response. The silence that followed made him sickly cold as the wind began to pick up. He walked to the back of the building to see if there was another way in. Unsurprisingly, the back door; more modern than the front, was locked too. He was starting to lose hope since he needed a safe place in order to get some much needed sleep. This was undoubtedly the safest place in town and he needed to get into this sturdy stone haven. Mustering what little strength he had left, he tried his best to break the door in. He would ram and kick at the door with no avail. He scavenged an old metal pipe, most likely from a broken fence nearby, and tried to break the handle, also in vain. Nothing was working. He sat down on a curb in defeat and faced the door and staring intently at it. He just could not figure out he was going to get in. To his pleasant surprise, a skinny gray squirrel dashed out from the shadows down the narrow alley. This was the first animal he had seen in the town, and it was a source of comfort to see a friendly familiar. The man sat still, to avoid startling it. He watched intently as it approaches the door, as if it expected the door to be opened upon arrival. He scuffed the ground trying to quietly stand, grabbing the attention of the little critter. It stared intently back at him as he slowly continued to get up. "Where is everyone, little guy?" he asked, gesturing the squirrel to stay put. In a fright, it scurried up a sturdy drain pipe located further down the wall, jumping and flying strategically onto a window ledge on the second level. It knew where it was going as it climbed through a small break in the window. "Thanks, Rocky!" he sneered, sluggishly jogging toward the window. Something behind him growled; a response he still regrets ever wanting. It was like that roar from the field before, but this was worse. This was a clangorous, bone-chilling snarl that made his heart drop from how close it felt. Without hesitation he raced to the heavy metal downspout and threw the metal pipe at the window. He looked back and saw a horrid looking wolf slowly lurking out of the darkness. But the wolf was not quite a wolf. It was all wrong. A terrible mistake created in a nightmare world. Its skin and fur were in patches all over the deteriorating body, exposing the infected bloody muscles of its mutated body. A fifth leg moved in conjunction with the others - creating an eerie limp that disappeared as it began to pick up its pace. The unblinking eyes were white and wideset but he knew it was looking straight at him from the way its head followed him as he began climbing. An enormous, almost unhinging, mouth took the most notice as it gnashed its teeth, readying it jaw for another meal. Blood and slobber dripped from its mouth mirroring the rotting flesh. His hands were sweating against the metal pole as he quickly reached the window, clearing the broken shards of glass with his shoes. He slid through the window and fell on all fours; thumping on the dusty red carpet. He finally felt safe even though this was the most danger he had been in since waking up in that cursed field. He looked down out the window and saw the monstrosity pacing back and forth, still staring closely. “Can’t get me from up here, can ya? You ugly mutt.” he provoked. He grabbed a dense hardcover book from a bookshelf next to the window and threw it straight at the monsters deformed head, triggering a sharp shrill before it took off back into the shadows. “What kind of nightmare am I in?” he questioned himself, concerned for his own sanity. As he let out a strong exhale in exhaustion, a strong chilling breeze barged through the window, blowing papers off of an antique office table that sat in the middle of the room. He scanned the old church office which was cluttered with books, papers, office supplies, and numerous religious knickknacks. The constant draft kept reminding him of how cold the outside world was, so he lugged the hefty bookcase over to cover the hole and stuffing the spaces between with whatever drapes or robes he could find in the room. With a heavy sigh of relief, he plopped onto a squeaky office chair and finally felt at ease; distant from danger. His head collapsed with a thud down onto the tabletop in delirium, his mind racing; what had happened to this world; to that thing outside? He looked around the room a second time and became restless with his heart still racing from the unwarranted encounter. Things appeared to have been displaced. More so than just a couple of loss papers scattered on the floor. Pages had been torn out of books that lay open on the ground. Trash was scattered throughout the room. But oddly, most of the items that were broken or knocked over on the floor had a thick layer of dust covering it, as though the things in this room had been in this state long before he had ever entered the room. It appeared as though someone was or already had been in the church but no one had answered the locked doors. Quietly, he rummaged through every nook and cranny for anything he thought would be useful. In a small bag, he organized: a box of matches; with only a few match sticks left, a couple of long white candles, a nearly depleted roll of duct tape, several small books he thought would work as kindling and a velvety blood-red drape he would