Population Risks II

This is a continuation of this post.

Immediately after the man finished talking a woman appeared on screen. Thank you for your patience, the game will begin shortly. She seemed too happy about the game starting. Now if your last name starts with the letters A-G please follow the red path. Some of the floor panels began to glow red creating a path that lead to a room in one of the corners.

"That's us," my brother said. "C'mon. Michelle I'll see you later, okay?" He kissed her and we followed Andrew along the red-lighted path. If your last name starts with the letters H-J please follow the blue path. If your last name starts with the letters I-P please follow the green path. If your last name starts with the letters Q-Z please follow the yellow path.

Outside of this room, the world continued to move on except for the families of the players. After being chosen, the World's Army will visit the closest living relative. Our mother will have to suffer holding Life Cards once more. When I was 10 years old she had received an interesting little card. It shined red for two days. She'd sleep with it. She'd eat with it. She would take it with her everywhere. When the light finally went out, she stopped eating. She didn't speak for a month. At night I'd hear her cry.

When she finally began speaking, she told us that Father had abandoned us. I believed her until my 18th birthday. My best friend, Jessica, had been chosen. I was going over to her house to surprise her with tickets to Instant Gratification, her favorite band. Her mother answered the door, sobbing and clutching a Life Card that shined red. "She's been chosen," she said. "Why would they do this? Why?" I held her for hours as we both cried. Jessica didn't survive. I never confronted my mother for fear that she would have to live through father's death once more.

In the room we were suited up with customized clothes each featuring our respective colors. Our jacket had a special crest that shined red. They told us that it monitored our health: once it was out, you were dead. We exited to another room, as big as the first one, containing 10 different exits each closed by a see-through wave like pattern. People were now in groups, some holding a special gun that shot the Instant Cement. We met Michelle, Salvador and Christen once more. They were wearing yellow suits.

The woman from before once again began to speak: The game will now begin. I hope Lady Luck is on your side tonight.

10. A little girl began screaming, "Mommy, mommy, I don't want to play anymore. Please, I'm scared."

9. Michelle and my brother were holding hands.

8. "We'll stick together alright?" I said, as everyone nodded in agreement.

7. A man in the corner began laughing hysterically.

6. My heartbeat was deafening me.

5. People began shuffling towards the exits.

4. A scream could be heard outside of this room. It sent chills down my spine. It was definitively not human.

3. The lights on the outside were turned on and we could now see the 16th floor of the structure.

2. I heard a loud screeching. It sounded like someone was scratching out nails on a chalkboard.

1. The wave-like pattern disappeared and the doors opened: The game has begun.

Ephemeral Images

He sat on the chair knowing that it was his, but feeling as if it belonged to another man. He felt uncomfortable – the creases left here were much too small, much too deep and much too happy. The pictures around him wore a thin layer of dust. He no longer cleaned the house in fear of losing its odor. Once he read that the sense of smell was closely tied in with memory. That passage stuck to him, it stuck to him like his daily rituals after the incident.

Every day he would sit on that chair for hours, leaving a crease, knowing too well that tomorrow he wouldn’t recognize the man that sat there now. He would stare at the television screen, absent of images, for hours, thinking, analyzing and reliving the incident. Every four days he would smoke. He didn’t enjoy smoking – it didn’t calm him, instead it was his way of loving the worst of her. During those hours of thought, the only time he would stare away from the screen was to see a puff of smoke. He’d see shapes and images, much like one would with clouds.

It was during the mid-puffs that he would feel the most vulnerable. He opened his mouth slightly, yearning to offer comfort and the occasional warning to the girl in the smoke. No words were ever spoken, instead he only felt dryness. He felt as if someone was sanding his throat to smooth out his words, his emotions. That person was never satisfied with his work for he continued to sand.

He’d think about that as he walked upstairs to his empty bedroom. There were pictures on the stairs each bearing a happy couple, each mocking him as he made his ascent. He would absentmindedly rub his thumb on her face, cleaning all the dust. His face would remain untouched: he had never met Happiness. That was not him, for he only knew Despair.

Once in his bed, he would lay perfectly still, never disturbing her side of the bed. He would look at his ceiling wishing that exhaustion will guide him through the river Styx, past Cerberus and into Hades’ lair. He’d wish for Persephone’s story to be about her. Occasionally, he would slide to the edge of her side and smell. That would always ease his troubles.

