BlackDragonSlayer's Short Stories

[BlackDragonSlayer]

I like the story! Slightly confused as to why it's a Halloween special in February, but I'll take it!

As I said in my previous posts, the original plan for Halloween Horror Special 2016 was scrapped because I was putting most of my efforts into writing The Tusked Mask/A Thing I Do Not Know. So, I figured that, because The Tusked Mask was definitely finished before October, A Thing I Do Not Know was started in October (I wrote the first part of it for shadowkirby's TWG; lol), and The Tree of Tears was written in November. Plus, all of them are generally spooky/depressing in some way which fits the overarching theme anyway.

Did you have any specific reason for the names? They seemed rather unusual.

Out-of-universe justification is that it's science fiction and it just kinda sounds right. Also, I'm bad at thinking up normal names. I knew I wanted the protagonist to be named "Neet," but I just randomly gave him a weird surname as well.

In-universe justification is that humans have been out of the Milky Way galaxy for at least a thousand years and come into contact with a number of other species, and the vocabulary of the English language has inevitably changed to reflect that (the name "Sakar Obelith" is supposed to be words from an alien language that entered common usage in its romanized form). This is a setting I'm particularly interested in (so if it seems like I have a lot of little plot details mapped out behind the scenes, I probably do ), which is why I feel super excited to write stories like this and I Knew A Man that offer little slices out of it from the perspective of ordinary characters.

[BlackDragonSlayer]

The Man Who Left Our Earth

     Tobias Matthews slogged down the streets, looking around himself in fear and filled with despair. As he continued his walk, he was met with hostile, uninviting glances from all those around him. His awful, arduous days at work were bad enough, but each and every day, to be surrounded with such a level of disdain from people he didn't even know? He thought he wasn't too bad of a person—he just wanted to live his life and, maybe, if he could, help a fellow person out—but when he went out into the world at large he felt like an outcast and a monster. He was unwanted, unneeded, unloved, and completely, entirely alone in a world where he could not trust and where the truth was but a phantasm to his prying, desperate grasp.

     Shaking, he opened the door to his apartment. The walk back from work had drained so much from him. He slammed the door and bolted it closed. He collapsed on his sofa, the strain finally overcoming him: tears streaming from his eyes, he grasped the cushions as inanimate objects of support. After some time, he lumbered off the couch and into the bathroom. He opened the medicine cabinet and locked his eyes on the bottle of dwindling antidepressants. A muffled cry gurgled from his throat as he clutched the bottle and downed all of its contents. He skimmed the cabinet for more, and finding an older prescription of something else, hastily downed all of it too. He quickly began to feel queasy and in pain. As he collapsed to the ground, he let out a scream of agony. He reached his hand up to grab onto the sink, but to no avail: he was quickly fading. He pleaded to the heavens above.

     "Please, please God... do something... save me..."

     Then he lost consciousness.
 

********************

     In a fuzzy recollection of the past, visions of his childhood entered his mind. From a young age, he was an orphan; it was not until age eight that he was adopted. His life before that time was far from pleasant, yet his life after that point was not ideal either. He could think of a million things that had scarred him, messed him up, or otherwise simply broken him throughout his years; maybe it was his fault for not being able to cope with any of it? After all, though he could not control his circumstances, he could control how he responded to them... couldn't he? His life now, in the present... nothing good could be said of it either. A dead end life at a dead end job, and... it was just a whole mess, wasn't it? Everything about it was. Both his adoptive parents had died years ago, and nobody else even wanted to deal with him, so he had spent almost the last decade of his life trudging through the heap of muck his entire life had built up to. But maybe there was more he could do if he really wanted. He could devote his life to helping people. Even if he wasn't appreciated, what would it matter if he knew he was doing good? Isn't that what it's all about, really? Doing good?

********************

     And then, he was awake. Gasping for breath, awake. Blood gently dribbled from his mouth and ears. He felt very ill and unsettled. He tried to stand up once more, and with effort, he managed to get up. He inched his way back out, but by the time he had reached the table, it became more and more difficult for him to remain standing. He struggled toward the sofa and collapsed once more.

     And then, again, he was awake. But now, he felt better. Felt a little... different, even. Outside, it looked like it was early morning. He didn't know what else to do, so he decided to get ready for work once more, like he did every day.

     The day at the office started like any other. As his walk to work ended, he felt the sun's rays burning down on him, the miserable heat of the summer at its peak. For once, he couldn't wait to get inside. Once he left the elevator up to the floor where he worked, he passed his boss.

     "How are you doing today, sir?" Tobias asked rather quaintly.

     "Mediocre." His boss continued to walk onwards.

     Tobias was somewhat surprised. His boss usually refused to speak with him—or many of the other workers on the floor, for that matter—even declining to answer a simple greeting. But today, something was different. Tobias shuffled over to his cubicle. After a few minutes, he still could not concentrate, his mind so focused on both last night's events and the events this morning. He peeked over the wall of his cubicle to look at his coworker.

     "George... do you think there's anything different going on around here lately? Like, maybe something strange with the boss?"

     "No to both those questions," George answered bluntly.

     Tobias lowered himself back into his chair. Another thought popped into his head, and he got up once more.

     "George? Do you like me at all? Like as a friend? As a coworker?"

     "I don't care much for you or your existence, to be honest. I'd rather you leave me alone right now."

     Tobias sunk down, part baffled and part ecstatic. Something was different, after all, and he had a pretty good idea what it was. He rose suddenly and made his way to his boss's office. The door was ajar, and he walked right in.

     "Do... do you think I deserve a raise?" he questioned his boss.

     "Of course you do. Ya work like a slave."

     "But... but will you give me a raise?" he inquired once more.

     "Of course not. Everyone around these parts knows how stingy I am." Then, after a moment of awkward silence, his boss recoiled somewhat, as if it had just dawned on him what he had just said. "Just... go. Get back to work." He shook his head as Tobias left, as if emerging from a trance.
 

********************

     That night was different. Tobias lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, contemplating this apparent newfound power. If it really was true, like he thought it was, the implications were profound: now, for once in his life, he could be certain of at least one thing. Even if the things he heard from now on—the opinions about himself, especially—were not positive or soothing in any way, simply knowing that he could learn the infallible truth was somewhat of a comfort to him. The power of this, he contemplated, could even reach far outside his own self; it could, potentially, be used as a tool of ultimate accountability. Yes, perhaps that was what he'd use it for—maybe even what he was meant to use it for. For once in his life, Tobias felt as if he had a place in the world and a purpose in life.

     The next morning, instead of going to work, Tobias set out on a journey. Along the way, he used his mysterious new ability to connect with strangers of all walks of life and to solve any conflicts he came upon; he found that, sometimes, establishing trust and openness between two people was often the best way to make people see that they might not be too different after all. He traveled for many days and met many people until he reached Washington D.C. This was his destination, and he imagined that it would quickly become the focal point of his mission. Though he was finally beginning to run out of money, he supposed that once he made his move, he would have little trouble gaining support one way or another. His first act would be a bold one that would doubtlessly receive a lot of attention.