fashion as a blanket. In one of the drawers, underneath a stack of envelopes and papers, was a small but sharp letter opening knife that he kept tightly gripped in his hand. Having collected what he needed, he began to carefully crack the door open in an unnerving paranoia. Through the crack, a strange subtle smell drifted into the room as his senses tried readjusting to this new unknown. His nerves were getting to him. He hated this feeling of suspicion in his safety and could not decide whether he would prefer to stay in this room; safe but uncertain, or search the building only to end up finding something he would regret. After some internal conflict, he rationalized that someone or something would have come up to him by now from all the noise he made coming into the building. He needed to make sure he was alone, safe from any hidden dangers that could come out unexpectedly. He fastened his grip on his knife and took a moment to pray for his safety; both hoping and fearing someone was listening. He paused, lighting one of the candles to guide his courage and his way down the now dimly lit hallway. As he ventured toward the staircase, he established the building to be the small towns’ summer chapel. There was a choir room, a children’s play room and two other rooms filled with crosses and bibles, but these too had been abandoned and forgotten long ago. The old wood creaked and moaned as he tip-toed down the stairs. The shadows danced disturbingly on the worn walls as the candle flame flickered in beat with each drip of wax the hit the floor. At the bottom of the steps, the light illuminated the main worship hall in a soft blood-orange glow. It was as if the sun were in his hands, warming up the room as his muscles and sores comfortably melted. The deep colors of the room brought some warmth back to his body, revitalizing him from the bland world outside. This feeling, however, was short-lived as his body tensed back up; feeling as though someone was watching him. He scanned the rest of the room only to see numerous rows of glossy wooden pews pointed effectively towards a stage in the cavernous room. They all bowed at a statue of the son of God that hung against the wall behind the stage. At first, he was startled by the unsettling sight. The grotesque mutilation of the human body contrasted with the look of discerning contemplation that was forcefully chiseled on His face; forever made to question and suffer the fate set on by His Father. He felt sad for this inanimate object, eventually leading to a feeling of self-pity, as if they had both been abandoned by civilization. Maybe he had missed the end of the world, he thought to himself. “You didn’t forget about me, did you?” he asked with a sad desperation in his voice. Walking across the room, he felt the gaze of the statue follow his every move. The contrary look in his dead glossy eyes glaring down at him hastened his steps as he began to feel anxious. He continued to explore the building in hopes of finding someone or something that would answer the questions still lingering in the back of his mind. He wandered into a small kitchen that had been turned over, making it difficult to differentiate things. Now, it dawned on him that someone, obviously disorganized, had been in this church before him but thankfully abandoned it. There were no signs of anyone coming back as the place laid covered in dust. The shiny kitchenware that lay scattered around the room and floor resembled lost treasure as the reflective metals shimmered old silver and gold. Amidst the faux treasure, he found some other valuables hidden in plain sight. He took a few canned goods, a couple of clean rags and more candles he found back to the nave of the worship hall. He lit candles throughout the room revealing the intricacies in the hand craft wood-work carved all around the room. The myriad of colors in the stained-glass windows finally brought a sense of life into the washed-out world he found himself in. This was a comfort he was familiar with having grown up in the church for most of his youth. His memories were slowly returning as though the pesky questions from before were dying off; fueling the lamp that slowly illuminated his mind. A hunger crept up quickly and unexpectedly, his stomach growled in defense while his legs buckled. He needed to fuel his body. He finally collapsed on the stage; relaxed and sprawled out across the hard floor. Lying on his stomach, he took a soft sniff of mystery meat from one of the metal cans, hoping to find out what it was, but the second he took another whiff he realized that all canned meat would smell the same. He tilted the tin so the light would show any discoloration, bur even so, it looked how he remembered. So, he took a pinch of the chunky grub and hesitantly put it in his mouth. The velvety meat melted in his mouth as he savored every chewy bit. He was so hungry that he reached for another unmarked can and completely ignored the thought of hesitation. Before he knew it, there were three empty cans lying on the ground beside him. The last one tasted a bit odd, he thought to himself. The leftover taste in his mouth was bitter yet the meat smelled fishy when he initially inspected it. His belly gurgled in response to the food as his bowels began to brew violently inside him. He