When he finally slept he would always be woken by her screams. Her face of anguish haunted him. His shirt would always be soaking wet with what he hoped was sweat. Exhaustion made him get some rest, but he would never forget what he’d done. When morning would come: he’d go to work looking no more miserable than his co-workers, he’d read the paper, and he’d smile at strangers. He was a different man than yesterday. When he arrived home the ritual would begin once more.

This when on and on for years until one day: He was walking up the stairs, smudging her face with his thumb, as usual, when something caught his eye. He could’ve sworn the image moved. It had not. His finger had gone too far, it had smudged the man’s face. He was smiling, like her. There was a sudden dryness in his chest much like the one he felt in his throat when he smoked three days ago. He ran upstairs full of anger. He began to throw clothing all around the room, looking for an escape.

Once he found it, he made a leap into bed. He threw himself into her side, crying and screaming. He smelled her, licked her pillow and wrapped himself around her sheet. He wanted to take her all in. His last breath would be hers. As he exhaled, he brought the gun to his mouth and pulled the trigger.

His last thought of was of her the night he murdered her; Happiness at last.

Monthly Music Obsession

Imogen Heap.
A spread for the artist that is currently my obsession.
Old or new - the purpose is to showcase the person behind the music.

Fringe Love

The cold wind brought me back to reality. I was lost in her blue eyes; deep like the ocean, filled with legions upon legions of adventures, emotions, and quirky characteristics. I had a bad habit of losing myself in her eyes. I would always joke around that I was a man lost at sea, navigating the harsh tides to reach the shore of her affection.

Her eyes were just the starting point: that cute little nose, the rosy cheeks and her curly hair, I loved it all. Even after years and years of knowing her, every day I’d find something new to love, some new route to lose myself in.

She was wearing a bright red wool coat. Her hair was down and straightened, and she wore a big smile on her face. She stood out from the winter wonderland behind her. Everything was white.

“Well aren’t you coming closer?” she asked, shyly as I snapped out of my dazed look.

“On my way honey,” I responded, gleeful for the invitation.

We hugged. Again, I lost myself.

As she spoke I came back once more: “You know I can’t stay like this any longer.”

It broke my heart.

“Can’t you drink something?” I pleaded. “Can’t you choose to stay human? Please, I want you to be with me, forever.”

“That’s the thing: I can’t beat science. I tried and tried, but I have to change back,” she responded.

I looked up, my eyes filled with tears, all tiny reminders of my adventures lost in her eyes.

Our lips met, igniting something inside of me. I grabbed her hair, pushing her deeper into my face. Our tongues danced with one another and we didn’t stop to breathe. The wind once again woke me from my happiness. I opened my eyes and saw her transforming. Her legs were no more; instead there were hundreds of butterflies flying in the direction of the wind.

I kissed her once more, with more passion, eager to remember her taste, her sulky lips and our love.

My hand lost the grip of her hair and I realized our time was up. She had turned into thousands of butterflies, each more beautiful than the next. Each containing those two blue dots that I often found myself lost in. Now, all that was left was a red coat and my broken heart.

Façades.

Population Risks

Everything was completely black. One moment I was in my restroom brushing my teeth and the next in complete darkness. Where was I?

There was a sudden sound; it roared like a car engine, but much, much louder. The lights went on and I was surrounded by hundreds of people. The thoughts began rushing in:

Oh no, I was chosen. Why me? Fuck! I’m a goner! Why couldn’t it be Matt, he’s such a dick! No one will miss him!

The chatter got increasingly louder as people began recognizing one another. I didn’t recognize anyone until someone tackled me to the ground.

“You too?” he said. “Wow, they really want our blood line out of this world, huh?”

It sounded familiar.

“Hey! Andrew,” he continued. “Joseph is here too!”

My two brothers were chosen as well. With them were Salvador, Michelle and Christen, family friends.