     He spent many minutes walking and scanning the area. At last, from a distance, he spotted a man with greying hair and a neat trimmed beard, a man he recognized from many a televised speech. As he approached him, he began to shout.

     "Congressman Steward!" The man turned his head to look at Tobias as he approached, "I'm a constituent of yours, and I was wondering if I could ask you some questions."

     The man, though visibly annoyed, nodded and let out a gruff noise that vaguely resembled a "yes" in compliance.

     "People say that in recent years you haven't had the interests of the state nor its people in mind. Is it true that you've been screwing over your constituents for almost the last decade of your political career?"

     Something snapped in the congressman, as if a switch inside his head had been suddenly flicked on, and he began his tirade, loud and clear for all around him to hear, "Well, yes, of course that's true. You know all of what I have to gain from it. What people don't realize, however, is that I've been in it for personal gain from the very beginning. Let me make that very clear."

     Tobias's face twisted into a mischievous grin. People around them had already stopped in shock and began pulling out their phones to record as the congressman's impromptu speech continued on.

     "Well, no sir, I'm not quite sure I do know just what you have to gain from your self-interested behavior. Would you care to elaborate on the extent of your malicious actions?" Tobias prodded, hoping to dig even deeper into the web of deceit.

     The congressman continued, on and on, question after question. He could do nothing but be painfully honest. No lie, no transgression would be left untold. From now on, things would be different for everybody, starting here.
 

********************

     To say that a purge had begun was an understatement. Footage of the events that had transpired between Tobias and Congressman Steward flooded the internet and seized every media outlet in a way that seemed almost without end. People across the country and even around the world wondered who this mystery man was, and were simultaneously in a fierce, fiery uproar at what has escaped from the congressman's lips. When Tobias tried the same thing again, he was almost arrested; yet, the officers suddenly let him go when, confronted by Tobias, they all agreed that they had no moral or even logical grounds upon which to arrest him and that he was "probably" doing the right thing. He quickly became a well-known and well-loved face in the area, as well as an overnight celebrity throughout the nation.

     Politicians everywhere feared that he would come for them and force them to expose their darkest secrets and unravel the lies they had spun in order to both keep themselves in power and take full advantage of the "benefits" of their positions. And indeed, that's just what Tobias intended to do. Eventually, a protest formed outside the U.S. Capitol building. "Let Tobias in," they cried, day after day. People from every state continued to pour in to express support for the man from which no truth could be hidden. At long last, and with much reluctance from the opposition, they got their way.

     And so the burning interrogation began. One by one, they began to fold under an onslaught of both their own naked words that betrayed them, revealing the ugly truths they sought to conceal, and a torrent of scathing criticism from the outside, a world looking upon them in disgust tinted with an unfortunate but inevitable dose of hypocrisy. At last, the true enemy would show itself, dragged from the darkness in which it lay. At last, they had nowhere to hide—no veil with which to mask the ugliness underneath, the horrid selfishness and secret lust for power with drove them; a lust for control.

     Only a few escaped with their reputations wholly intact, alongside a handful more who were deemed to be not quite as bad as the rest. Upon their exit, the majority were met with screaming mobs full of hatred at the numerous and nigh uncountable transgressions, political, personal, or otherwise, divided between so many people, that had been allowed to be committed for years; so many long years had passed without justice and truth reigning supreme as it should, but here, now, things could be different for once. In so many days, there were so many deposed so ungracefully. Like an unstoppable wave towering tall enough to block the very sun, this movement spread and consumed. In many places, violence erupted on unimaginable levels, but in others, more peaceful transitions awaited.

     And at the front of this movement was one man. For a time, Tobias was happy and wholeheartedly proud of himself. Raised on a pedestal, to all those around him he became the paragon of all virtue itself, a champion of justice and truth, and the beacon to a better future. All those who sought to lead nations would no longer be held accountable simply by a fallible system and judged by their own unreliable words. Now, each and every one of them had a very real threat dangling over their heads. For once, faced with the fear of legions of burning eyes and bloodthirsty mouths of the people of the world, the people with power did, time after time, the right thing. There would be no more deception. No more exploitation of the masses for the sake of greed. The era of hoodwinking, it seemed, was truly coming to an end. For once, each and every one was pushed to, as the saying goes, plant trees of whose shade they would never see in their lifetimes; to do what was in the best interest of not just themselves, but of as many people as they could reach with their influence.

     But this man, he was but one man, and a man still. Even after everything he had done, everything that had been accomplished, he still felt empty. Though he had a purpose—a place that he always desired in the world that had once rejected him—though he had truly made a difference, though he thought he was motivated by the good and his heart and his desire to make the world a better place... even though from now on, he would live his life free from fear or from physical want... he still felt... awful. Even as many more years passed, and his powers were called upon less and less frequently, but being just as revered regardless, he did not feel any better, nor any worse. Once more, he was stuck in a rut, a void of isolation and of sheer, inexplicable terror.

     So, on the evening of December twenty-first, Tobias Matthews looked in the mirror. Tears streamed from his eyes. He looked at his reflection, and opened his mouth to speak.
 

********************

     On the morning of December twenty-second, Tobias Matthews was found dead in his apartment. Though foul play was initially suspected, the cause of death was determined to be a self-inflicted gunshot wound to his temple. His body lie in front of a mirror. For ages after, people questioned what would cause him to do such a terrible thing to himself. But truly, it was not quite a surprising thing, you see: everyone Tobias Matthews ever spoke to always told the truth, for better or for worse.

THE END

[BlackDragonSlayer]

The Fall of the Renegade Eclipse

     Panic. There was no conceivable way anything should have gone wrong on this mission, let alone everything that mattered. A hardware malfunction, perhaps, was expected, but all the top engineers and technicians had assured the captain and the crew that the vessel was fully functional and ready for the final phase of its testing—a complete cruise around the galaxy. But this? A full-on ambush? Nobody in their wildest dreams had expected this, let alone an attack so seemingly well prepared and executed. Though it was supposed to be absolutely top secret, somehow, their mission had been ousted and tracked down to the inch. It would have taken no less to have seamlessly and successfully transported a ship—let alone two, for that matter—straight between the Renegade Eclipse and its two escorts, one on either side. Beyond all belief, it seemed as if the enemy had outsmarted them and was using technology that rivaled, if not surpassed, theirs. The Renegade Eclipse had been designed to be the most advanced military ship in the entire galaxy, but now, it was helpless floating in the void. If they unleashed their powerful weaponry on their enemy, they had just as great a chance of unintentionally blowing their own allies out of the cosmos along with them—its state-of-the-art artillery had never been tested out in the field before, and now was certainly not the time to risk messing up even more. And without backup, who knew what else was to come? Could they withstand a second assault so soon after the first, which they would barely have survived in the first place?