could not resist his instinct to go find a bathroom; after all, he would feel terrible defacing his new church haven. He stumbled into a dark dank bathroom, fumbling around for a sink. He had no time to grab a candle. Leaning heavily against the counter, he stared intently at his vague reflection in the dirty mirror, taking deep breaths through his nose. The smell in his nose was sour, as if he had already gotten sick and the musty musk in the sealed room was not making him feel any better. He turned the faucets in vain as the pipes groaned and sputtered out air. Several times he would pause just to keep his stomach under control while reassuring himself that he would be just fine. He switched to taking deep breaths through his mouth. As a bitter film of oil and phlegm stuck to the back of his through, any attempt to cough or clear his throat tempted the inevitable. He turned around; his eyes adapted to the room, and slammed the first stall door open, collapsing and bowing in front of the porcelain throne. There was no water here either, just grim and mold. He spat up in disgust. The sound of the chunky spew splattering inside the bowl turned his stomach completely over. In between the dry heaves and hurling, he would mutter prayers, pleading to survive the night of this awful nightmare. Once his insides felt hallow and the nausea went away, he closed his eyes, drifting off as the images in his imagination continued to spin. He awoke in a cold sweat; fetal and on the floor. His head throbbing as he tried to pull himself out of this disorientating state. The nightmare would not end. No one was listening. He dared not look in the toilet and lowered the lid down, hoisting himself on the seat. The smell was intense now as he hunched over, cradling his heavy head in his hands. Frustrated with the smell, he arbitrarily flushed his toilet shocked to hear the muffled rush of water flush away under him. The sound made his lips crack as he stood up to lift the top of the tank searching for any water. There was only a small pool of clear cold water that appeared to be clean of any debris. There was no foul stench or mold to be seen so he skimmed the water with his finger and tasted the water. This was just enough lubrication to bring his cognition back into rotation. He did not want to make the same mistake he did with the canned food so he decided to collect the water and sterilize it. Leaving the door propped to air out the stench, he gathered some candles and containers and left them by the door. The bathroom was in rough condition, probably from the last squatters who were there. He decided to use the rags to soak up the water and filter larger things from getting into his drinking supply. The first stall tank barely filled an inch of water in a large silver pot, but regardless, it was rewarding for him to see something positive come from his awful state just moments earlier. Though disheartened, small victories proved to be vital toward his efforts for survival. Having the candle lighting up the room helped keep his mind focused as he resisted the urge to guzzle down the clear water. As he got ready to collect water from the second stall, he noticed a thick white cord hanging taught from a hole in the ceiling over the last third stall. He knew there were plenty of uses for rope in survival scenarios so he decided to cut the cord from the ceiling with his knife. However, as he stood outside the last stall, he became wary of whether he should enter as a frightful chill grazed his body. The strange odor he had smelled throughout the building was strong in the corner of this bathroom as the deathly smell cut through the cracks of the stall. His worst terrors came true before his eyes as he slowly swung the creaky door open. There in the last stall of the men’s bathroom hung the leathery remains of a corpse. The shock of fear and sorrow shook him psychologically as he understood the dreadful reality of this enduring nightmare. This miserable world was finally real. He was not going to wake up. He did not get sick, as nothing was left in his stomach to upset; but he fell to his knees, yelling at the sacred ground in frustration for giving him spoiled food and a dead companion. He had reached a breaking point “I just want some answers, for Christ’s sake!” he demanded, pounding the floor with his fist. Upon a third slam, he broke one of the weaker floor tiles into several pieces. He stopped as some blood oozed from the cut on to the floor. In the corner of his eye, he saw a small dark blue notepad hidden in the shadows beside the toilet. Flipping through it, he could see that both sides of the pages were filled with writing and drawings from front to back. Maybe this would shed some light on what happened to this man and the rest of the world. He was finally free of this pent up frustration that had shackled him to denial. He would stop assuring himself he would be alright and decided it would be up to him and not fate to guarantee that; regardless of what happened to the rest of the world. A primal need for survival had emerged from within him upon seeing the wretched remains of somebody who giving up hope. He desperately needed to find someone alive. He would not wait to succumb to the same fate. He did not know why but he stepped onto the toilet and cut the