There was another sound and a screen above us lit up. A man cleared his throat and began reading us the rules:

Good evening Sector-93156, welcome to The Thinner. According to Amendment # 42 people in sectors are to be chosen at random, by a computer, to be put in the game to help reduce the increasing world population. Today is October 6th 3034 and as decreed by the world laws, players will be chosen from the Western Hemisphere on even years. The game is simple: survive and you live. Fall and you lay your life for us to take. Recent studies have shown that bringing family into the game with you increases the yields for an interesting game and the most deaths, thus effective as of now, family members of the chosen will be brought along. Due to that being unfair to those family members, they receive a special item. It is referred to as Item-343523, but you may call it: Instant Cement. The item instantly freezes a person where they stand –if said person lands on the path of the Instant Cement–. You are all on a 16-floor parking structure. There are 25 cars parked randomly throughout the structure. Your only way of survival is through those cars. There are 500 of you on this game and only 100 of you will survive. The Reapers reside throughout the parking structure as well. They cannot get you once you’re in the car. If the Reapers touch you, you lost the game and your life is ours. The game will start in 10 minutes. I hope Lady Luck is on your side tonight.

Goodbye, Sector-93156.

EDIT: Title subject to change and I don't update here like at all, I would give you my tumblr, but that one is more for personal stuff. Anyways, if you actually bother to read, here is my deviant art account (I'll be posting my writing there): http://hecfactor11.deviantart.com/

[Untitled.]

“In, out, in, out, in, out,” I repeated. “This is easy, nothing to worry about.”
I continued going up with the destination in mind. I dared not look down to the path that led me to this point. My hand clenched to the next hole, carefully making sure that I did not fall.

"I am stupid," I thought. "Why did I not bring any equipment with me on this climb? Ah, now, I remember. The local oracle had told me that I could not climb this cliff without taking risks."
I replied that "climbing is a risk in itself."

I was not allowed to climb unless I did it of my own strength and God-made tools, my hands. Therefore, 7562 feet later and I am here, tired and hungry with nothing but God’s fuel: air.

I wanted to sleep. I wanted to give up and fall into the abyss that lay below me. “In, out, in, out, in, out,” I repeated once more.

This constant jabbing at the monumental rock to ascend reminded me of Cassandra. It was foolish of me to let her go. We were at the lobby. An argument arose and she stormed off. The elevator was too slow for her so she ran to the stairs. I ran after her.

“Wait, Cassandra! Please wait,” I shouted. “I didn’t mean it!”

She did not respond.

I continued to run after her. Her, an athlete, sprinted up the stairs in an alarming speed, while, I, an Olympic couch potato, gasped for air after the third flight of stairs.

Click Clack. Click Clack. Click Clack.

All I was able to hear was her high heels.

Click Clack. Click Clack. Click Clack.

It was almost as if they were mocking me, laughing at me for my incompetence.

Click Clack. In, out. Click Clack. In, out.

My ears buzzed with these sounds. Click Clack.

I continued climbing. In, out.

She continued dashing to her apartment on the 15th floor. Click Clack.

I gathered all my strength and continued on my ascent. In, out. Click Clack. In, out. Click Clack.

It continued. Upon reaching the eighth floor, the sounds of her heels stopped. I giggled at the thought of her heels having the last laugh. Laughter turned into sorrow and I began to sob.

I yelled.

“In, in, in, in,” I began.

“Just get IN. Please, I just wanted you to let me in,” I told the mountain, thinking of that night.

“In,” I whispered. I laughed. My voice sounded like the heels that night, clicking and clacking their way into my loneliness.

I finally blurted, “out.” I let go of the rock. I lost my balance. I lost myself. I fell.

I fell much like the night Cassandra left me. I was hysterical. I continued walking up the stairs, absent of the mocking sounds of her heels. I reached her apartment.

I reached for a rock once more, attempting to grab hold of the cliff during my fall.

I knocked. She did not answer.

My hand slipped.

I opened the door with my spare key. She began to scream for me to leave.

“I don’t want you anymore,” she said at the top of her lungs. “You were a waste of time!”

I fell further to the ground. My hands attempted to clutch to any holes that were visible.

I grabbed her. It is extraordinary how much a fall changes someone. The adrenaline fueled my anger for her.

I continued to fall.

I pushed her. She tried to escape my wrath but tripped. I saw my chance. I dragged her by her hair. Upon reaching the window, I picked her up and threw her. She grabbed on to my hand. I held her up, then I let go. She fell.

I did not bother grabbing on to any holes now.

She did not scream. She only stared. Her silence pierced me. As she was opening her mouth, she reached the sidewalk.

Her silence still pierces me. The silence of me falling down this cliff felt the same as that night, but I dared not yell.

I stared.

I opened my mouth:

“I love you,” I whispered. “Cass-”