     Then, rather late, the ship's alarm started up, bathing the hallway in a glowing crimson light. He stopped to peer out the nearest window and survey the scene outside. Though he was but the lieutenant commander of the ship's ground forces, he knew a thing or two about space battles from his training. This alarm was not one for a direct attack or breach of the ship's hull. No, the enemy invaders still had their cannons locked onto the escort ships, which were desperately wriggling around to reach an angle where they could fire back without hitting the Renegade Eclipse as well. The sound of the alarm gave it away: this alarm indicated that they were being boarded. Somehow, amidst the chaos, another hostile ship must have slipped through past the forward cannons and connected with the lower docking bay. To do so, it must have been quite small in comparison with the others, though regardless, that did not bode well for them; it was yet another factor to worry about in this already bleak situation. They did not—could not—know what they were dealing with, and that worried him even more. And if their weaponry was as advanced as their ships, things certainly did not look very good for their survival.

     Another message blared up. "ALL CAPABLE HANDS TO YOUR NEAREST ARMORY. PREPARE FOR COMBAT."

     He scrambled so he could fall in with the nearest group. Strength in numbers was the last advantage they had left; though it was exceedingly unlikely that they could rally together the entirety of the ship's forces in time for the first confrontation, they certainly stood a better chance using group tactics.

     "Sir," another soldier nodded with him as he joined in and ran along with a group of ten others.

     "Good," he thought to himself, "here's something to work with, at least."

     Upon reaching the armory, they quickly grabbed everything they could carry. After a short while, it seemed like they were the only group on this level who was going to be using this armory, so it didn't matter how much they took: they armed themselves to the teeth. Aside from the standard sidearm energy pistol and knife, they each took a pulse rifle, a shotgun as a backup, several grenades, and enough ammunition to fend off a small army. One of the soldiers even took a sniper rifle for herself, "just in case." After their preparations were finished, he gave the order to move out. There was a nearby corridor that would serve as a choke point between two vital means of transportation through the ship; sooner or later, this meant that if the invaders weren't stopped soon enough, they would doubtlessly be coming through this way, through one end of the hallway or another. Four soldiers positioned themselves on either side, and two in the center with the commander. Tensely, they waited. For a moment, his communication device flared up with noise, but was quickly silenced. It startled and unnerved him, though he mentally assured himself that it wasn't as bad as he thought it could be.

     Noise at one end of the passageway. He could hear the group positioned there start to pull back for cover. As he turned, he saw in the corner of his eye one of them being struck with a bolt from the attackers. As it struck through, a jet of crimson spurted out the other side and against the wall. The man fell forward to his hands and knees, stunned and injured by the blast. Several more followed in the blink of an eye, and he dropped dead, practically ripped apart by the onslaught. Then, more noise from the other side of the hallway.

     "Shit!" he thought, "they weren't supposed to be attacking from both sides! Had they already cleaned out the whole ship by now? And how the hell was that even possible? He didn't think that even the most elite of strike forces could be that efficient." He thought he heard the first group yelling about the ineffectiveness of their pulse rifles. "Switch weapons!" he shouted to the other group, "Shotguns!"

     The second group seemed to be somewhat more effective at holding back the intruders, though only marginally. The two men who flanked him had already rushed forward to provide support to the first group, who were almost literally on their last legs. Even as he continued to bark orders to both groups, it seemed inevitable at this point that they would be overrun before long. In front of him, energy bolts of varying colors continued to stream forth with increasing intensity against the faltering troops, and behind him... well, he assumed it wasn't going much better. The last thing he wanted to do was turn around and get shot in the back. If he was going down, he was going to fight to the end.

     At last, the first group and its reinforcements finally fell. Their corner of the room was heavily stained with gore, from which it was clear that the enemy was using much more volatile weaponry then they were. It was not a pleasant way to go, though at this point, he didn't have much of a choice; he swore not to die a coward.

     From around the corner, several insectoid-type aliens charged forth. Some of them had blades for hands, resembling a mantis, with stubby, thin fingers up top, while others had almost humanoid hands. He fired his shotgun at the one that had come around first, and it visibly recoiled at the attack, though it was but injured. He shot again, though this time was different. His blast was intercepted by a stream of black that flew around the corner. This was followed by a looming figure, a man—or what he thought was a man—clad in heavy armor and a flowing cape clasped to his shoulders—the thing he had seen dart around the corner, somehow. The titan stood almost six and a half feet tall, with inhumanly-wide shoulders. As he got closer, he motioned the aliens to his side. The commander was frozen in absolute fear of what he saw: his powerful features and even the absolutely striking way he walked. His eyes soaked up the sight before him: the figure's pale grey skin and oppressive purple eyes. Even as the beast holstered his own weapons, the commander's fear failed to fade. This man—no, monster—had such an absolutely terrifying presence. He knew this thing was perhaps entertained by the sight of the commander standing, weapon drawn, frozen in absolute terror. He could hear more creatures creeping up from behind, but he could do absolutely nothing. Nothing at all.

     The beast reached forward and wrenched the weapon from his hands. It gave way with no resistance. His throat dried up, and coughed out something resembling a plea before the man stepped forward once more and hoisted the commander off his feet with little effort. He could feel the cold wall against his back and neck, and, looking down and all around him, he was more afraid than ever. He thought that he could see the figure's mouth move, just slightly, as if speaking.

     "I'm sorry," he thought it said, as a flat blade ignited from its wrist, crackling with a low heat.

THE END

[BlackDragonSlayer]

Assorted Poetry
Down

     I eat, but there is no pleasure, no want
     I pause and look around—nothing at all
     It is a horrid thing, so I must.

     I take the bottle and carefully pour
     As the fluid slides down my throat, there is a pause that grips me
     A slight burn—a taste like bitter poison, but I must drink.

     I do not like to drink, but I despise it even more
     So I suppose I must; we all have our demons
     For if I do not drink, I think it will kill me.

[BlackDragonSlayer]

Halloween Horror Special 2017 part 1

Itty Morning Bitty Balm

     Marina was a sickly girl from the time she was young; she was so often ill that going out in public too much posed a significant danger to her. Thus, when it came to the scope of her world, she was mostly confined to her house and the house across the street. Every day except for the weekends, private tutors came by to teach her the kinds of things she would learn if she was in school, but still she missed the type of interactions she'd be able to have if she went to a "real" school. The neighbor across the street, Mr. Sanders, had no children of his own, but he did have a magnificent garden out front of his house. Sometimes, if he was out tending to the garden, he would help Marina across the street and show her around. Marina liked the towering hedges, brilliantly-colored exotic plants, and wide assortment of whimsical garden decorations and gnomes Mr. Sanders had collected over the years from all around the world. Mr. Sanders would tell her many different stories about the gnomes, where they came from, and what their personalities were like—though Marina was old enough to know that garden gnomes could never really come to life, she suspended her disbelief enough because she loved the stories and because they evoked memories of the fairy tales she adored as a little child.