body down, laying it on the floor. Perhaps he couldn’t stand the sight, or maybe he felt sympathy but either way he left the bathroom with just the knife and never opened the door again. He proceeded to the women’s bathroom when a dog’s barks are heard and something scratches at the door The dog comes into the building just as more monstrous noises are heard He barricades the door with some of the church pews Multiple wolves can be seen circling the church from the second story windows before a larger mutated monster comes along Stays up until his eyes can no longer stay open reading the notes Wakes up to the wet nose of the dog and the faint light shining in through the stained windows (still cloudy but with more some more light) Two mutated wolves are seen mutilated outside the church The dog bolts off with the small bag of salvaged supplies into the town and he tries his best to follow it After some frustration and yelling, Peter hears a ruckus around the corner A man stumbles out of an abandoned house Peter tries to interact with the man but something is offs The dog is seen running towards a forest where children can be seen by the tree line Peter yells at them and then realizes the man is a mutated monster A horrendous cry is heard from the creature and conflict ensues The children run off into the forest yelling After killing the depraved man, more cries are heard off in the distance He runs towards the tree line in hopes of finding his pack as well as answers from the kids but doesn’t find them Instead he reaches an enormous wall, following it until it gets to a gate He meets the townspeople and is escorted in through the gates once one of the kids defends his innocence |
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jlee0790
June 1, 2016, 5:49 AM
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THE FALLEN Chapter One: Hole in the Sky A bitter cold numbness grew from the ground; creeping its way through the air, as death desperately latched itself onto any warmth that remained. The land looked like a palette of grays and browns had been carelessly thrown across an old, worn canvas - one that was placed in a dying fire, left to suffer the agonizingly slow scorch of decay. The world struggled to survive this losing battle that had left it in such a decrepit state. But despite the unforgiving conditions, life still endured. In a vast field of desiccated earth, riddled with patches of dead grass and trees, lay a man. His eyes suddenly opened as he looked up toward the sky. With a detached look on his face, he laid still in complete solace. For a brief moment, he was immersed in a feeling of complete ignorance to the rest of the world. Everything seemed so familiar - as if he had been here before - but an unwarranted rush of emotions mixed with the chill of death created an unwanted anxiety that shocked him back to reality. This reality wasn’t familiar. In the insipid ceiling of gray clouds was a warm curtain of blinding light flowing down from the sky to the ground. It appeared as if something had made an opening in the clouds for the sun to shine through. He reached out his hand to feel the comfort of the light but the beam began to slowly unravel and shrink until it wound down to a narrow stiff thread. It seemed as if someone was tugging a lose strand from this luminous golden drape, pulling faster and faster as the frantic search for the end of that string grew more urgent. He recoiled hand as if his gesture caused the clouds to converge on the light. He noticed how everything in sight seemed to stretch out toward the warmth but as he withdrew his hand, it all steadily slumped back to a state of misery. The thread was now plucked, leaving the land in a sickly overcast. The man's heart sank as all of his senses enhanced his fears. Not a single trace of humanity could be felt. Not a single voice. No birds chirping or machines humming. No sounds at all. He was alone. The silence grew so loud that it became unbearable. Within his hazy mind, questions began to multiply and fester like spreading poison. Now the only sounds to be heard were the millions of voices inside his head demanding inexplicable explanations. Thoughts flew around frantically like hundreds of flies bumbling around a bright stray light in the land of absolute darkness. Slowly, he propped himself up, trying to gain his bearings. Trying to stay calm. The dreary smell of filth and decay clung to the inside of his nose as each breath begged for freedom from the lung wrenching vapors. As he rubbed his eyes, he managed to manipulate the blurry backgrounds into distinguishable shadows. The remains of destroyed factories and billboards sit ruined off in the distance, but still, nothing seemed familiar. Shaking his head as if the questions had manifested, he finally gained some control over the voices. The concerns began to dissipate as he narrowed his focus down to figure out one questions - where am I? He couldn’t seem to remember his past, let alone how he woke up in the middle of this field. As he shuffled around on the ground, he realized that he had been sitting on something. Hidden by the dirt were the torn and tattered pages of an old newspaper - The Chicago Sun Times. “The Chicago Sun Times?” He rasped, trying to clear his voice. He looked up towards the buildings