     One night, Marina had a wonderful dream. In her dream, she was laying in bed, when all of a sudden, she was woken by a brilliant light and the sound of sweet singing. Through her bedroom door came a beautiful fairy, singing a melody unlike any she had ever heard. The song spoke to her and moved her to begin floating out of her bed, unrestrained by the limitations of her unwell body, and float toward the fairy. The words echoed:

     Itty morning bitty balm
     Come with me and then you'll see
     Just the place that's meant for you

     But then, she woke from her dream with a start. She looked around the room, and lamented in just how bleak it seemed: just how incomplete her life felt. She curled up underneath her blanket and began to cry.

     More time passed without any incidents, but before long, just as Marina had begun to forget about the dream, she had it again. It started the same way—the light and the singing from the beautiful fairy, Marina floating out of her bed like an airy spirit—but this time, she got further. As she floated through the hallway outside her room, she began to drift closer and closer to the fairy, and she started to feel a comfort unlike any she had ever felt before: like she wanted to touch the fairy and wrap her arms around it and never let go. But then, just like before, she woke up before she could get any closer. She felt even more despair than last time—her dream felt so intense, so real, and she wanted to feel more of the pleasure she had experienced inside her dream; for once in her life, she just wanted to feel happiness without the reality and inevitability of her world to taint it with disappointment.

     Every so often, Marina would have the dream again. Sometimes, she was gradually able to get nearer to the fairy, but no matter how much she tried to make the dream last longer, she always bolted awake before she could get to the front door. One day, Marina was in Mr. Sanders' garden, when she noticed a new gnome she hadn't ever seen before. It was sitting at the front of the garden at the base of a fountain, directly across the street from her house. It was sitting upon a base that held an inscription. "Itty morning bitty balm." It was the phrase from her dream! Immediately, but calm enough to avoid arousing suspicion, she asked Mr. Sanders about it.

     "Well," he began, "I just got this little fellow the other week, from a traveling chap from the old country. Now, he... he told me, that it was a phrase used by the elves and creatures of ancient times. He said it meant something like 'The new day holds much pleasure'. A curious thing, isn't it?"

     How could that be? The phrase had started appearing in her dream before Mr. Sanders even acquired the gnome! It had to mean something! She mentioned nothing, not about the dream nor the gnome, to her parents. It was her secret, after all; nobody could know about it.

********************

     One night, things were different. Now, more than ever, Marina was determined to catch up to the fairy. Every night, she went to sleep prepared for the dream, and tonight was the night. It was the same start as ever before. As she came closer and closer to the fairy, she began feeling more and more blissful, completely at peace, unlike anything she had ever felt before. As she drifted out the door and onto the lawn, the fairy's singing had her completely entranced. So gracefully the words slid out of its mouth, like the most elegant of notes from the finest instrument:

     Itty morning bitty balm
     Come with me and then you'll see
     Just the place that's meant for you

     Where we're going, you'll never want
     Come with me and you'll never leave
     So luscious little one, come to me

     Itty morning bitty balm

     It was dark outside, the sky pitch black with not a single star and the moon nowhere in sight. The fairy drifted across the street and settled down at the foot of a wondrous fountain that poured forth: where the street would be, there was a river with shimmering, unearthly water. Still she floated forward, coming closer and closer to where the fairy rested. She felt so much ecstasy as she reached her hand out, desperate to lock hand-in-hand with the fairy and experience the rest it had to give her.

     But then, as if something on the other side of the dream world—the real world, the world outside her fantasy—called to her, she realized with a start that something was wrong. All of a sudden, her dream began to fall apart and shatter around her. She was drawn away as if being violently peeled from her dream, and before she knew it, she was back in the real world, dazed and confused. She was standing in the street in front of Mr. Sanders' garden, one foot lifted and poised to settle down on the curb. Her gaze was locked on the house, and the front door, which was wide open: inside, she saw nothing but black void, and a haze circling around the entrance. Her breath was frozen inside her body. She broke her stare and looked down. In front of her, at the base of the fountain, was the gnome she had seen before—but it was not the same gnome she had seen before. Now, its face was locked in an evil grimace, pointed teeth showing in a wide-open mouth. Her body felt even more sick than it had ever felt before. She felt the imminent danger coming up like a fog around her. Her body felt stiff and vulnerable. This was not what she thought it had been.

     She turned and ran.

STAY TUNED FOR PART 2: MY LADY OF GREY

[BrainyLucario]

Ooh spooky

[BlackDragonSlayer]

Halloween Horror Special 2017 part 2

My Lady of Grey

     Oh! What a wondrous thing it is to me!
     My radiant love stands before me, cloaked in swathes of grey!
     For years now we have been together in love,
     Dreading the days we spend apart.

     When first we met, I know not when,
     But love was from the start; every year together is a lifetime.
     Her smile means so much, her heavenly voice my bliss,
     All-in-all, a rival of the world's best masterpiece.

     To please her is my want,
     In turn her promise, to remain by my side,
     At day's end what I need.
     For her, all my sacrifice is naught.

     I ask her if I can leave, but she says no,
     She doesn't like the people I would spend my time with,
     So begrudgingly, I stay, inside to rot.
     After all, I cannot break her favor.

     It takes nothing to please her,
     Except listen to her every word and let her do what she wants,
     She doesn't ask much, except that I do what pleases her.
     Whatever she wants, I shall do to my death.

     But here I sit, waiting for the hour she returns.
     I know not when, but when she comes,
     She comes home different,
     The night's rowdiness still lingers on her face and body.

     Her away at work, I at home, I wait for her response.
     The light remains dim, I check again,
     From malice or ignorance, I know not,
     But here I sit, my face warped with grey.

     My heart is gripped, my body tense,
     My spirits sink, but hope remains.
     The tears may flow, but still I wait,
     She'll be back before I know.

     Not to fight is right,
     But inside I have a feeling,
     A feeling of something wrong inside.
     But maybe I'm wrong; I do not know for sure.

     Here I cry, wondering if me or her,
     Craving her affection and love,
     I think of running, running far away,
     But at a word, I will stay.

     So here I sit, waiting for my lady of grey.

STAY TUNED FOR PART 3: WHAT A PRETTY THING

[BlackDragonSlayer]

Halloween Horror Special 2017 part 3

What a Pretty Thing

Jan. x, 19xx

    I shivered in the cold of the cellar. Even after all these years, I wasn't used to sleeping down here. As long as I can remember, this has been my home. There had only been a couple of times in my life where I had gotten the chance to sleep elsewhere in the house; it wasn't much better, to be honest, but at least it was an improvement over this nasty place. I don't really know why Mama kept me down here. Most of the times she just gave vague answers, but often she simply said stuff like "it's good for your body," or to "strengthen my mind." While I wasn't in the basement, Mama always made me work around the house all day while she sat around. Mama definitely thought that doing work around the house was good for me, something she insisted on a regular basis. And who was I to question it? Even though the work was rough and sometimes a little dangerous, I didn't really have anything else to do. Mama wouldn't ever let me go outside by myself; sometimes, she would have me go out in the yard and chop wood, but she would always be right next to me the entire time. Sometimes I thought about escaping. One night, Mama left the cellar door unlocked, and I went outside. But then I realized I probably wouldn't like it in the outside world anyway. That's what Mama always tells me. So I went back inside and went to sleep.

     We usually only got one meal per day, but because Mama has always been a heavy woman, I've suspected that she sneaks food when I'm not around. She always tells me she doesn't though, so I have no choice to believe her without any evidence to the contrary. Whenever she gets angry at me, she just throws me in the basement, locks the door, and forgets about me for the rest of the day. She doesn't like it when I question her. I don't know why Mama can't even do anything to try and make my life any easier; if she really loves me like she says she does, then wouldn't she? IT'S NOT FAIR THAT I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING AROUND HERE. Sometimes Mama just throws me downstairs when she feels like it. I know she's in charge but it doesn't feel fair to me at all. Don't I get a say in things? How long is this going to go on?

    But maybe I shouldn't complain. Maybe I don't deserve to. Maybe thing really are better here. Maybe Mama's just a woman who's been through so much that it's just worn away at her. Maybe I shouldn't blame her for everything like I always do. Maybe it is always my fault...

********************

June x, 19xx

     Today started just like any other day. I didn't think anything was going to happen. I swear, I didn't.

     I woke up extra early today because of a leak in the basement. The ground was wet and it was all around me now. Mama refused to call anybody to fix the pipes, and she wouldn't even bring the tools so I could do it myself. When I woke up, I couldn't fall back to sleep, so I just lay there in the water, waiting for Mama to come and call me. Some time later, the door opened, and I was called up. I started doing my chores for the day, just like I would on any other day.

     The day passed by and I did my things without complaining. One of my last tasks was to dust and vacuum one of the side rooms we used for storage. It wasn't a very large room, and I had cleaned it out many a time before. The room was full of dressers and cabinets which seemed to collect dust more than anything else in the entire house. Today, I was extra determined to work hard; I wanted to pour all my effort into my work so that I could hope to stay out of the basement for even just a little bit longer. Tonight, I wasn't looking forward to going back down there. So, I looked under each and every dresser in the room to try and pull out all the dust and hair. One dresser in particular had a huge mess underneath. I reached my hand under time and time again, pulling everything out until I was certain I had gotten everything. I started sifting through everything, and in one of the clumps, I found something. It was a crumpled-up photograph. It was a family, a mother and a father, with their young child. On the back of the photograph names were scribbled: one for the mother, one for the father, and one for the child, each labeled. The child's name was my own.

     I was stunned. Still holding it in my hand, I blankly walked out into the living room, walked up to Mama, and pressed the picture into her hand. She scanned it, then looked up at me, her wide-eyed expression a mixture of fear and disappointment. I started crying and shaking.

     "Y-y-y... do... d-do you... l-ove me Mama?"

     "Of course I do," she said, as she began stroking my hair longingly, "You're my pretty thing. My pretty thing to the end."

     "I don't think you love me," I blurted out, "you never have. You don't care about me Mama."

     This was not what she wanted to hear today. She got an evil grimace on her face.

     "Basement," she started, "now."

     I got up and I started edging my way toward the cellar.

     "NOW!" she repeated.

     I didn't move fast enough. She came after me. Before I knew it, she would be in another one of her rages again.

     I don't know why, but today, I had enough. I froze there, just outside the doorway. Mama wasn't happy; she wasn't happy at all. She started getting angry, and I was still frozen. She just kept yelling more and more; she kept tugging at me to get me to move. She moved in and out of the basement to try and get me to move like I was some sort of stubborn piece of furniture that was stuck on the carpet. She was yelling at me to get down in the basement. I was saying "No, no, no," over and over again. Again and again. I was afraid, I didn't know what else to do. I didn't want to go down there, but I was overwhelmed by her building anger. I didn't know what to do, so I just stood there in the door frame, arms wrapped around head as she was yelling at me more and more. She was trying to grab and pull me off and on. I think she hit me too. I don't really remember.

     As she waved her arms madly, she edged closer and closer away from the door and further across the landing. Her weight teetered dangerously over the edge of the top step. And then, she went just a little too far.

     I pushed her down the stairs. I killed her. She's dead now. I'm free to go. Nothing is stopping me from leaving. Leaving and never coming back. No overseer always looming over me, forcing me down here every night. I'm free. I'm really free. Free at last.

********************

Oct. x, 19xx

     It's been a little while since Mama died. I've been out and about in the world around me, and although it's been a difficult experience, I've been getting over it. I'm adapting to my new environment well. There's just one thing that bothers me. I feel so lonely and I can't shake the feeling. Sometimes I just go to the park and sit on the benches and watch everyone go by: the families walking, the lovers whispering in each others' ears, the children playing... playing, sometimes all by themselves, their parents off elsewhere, thinking that their children will always be there, right in their view the whole time, while they sip coffee, chat with friends, or just sit around bored, wrapped up in their own world. Maybe I can understand what Mama did to me more now that I'm in her position. There's one little girl, not even two, who comes to the park almost every day. She's a wanderer and full of energy, and her parents are particularly absentminded. I wonder... I wonder if she'll come to stay? The house is still there... and she is a pretty thing. A pretty thing indeed.

WE HOPE YOU ENJOYED YOUR HALLOWEEN
THE END

[BlackDragonSlayer]

Assorted Poetry
Oda de las Palmas (Carissa's Poem)

     Huddled around in awe
     Hushed words and held breath
     A magical incantation
     Inclination toward the wondrous

     We don the robes of kings and queens
     Trappings of a time long past
     Or perhaps a time yet to come
     And make our way through the narrow entryway

     Carrying gifts of praise and mourning
     We make our first steps into a whole new world
     A universe of awe and wonder we behold
     Shining, shimmering bliss all around

     Like a realm apart from the rest
     My spirit escapes from my body
     And soars, soars all around
     Free of the chains of reality

     Taking in the dazzling sights
     Wondering what's next to come
     Slowly, but surely
     Sinking down, down, down

     And back again
     To a world we know
     A world of fret
     A world of fear

     But in our hearts we know
     If wonder we behold
     Then wonder we may create anew
     From death comes life, from ashes and stumps we rise

[BlackDragonSlayer]

Assorted Poetry
The Rays of the Sun No Longer Shine On Me

     I, cast down, forlorn, thought you to be my earthly savior,
     But alas, 'twas not to be, because your cruel misbehavior.

     You threw me to the wolves instead of helping me up, ignored;
     In time, I know you will get yours, by accord.

[BlackDragonSlayer]

Assorted Poetry
Pane

     A pane of glass smashed into pieces,
     By the great iron fist of life.

     Put back together again,
     But just then it's smashed anew.

     And now some pieces are missing,
     I thought you were supposed to be helping me here?