and was able to make out the large white print written on a large sign. The word GENEVA shone bright against the black welcome board. Suddenly, the realization that he lives - or lived - in Illinois flashed through his mind. Vague memories were coming back, but the questions at hand remained unanswered. He looked back down at the paper in search for more clues, but his eyes focused onto one thing. “November, 12th 20XX” In more confusion than before, he thought about how long it would even take for the paper to be in its current condition. His brain strained as he strained to remember. “This has to be a joke.” he scoffed. “It’s not 20XX…” He paused to reassure himself. “I mean, it’s not even November.” He started to get restless as the questions began to manifest again. "What is going on?" he asked himself, slowly standing up. His legs felt weak and brittle like the crumbling, cracked dirt under his feet. "How did I get here? What year is it? Who am I?" Unexpectedly, a wave of absolute darkness began to overtake the land as the faint silhouette of the sun set from behind the clouds. Once the flood of night settled, the first signs of life began to make their presence known. Unfamiliar noises - growls and howls - broke through the deafening silence and grew louder as each distinct sound fought to fend for its territory. An unnerving roar that hushed the rest of the animalistic clamor thundered from behind him. The unearthly sound made him feel completely exposed, like a deer stuck in an open field with monstrous predators staring intently at their next meal. He turned around cautiously, terrified that his heavy heart beats were beckoning the beasts to attack. All he could see was a line of trees shrouded in shadows darker than night sky. In the distance, he noticed a sharp rustling in the brush. His heart began to beat so hard that with each thump, he had to try his best to swallow it down. The darkness was coming alive. His legs felt weaker than before with all his blood pumping and rushing to his chest, leaving his legs feeling frozen. Suddenly, something bolted from the trees straight toward him. He tried to get a better view of the animal but his legs began moving despite the numb, tingling pain. They moved on their own as he fought his instinctual curiosity to look back. All he could focus on were the town buildings, chaotically torn apart and worn by the brutal beats of time. No matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t out-run the feeling that something was hovering over his shoulder breathing chills down his neck. He pumped his legs harder as his eyes narrowed down to the least menacing, most illuminated street. As he moved closer, he noticed that most of the building windows were boarded up with the rest lay shattered all over the ground. Certain buildings were gutted out while others were completely destroyed. Despite the destruction, there was an ironic comfort to be found in the ruins of the town. He desperately wanted the cover of the buildings but couldn’t push himself any harder. His legs began feeling heavier, as if each step went further into a mud trap. He closed his eye and pushed his legs so hard that they couldn’t keep up with one another, throwing himself into the air as he clipped his own foot. He awkwardly skipped across the grey gravel, trying to catch himself to continue running when he realized how close he now was to the town line. In this moment of stillness, he glanced back at his feet to see if he had fallen over anything but the ground was eerily barren. In the corner of his eye, he saw a white streak rapidly approaching. “Is that a wolf?” he mumbled to himself. He leaned in, trying to get a better look, only to see a dark, brooding behemoth of a shadow charging behind the wolf. He scrambled, stirring the dusty dirt up around him, before bolting across the hard blackened road. A flash of white fur raced pass him, causing a sharp shocked gasp to break his heavy, steady breathing. He tried his best to keep up with the wolf but even with concrete gripping against his shoes, the dog quickly disappeared into the night. After searching around some corners, the fatigue began to set into his muscles the minute he realized there was nothing chasing him anymore. Once the noises became far enough to be fully muffled by the wind, he tried to rationalize what just happened. "What was that thing?" he thought to himself, in a surreal state of shock. Before anything, he knew he needed to find a safe place to spend the night. As he quietly walked through the small town, he found himself in a ghost town. Dead cars, overgrown weeds, and old trash filled the streets. This entire place was looted and rioted, and the wear that the comes with time could be seen in every corner and alley. In the maze of buildings, he somehow found himself in front of an archaic church. It was located in what appeared to be the town square standing tall and proud with little damage. The immense structure with its majestic arches and grand windows stood out against all the other buildings he had seen in the town. For some unknown reason, the windows of the church seemed to still be intact and the building appeared to have been respectfully left alone. Its intimidating appearance was easily overlooked as the secure and solid shelter gave welcome