[BlackDragonSlayer]

Tempest Eternal

     Nobody really knows when the winds started. Nobody can even guess why they're still going, but that's the thing we're all desperate to find out. I suppose they must have begun as a small, barely noticeable mile-an-hour spring breeze sweeping over our state, or from somewhere around here, and then... just kept on going from there. Even in a world where things have stopped making much sense any more, I suppose that chain of events kind of seems reasonable to believe. It's amazing how much things can snowball until they grow from miniscule little specks on the windshield of life to crushing you with all of their accumulated weight. Nobody ever thinks much of a little breeze—or even a single really windy day by itself—but when the wind not only never stops, but keeps getting worse, and worse, and worse with every single passing day, the shitshow is just about beyond comprehension. Started with a little panic, went to crime and looting—no real surprises there—and, now that most people are too afraid to even leave their own houses on a regular basis, mass suicides. But me? I'm sticking around. Don't know why I am, but it seems like that's just something I should do. That word might not mean much anymore, but at least some of us gotta stick to our guns rather than sticking them in our mouths, right? But who am I? Who am I to believe such a thing?

********************

     When I graduated college, I was afraid to come back home, but I did anyway because I had nowhere else to go while being able to support myself. While home has always been here for me, it hasn't really felt like a home for a long time. Part of that was because of my desire to try and make something worthwhile out of my life, but undoubtedly, another part of that was my tumultuous past. My mother is the reason for that. She was not a good person. I suppose, on some days, she could, in fact, be considered a "good" person, or rather, somewhat pleasant to be around, but I do not consider that to mean she was an overall good person by any means. The things she did to me throughout my life were unspeakable. This went on for years and years, and I felt like I was alone in the world. Nobody ever seemed to notice, and even if they did, they probably would not have done anything to help regardless. One day, I broke. I decided I couldn't be hurt any longer; I would harden myself to emotion so I could avoid feeling the pain I was going through. So that's how it started. For a time, I felt like I was on top of the world: I wasn't phased by anything, not even death of my loved ones, and I could build myself as a person without petty emotions getting in the way. But when I realized that things weren't going to stop being that way, I became jaded and disappointed with life. One day, my mother just left and didn't come back; just disappeared out of my life completely, but that didn't change what had happened. She may have left, but she left a mess behind.

     All throughout high school, I didn't know what to do with my life. I figured I'd just go do something and just be another cog in the machine like so many others; I had the intelligence (or so everybody else assured me) and the potential to do more, but I had no motivation. I didn't know if I could handle or even had any desire to go to college. On the social side of things, I wasn't doing much better. I never really had many friends, or any friends, really, and I could never figure out why. Sometimes it seems like people just weren't very interested in me, or maybe they didn't like me. Sure, I had an occasional person I was friendly with now and then, but those people didn't tend to stick around for long. Life usually got in the way of anything that might have developed. On the personal side of things, I see now that I was even more of a mess, even though I didn't recognize it at the time. I didn't feel as I could trust anybody, and most of all I didn't want anybody else thinking they could try to help me with my own problems. I kept everything about my life I hidden, kept to myself, everything I thought that was unmentionable, except until I met one person who changed my life in so many ways.

********************

     Alex Craiomi. He was my freshman year roommate and, for a time, the greatest friend I had ever had, as well as being one of the only ones. I never really connected very easily with people, and going into college, I had just assumed the same would always be true... but Alex, he... he was someone different. He just didn't care. In that regard, he was like a saint. He oozed charisma and presence, but when I first met him, Alex was both one of the humblest and kindest people I had ever met in my life. Nobody could hate him, and he loved everybody. The moment he walked into a room it was filled with this magnificent, indescribable energy that everyone just felt. He was my best friend and he made me feel like I belonged. I looked up to him and I admired him. Everybody wanted to do anything they could to please him, and I was no different. But he didn't care if anybody was sucking up to him or going out of their way to impress him or not—he was just a good person. Even though Alex wasn't always my first choice of the person I would turn to—there were dozens, in fact, at one time or another—he was the one I finally settled on. Those kinds of things wear you down, and at the time I told him, I was in a rut like no other I had been in before. I was afraid. And so, I talked to Alex. I told him everything. Everything. Every single thing that had happened to me that had messed me up and led to my depression: everything about my mother, who she was, what she was like, what she had done; no detail unspared. I let out my raw, grisly feelings to him, and he still accepted me. He accepted me more than ever, because he knew I needed someone to help me. On one hand, it hurt to get everything out, but on the other hand, things started to feel better. For once in my life, I had hope that I wasn't truly alone in the world: that maybe, I could start to move on with my life, and maybe I could become something. Alex gave me hope and inspiration for my life, and he was there for me every step of the way.

     Sophomore year came, and at first, nothing changed. Alex was the same old Alex as before, and things were perfect. Thanks to Alex, I had the confidence to try and come out of my shell more often. Even though we weren't roommates any longer, we stayed close friends. I knew he would always be there if I needed him, and need him I did. Even though I felt like I was getting better, I knew that I wouldn't be cured overnight. Maybe Alex thought I would be. Toward the end of the year, he started to drift away. I chalked it up to stress with finals and tried my best not to beat myself up like I always used to before every time someone didn't want to be around me. It didn't work too well. Summer came and went. I didn't hear from Alex much. He didn't send me any messages, and whenever I tried to send him messages, he would always be brief and take a lot of time to respond. It unnerved me a bit, but once again, I tried to be optimistic.

     Then we were back at college as juniors. I figured things would get back to normal before long, but I guess I was just too naive. Things didn't get any better; they only got worse. I tried to talk to him to ask him what was wrong, but he ignored me. I kept asking, kept pushing, and he got hostile. I kept asking myself what I did wrong, and, I don't know, maybe I did do something wrong, but I'm feeling more and more like I should be blaming him for how he treated me. He turned away from me—betrayed me—when I needed him the most. He abandoned me and treated me like shit for no reason. But, of course, I didn't feel quite like that in the moment. Some days, I would just sit around and hope I might run into him. He'd still treat me awfully, or just ignore me, but I didn't care. As long as the chance was there—no matter how small—that things could go back to the way they were before, I remained hopeful. But he had changed. Maybe all he wanted was to have a good time, and I couldn't give him that; maybe he was just a horrible person all along and I had been so desperate for acceptance that I had ignored it the whole time. There were so many "maybes" and unknowns that it made my head spin. Things got pretty bad for me. Whenever I would see him, I felt like the life just drained out of my limbs. It was like that feeling I used to get from him, when he would come in and everything would just get revitalized, except the opposite. I felt weak, like I was being drained, and I could do nothing about it. All I could do was shuffle along and try to get as far away as I possibly could as soon as possible. My legs were shaking, my heart was pounding, and my chest was tight. Just seeing him again made the wound fresh and hammered in just how alone, weak, and powerless I was. And here's the thing about Alex. He knew everybody. It's a horrible thing, a horrible, horrible thing when every day you have to go out and be afraid that people might be treating you differently just because somebody who doesn't like you may or may not have said something bad about you to a bunch of people. It doesn't even have to be true, but they don't know that. And that's the other thing: you don't know if they're actually treating you differently, or if you're maybe just imagining it. When you're already so messed up in the head, you can't ever really know. You're just stuck in this void of doubt and feeling awful but not having anyone to help you because you don't know if you can trust anyone any more, and if you do think you might be able to trust someone you're afraid that they're just going to do the same thing to you and hurt you again, and you don't know if you can take it any more. And there's nothing you can do. When you're in the moment, you don't always think about it like that, but when you have time to sit and dwell on your thoughts, those are the kind of things you tend to think about. Sometimes when I saw him, I would also notice some of our older mutual friends with him. I thought they were good people too, once, but they too passed by without even acknowledging me. I felt defeated. I felt lost. I had no one else to turn to. I was too afraid.

     I don't know how I got through senior year. Each night, I dreaded going to bed, knowing that every time I would simply be stuck alone with my thoughts for hours before I managed to fall asleep, only to wake up again and again in the middle of the night, panicked and disoriented. I slept longer and later through the day, and made sure all my classes were in the afternoon, but I was still tired all the time. I just kind of dragged my way through the days and hoped to survive. I ran into Alex every now and again, something that was unavoidable given his prominence in the social community, but by then, I had already come to terms with it and accepted my fate, so to say. I realized that I had been clinging onto a lie for such a long time. Alex was not a good person. He never had been. When he realized his opportunity, he began probing me for information, then exploiting my vulnerabilities, one by one. I clung to his "support" out of desperation. When he had enough of me, he abandoned me... just like everybody else wants to. I want to wake up one day and find that I've been stuck in a horrible nightmare this whole time, and everything's really all fine and dandy. I just want my friend back.

********************

     So here I sit, contemplating life. Now that the world's been turned upside-down and people are dying every day in unheard-of numbers, I guess all that crap doesn't even matter any more. Maybe Alex is dead by now; maybe he killed himself the day people realize the winds weren't ever going to stop. Maybe he's still out there. It's been two years since the day the panic started, and still nobody is any closer to understanding what's causing the winds; the closest anybody can come is that they're some form of divine punishment designed to purge society of all the sinners, or something like that. Y'know, come to think of it, there was a gentle breeze blowing the day I rolled back into town coming back from college. Everyone in town I ran into commented on it, said it was good that there could be a cool breeze when it had been so hot lately. Said that just yesterday, everything had been completely still, like the earth was holding its breath... completely still...

     Maybe I should kill myself. Maybe I'm the cause of this never-ending storm. Maybe I'll even be the last human alive, just sticking around and wallowing in my miserable thoughts till the end of time. That'd be a funny thought, wouldn't it? But maybe I off myself, nothing changes, and the world is still on a one-way road to destruction. Does it really matter then what I do then? So maybe I should stick around. Not much reason to stay, but not much reason to leave either. After all, it's pretty absurd to think that I could ever be that important. No, it's completely ridiculous, isn't it? Life's pretty funny that way. Some day, I'll be swept up by the storm and be carried off and probably ripped apart or thrown around or something until I finally die. But until then, all I've got left to do is sit around and think about the meaning of my life, my own personal hell. So here I sit, here in my tempest eternal.

THE END

[BlackDragonSlayer]

Today I Ate Bread Again

     Today I woke up and had another panic attack. I didn't feel much like eating breakfast, so I didn't. I waited a couple hours and had an early lunch instead. I ate two slices of bread and felt like I was going to throw up the whole time. I have thirty-two slices of bread left. I hope I won't have to starve for long before it's safe to go out again. I don't know when that will be. I don't know when they'll be out. It makes me afraid to see them, or to even think they might see me. The thought that there could be ones I don't know about spying on me makes me feel even worse.

     Even if I had anything else I couldn't cook it because they turned the gas off because I haven't payed the bill. No water either, but I have enough packages of water bottles left to last me a while. All I have is the electricity and the four walls and a roof around me. Besides, even if I could cook I don't know if I'd be in the mood to eat it. This omnipresent anguish hangs over me like a dark fog. It twists my stomach and makes me feel weak and shaky off and on throughout the day, every day.

     I don't have much to do around here, but I don't much mind that; it's better than being out there anyway. The last time I went out to the store I saw one of them, and they saw me too, and I started shaking and twitching. I couldn't help it, it just happened. By the time I got back home I was doubled down on the floor in pain. I dropped my bread too on the way back.

     Maybe one day I'll go out and find that they've just stopped coming around. Maybe they've decided they don't want to mess with me any more. Maybe they've lost interest in me, maybe something else happened, anything, that made them stop coming around. Maybe things could go back to normal. Then I could get a job again, maybe try to go back to the way my life used to be. That's a thought. I don't have much money left, so I try to stretch it as much as possible. So even if I wanted to I couldn't get any fancier foods. But it's ok.

     I know why they're after me, but... but I don't know who it's safe to tell. There could be people who are in league with them who I don't know about. I've seen some people I wouldn't have thought were a part of their "in-group" who have started acting the same way they always do. It's always chilling to see it because it just leaves me even more paranoid.  I don't know how far their influence and numbers might spread. There could be six of them, there could be sixteen of them, there could be sixteen-hundred of them. Damned if I know. I know they're out there, and I know they're trying to make my life as miserable as possible. I KNOW who I set off to launch this whole chain of events. I KNOW who is doing this to me, but I don't know who I can tell, because I don't know who is on my side! And what a shitty life it is that I live.

     I'm feeling a little hungrier now that I've written all this down. I might feel like having something to eat. I hope I can eat. After this, I'll have thirty slices of bread left. It's not really much that's left, actually. Some time soon I'll have to go out whether I like it or not. I just don't know what it's going to be like. But I know I have to, some time. Maybe next time I go out I can try getting some potatoes too. Maybe I can will myself to eat some potatoes.

THE END

[BlackDragonSlayer]

Halloween Horror Special 2018 part 1

For Want of Peace

    He thought that it would never happen; he knew that it would happen, eventually, but he never expected that it would come so soon, so suddenly. It was so meaningless. They had been everything to him, and now they were just gone, dead for nothing. Dead because the carelessness of another.

    But, despite everything, they were still taking care of him. He had just gotten through college and didn't have much of his own, but his grandparents had willed to him their house, and no matter how small it was, it was the house he grew up in, and it was a place to stay. They didn't have much, but at the very least, the property taxes would be covered for a year or two, just long enough for him to get a job and get on his feet. And yet, with them gone so suddenly, could he even find the motivation to go job searching any longer? And too, there was the matter of the funeral; he definitely didn't know how he could hold himself together for that.

    His grandparents had raised him from the time he was a young child. For various reasons—drugs, crime, alcohol, and just pure apathy—both of his parents had decided they didn't want anything to do with him. For brief flickers of time, one of his parents or another might seem as if they'd gotten on the wagon, but those hopes were quickly dashed; by the time he turned seven, his grandparents had gotten full custody of him. They were the only family he really ever knew. No aunts or uncles on either side of the family, either. Just he and his grandparents against the world. And now it was just him.