to the weary wanderer. He walked through the gateway and up the front steps only to arrive at a locked door. The large, rustic wooden frame towered over him with heavy metal handles that refused to budge. “Hello?!” he shouted, demanding an answer. “Is anyone there?!” The church bellowed with every knock as he desperately waited for a response. He walked to the back of the building to see if there was another way in. Unsurprisingly, this door; more modern than the front, was locked too. It was getting late into the night and he needed a safe place in order to get some good sleep. This was the safest place he’d seen in town. He needed to get into this sturdy stone haven. Mustering what little strength he had left, he tried his best to break the door in. He would ram and kick the door with avail. He found an old metal pipe, most likely from a broken fence nearby, and tried to break the handle, also in vain. Nothing was working. He sat down on a curb facing the door and stared intently at it. He just couldn't figure out he was going to get in. To his pleasant surprise, a skinny gray squirrel dashed out of the shadows down the narrow alley. There were a lot of animals in this ghost town, and it was a source of comfort to see a friendly familiar. The man sat still, to avoid startling it. He watched as the squirrel approaches the door, as if it expected the door to be opened for it. He scuffed the ground trying to quietly stand, grabbing the attention of the critter. It stared intently back at him as he slowly continued to get up. "Where is everyone, little guy?" he asked, gesturing the squirrel to stay put. In a fright, it scurried up a sturdy drain pipe located further down the wall, jumping and flying strategically onto a window ledge on the second level. It knew where it was going as it climbed through a small break in the window. "Thanks, Rocky!" he shouted, sluggishly jogging toward the window. Something behind him growled; a response he regretted ever wanting. It was like that roar from the field before, but this was worse. This was a clangorous, bone-chilling snarl that made his heart drop from how close it felt. Without hesitation he raced to the heavy metal downspout and threw the metal pipe at the window. He looked back and saw a horrid looking wolf slowly lurking out of the darkness. But the wolf wasn't quite a wolf. It was wrong. A terrible mistake from a strange world. A fifth leg moved in conjunction with the others - creating an eerie limp. The skin and fur were in patches all over the deteriorating body. The unblinking eyes were white and wideset but he knew it was looking right at him from the way its head followed him as he began climbing. An enormous mouth took most notice as it gnashed its teeth. His hands were sweating against the metal pole as he reached the window, clearing the glass with his shoes. He slid through the window and landed on the dusty red carpet. He finally felt safe. He looked down out the window and saw the monstrosity pacing back and forth, still staring closely. “Can’t get me from up here, can ya? You ugly mutt.” he provoked. He grabbed a dense hardcover book from a bookshelf next to the window and threw it straight at its deformed head, triggering a sharp shrill before it took off. “What kind of nightmare am I in?” he thought to himself, questioning his sanity. A strong chilling breeze barged through the window, blowing papers off of an antique office table that sat in the corner of room. He scanned the old church office, which was cluttered with books, papers, office supplies, and a myriad of religious knickknacks. The draft was unsettling so he lugged the bookcase over to cover the hole, stuffing the space between with whatever drapes or robes he could find. With a heavy sigh of relief, he plopped onto a squeaky office chair and finally felt at ease; distant from danger. He placed his head down on the tabletop in exhaustion, his mind empty; taking a mental break. Oddly, things appeared to be displaced. More so than just a couple of loss papers scattered on the floor. Pages had been torn out of books that lay open on the ground. Items that were broken or knocked over on the floor. It appeared as though someone was already in the church. Quietly, he rummaged through every nook and cranny for anything he thought could be useful. In a small bag, he organized a box of matches; with only a few match sticks left, a couple of long candles, a half-used roll of duct-tape, some smaller books he found for reading and/or kindling and a drape figured he could use as a blanket. He also found a small letter opening knife that he gripped tightly in his hand as he carefully cracked open the door. There was a strange subtle smell in the air as his eyes readjusted to this new dark. He paused, lighting one of the candles to guide his steps down the dimly lit hallway. Distinguishing the building to be more of a chapel, he found a choir room, a children’s room, and other designated room as he ventured toward the staircase, but these too were all empty. Something was off. |
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joshwolters12
May 7, 2016, 8:04 PM
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| Hope you've been thinking on your first story! You got this! | |
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