    Standing in the house seemed surreal: even though nothing had actually changed about the house itself, it exuded an air of emptiness from the moment he stepped over the threshold. Despite this, he expected that everything would be exactly as his grandparents left things that fateful day. Quickly shifting through the kitchen drawers, he found that this was the case. All the things he remembered were in their exact place. Utensils, pots, pans, measuring cups, and even the old ice pick they still kept around for some reason. He rested with his head down and his hands leaning inside a drawer. Though the house was silent—except for the occasional creak which came from nowhere in particular—he thought he heard something in the background that he never noticed before... a slight ringing noise. He tried to put it out of his mind, but even as he went to other rooms of the house he thought he could still hear it. For a time, he sat watching TV, lazing on the couch just like he used to do on the weekends as a child... but it wasn't the same. And now, he could definitely hear the noise growing louder. It was something unusual.

    His mind grew more and more bothered, not only by the noise, but also about the growing discomfort in his mind: he wasn't sure if he would be comfortable staying here in the house now that his grandparents weren't here. He could always sell the house, yes, but that would be more hassle he didn't need right now. And as his mind grew more and more distracted, the hours slipped away. It was now night time. He could feel the tiredness growing and creeping up on him, and before long, he decided to try to go to bed.

    He knew he couldn't go into his grandparents' bedroom. It would feel wrong in so many ways, and so, he tried sleeping in the bed he used to use. But, just as the hours had crept up on him, so too had the ringing noise he had heard earlier. It was louder now, much louder, and he could barely focus on sleeping long enough to actually drift off to sleep. After some time of lying in bed, he couldn't take it any longer. He jumped out of bed, ran into the bathroom, and threw open the medicine cabinet. He saw the sleeping pills he already knew were in there, and in a rush, he downed two of them. He stumbled back over to the bed and waited for them to take effect...

    His dreams were haunted by visions of the past—days spent alone at his parents' house, crying in the corner, hungry and afraid—and by a mysterious specter with no eyes that let out a terrible, high-pitched growl. It followed him around through his dreams—even as his thoughts drifted to other things, it remained, ever present. Its growl turned into a scream, quiet at first, but growing louder and louder. He tried to run from it, but it became faster and faster and he more exhausted and drained as he tried to run.

    He awoke in a start. The first thing he noticed was the noise: a high-pitched ringing. He tried covering his ears, but it did nothing. It was in his ears, in his head—all around him. He went through the day in a haze, burdened with the noise that only seemed to grow louder and louder as the day went on; before half the day was over, he collapsed on the floor, screaming. He couldn't take it any longer! He had to find something to stop the pain!

    He stumbled around the house, his hands on his head, until he got to the kitchen. His hands shaking, he shuffled through the drawers. He found the ice pick and held it up before himself. Then, he jammed it into his ears, one by one—anything to stop the noise.

    His slumped down to the floor, blood pouring from his ears, as he finally got a reprieve from his misery. But it was only for a moment. Again, he heard a quiet ringing, coming from nowhere in particular... in his head, and all around him.

    And he screamed.

STAY TUNED FOR PART 2: THE FEELING OF PAIN

[BlackDragonSlayer]

Halloween Horror Special 2018 part 2

The Feeling of Pain

     I was laying in a hospital bed in a haze; half-asleep and half-awake; half-alive and half-dead. I only had a fuzzy recollection of what happened... of the accident. There was a eighteen-wheeler that was speeding, and it veered off the road and straight into me. I went flying, and the last thing I remember was being in the air...

     There were people yelling at me in my hazy state. They knew I was looking at them but I'm not sure if there knew I could barely comprehend what they were saying. I think they might have had some idea of it. They had to. There were doctors and nurses all around me. I think they said that my body was mangled and I was dying; that I couldn't afford reconstructive surgery. They asked me if I wanted to take part in an experimental program of some sort. I think I nodded. I must have nodded, right?

     They took me into surgery right away. Again, I remember little to nothing of it, but when I awoke, I was in agony. There was a man standing at the foot of my bed when I awoke, dressed in a fine black suit. He spoke then, and I found that I was a bit more aware after whatever it was they had done to me. He told me that they had done an experimental procedure on me. They had removed my nearly-destroyed limbs and replaced them with prosthetics that he claimed would slowly bind to my nerve endings; it would, however, take some time to calibrate them because of the new nature of these prosthetics, so I should not be worried. Listening to him is when I realized that I indeed could not feel any of my limbs, and a quick glance to either side showed me my new prosthetics themselves, and intermingling of metal and plastic with my own flesh.

     At first I was cautiously optimistic. They warned me that it would take time before I would regain feeling in my arms and legs, and I trusted them...I trusted them! The months of physical therapy and regular checkups from doctors and technicians went on and on, but still I could feel nothing. I assured myself with the fact that, at the very least, I still had my life, but I cannot deny that those time were hard for me. But if only I knew, if only I knew!

     One day, I felt a sharp pain going through my arm: it was, in fact, the first sensation I had felt in that area for a long time. I had hope. Perhaps it meant that I was regaining feeling: that something, even something bad, was better than no feedback at all. So, naturally, I told them. Though they did not admit it right out, I could tell that they seemed quite worried by the news. It was not a reassuring sight for my to face. They sequestered themselves in a room away from me and spoke for almost a full hour. When they came back, they looked as if they had all been roughed up by an invisible boxer. And yet, they told me that everything would be fine.

     As the days passed, the pains became more and more frequent, from once a month, to once a week, to once a day. They varied in severity, from feeling like only a tiny pinch to a full-on spasm surging throughout my entire limb. I told them, and they got even more worried, but still, they refused to tell me anything. One day, in one of my training sessions, I collapsed, screaming in agony, as I felt waves upon waves of pain throughout my entire body. I cried, and I begged them to tell me what was going on.

     They did.

     They repeated what had already been explained to me: that the prosthetic arms and legs were intended to bind to my nerve endings in a way that would restore feeling to my limbs. That, they had done; but they had done it all too well. My nerve endings had bonded to them, and for some reason, they kept on growing: somehow, an extreme reaction had been triggered, and every day that passed, they would grow bigger and bigger, and more and more sensitive. I asked them what they could do about it.

     They did not know.

     Soon, more test results came back, telling us that because of how the nerves had become intertwined, the prosthetics could not be removed without inflicting a severe amount of lasting pain on the rest of my body, or killing me outright. My nerve endings had grown farther and larger than they had ever seen before, and they were inexplicably still growing. They did not know when they would stop.

     So there I was with a bleak prognosis. And now, I live every waking moment in agony. My whole body is wracked with pain constantly, and movement of any kind only makes it worse. Even breathing is a struggle for me. The painkillers do less and less every day. I'm worried that the same will happen with the sleeping pills they're giving me. If I had it my way, I would be asleep all day, except to eat, drink, and use the bathroom. Every time I ask, they say they're working on a solution, but I think they've forgotten about me—nay, abandoned me. All I am to them is an experiment gone horribly wrong, and they don't even have the mercy to put me down. Someone somewhere is telling them that that would be wrong. To hell with that, I say. To leave me here stagnating in my miserable state is wrong! And they know what I am thinking; they have taken every precaution to ensure that I can use nothing around me to hurt myself... except for tonight. Tonight, a nurse left a syringe on the bedside table. I think I can make that work. What other choice do I have?

STAY TUNED FOR PART 3: THE UNFORTUNATE MIND