Category: early drafts

Together we stood upon the frozen surface of the Medial Sea. A pack of lilting giants, woven of both smoldering ebony and freezing marble, circled around us as they carved their way in and out of the distant gloom. As time passed, shadowed silhouettes began to emerge from the mist as they converged upon the two of us.

“Do you recognize them?” Seles said as she stepped in a careful circle around the shade of a middle-aged man with many tattoos brazenly displayed across a bare torso and a shaved head.

I didn’t answer. I’d have guessed he is a marauder – well, was a marauder. When he was alive. Probably ran with the Teeth. Maybe the Covetous, but I deemed that unlikely; he would have armor on. I’d already ruled out the Unfed – nobody in their right mind would show that much skin in the frozen Northern Ring.

“Tell me Trent… why did you kill this one?” She flicked the former marauder right between his eyes with a satisfying smack. His lips quivered in silence for a few short moments. Then his eyes started to bulge, each like a fat toad trying to wriggle out of clasped hands. A second later, he exploded into a cloud of choking charcoal smog and was swept away by the wind.

“I don’t remember.” My response was flat. This wasn’t the first time I’d seen her bend reality to her whims. It wouldn’t be the last, either.

“Would you like me to jog your memory for you?” Seles turned on me now with a pleasant smile that seemed innocuous enough, at least until you noticed her little fists clenched at her side. A tingling sensation scurried down the back of my neck and little pinprick claws dug into my skin, leaving behind a lingering electricity. Her malice was incredibly potent – I knew from ample experience.  

“I’d rather you didn’t.” I felt my left eye starting to get hot.

“Oh? Does that mean that you regret taking his life?” She asked, her eyes narrowed.

“No, I don’t. I only regret that we live in a world where we have to kill to survive.” I met her glower with no glare of my own. No, I was sure that if I had the ability to pop out of my own skull and look myself in the eyes, I’d see dilated pupils held in softened features. Bedroom eyes were all that I could manage whenever I saw her.

“’We have to kill to survive,’ sure… Ask me how many people I killed this week, Trent.” She wasn’t trying to murder me with a look anymore, no, but I wouldn’t say she had eased up either.

I didn’t respond. She folded her arms across her chest.

“I didn’t kill anyone this week, Trent. Nobody. Not a one. Ask me how many people I killed last week. Go on, ask me.” She jabbed at me with her chin and smirked.

I sighed.

“Ask me or I’m going to put spiders in your hair.” She was still smirking, but her eyes narrowed. I gulped. It wouldn’t have been the first time. This was her kingdom. I was just visiting.

“You didn’t kill anyone last week.” I do my damnedest to bite my tongue.

“That’s right. Zero! Zip! Zilch! Zonk!” She crouched down and exploded upwards with an ear-to-ear grin, teeth flashing, arms stretched wide. For a heart-crushing second, her nose and mine were a whisker away from one another. My lips parted instinctively. She spun on her heel and darted away, skipping around in a figure eight across the ice as she snickered.

“Ah, yes, the Moonstone Witch, such a paragon of temperance. Remind me again, Seles, what was it that guardsman said to you? You know, that one from Lanta that you commanded to walk barefoot through the Slumyards until he circled Lanta eight times?” I said it just loud enough for her to hear it. She ignored me.

“Oh, surely you must remember him, right? Don’t tell me you’ve forgot-“ Then she cut me off.

“He made an inappropriate remark about my figure and for some reason, my boyfriend at the time did not defend my honor in any way.” Just like that, she stopped skipping. Didn’t turn to face me, either. I swallowed hard.

“I mean… I could have killed him on the spot but then he’d wind up here with us, and this place is already full of assholes.” The corners of my mouth curl upwards into a warm smile. Defuse her with humor, Trent. It never fails.

Until it does.  

“Takes one to know one.” Oof. She turned towards me and started to march over.

“Ouch. Did I do something wrong…?”

“You tell me!” She raised her voice now. Gone was the polite mask, replaced by furrowed brows and flaring nostrils. She swept one arm to the side, gesturing at the veritable company of shades surrounding us in an angry sea of gloom.  

“Seles, please…” I pleaded. Her cheeks started to quiver and for a second, I thought I saw the ripple of a tear trying to stain those glowing sapphire irises. Those eyes were home to a gaze that could captivate me for days.

“What is she doing here, Trent?” Suddenly, the world went white. The frozen sea was no more. It was like some sort of limbo – only Seles and I broke the monochrome sea that had engulfed the dream. A few moments later, a small tendril of smoke blossomed between the two of us, slowly billowing into the shape of a teenaged girl. The ghost turned towards me and her eyes flashed with recognition.

“I don’t know.” It was true – I had no idea why she was here. I didn’t kill her.

“So you don’t remember her either?” Any and all semblance of emotional expression drained from her face as she stared at me. I shifted uncomfortably.

“No, I remember her. Her house got burned to the ground with her family inside. She escaped. I took her back to join the rest of the Rat Pack. You were there, even.” Now it was my turn to fold my arms across my chest. I thought she knew me better.

“Then why is she here?”  Her scowl returned.

“Ask her. You know I don’t spend a lot of time there.” I wanted to know too.

“Fine. Little girl, are you alright? What happened to you?” Seles said. The shade leaned over and whispered into her ear.

“I can’t hear what she’s saying.” I protested. Seles shushed me.

“She said she wanted to see you but she fell down.” Seles straightened up. Her eyes had finally softened and I could tell she knew that she had erred here.

“You should have known better anyways, Seles. I might be a killer, but I don’t kill children.” I give into my righteous indignation a little bit as I jab back in our little verbal jousting match. She let loose with a long sigh that sounded like a mixture of relief and frustration.

“Well, instead of running around and killing people, maybe you should go take care of those kids instead.” Seles said, gesturing towards the shade before it vanished, wafting off like a pipe’s puff of smoke on a breezy spring evening.

“And I will… someday when I find you in the waking world. We can do it together. I’ll settle down and stop doing contract work. We can have a peaceful life together.” I took one step towards her for each heartfelt promise. My eyelids felt heavy. She stood her ground.

“Sounds boring. Probably stinky, too. Those kids don’t like to bathe much.” She folded her arms across her chest once again and then stuck her chin out. Her eyes met mine.

“Fine then, we can travel. We can do whatever you want. I don’t care. If I’m with you, I don’t need to be anywhere else.” Her eyes softened and she looked down at her boots.

“But you’re with me right now…” She took a half of a step forward and placed her pointer finger upon my sternum. I could feel the tip of her nail drag across the thread of my shirt the way a record player’s needle might carry across the grooves in a vinyl record.

“Are you? It could be you, and while I acknowledge that possibility, I’ll never know for certain. This could just be my reoccurring dream.” The almost forgotten prick of an impending tear caused me to wince.

“It’s me.” Her whisper, low and sultry, bore into my ear the way an earthworm might wriggle its way through wet soil. There it writhed, echoing endlessly, even as my eyes opened wide and the ceiling above my bunk loomed large.

A deep sigh escaped my lips. Turning on my side, I pulled a pillow over my head to blot out the rays of sunlight drilling into my temple. I want to go back to sleep.

“Or is it?” My eyes snapped open once again.

I had woken up, but I was not yet awake.

She was still there, sitting beside the bed in a little chair.

“Maybe it is you.” I tried to sit up up, but I felt something cool and soft press against my forehead, guiding me back down. Seles looked down at me with a faint smile.

“It’s me, Trent.” She winked, then twirled a single lock of her silver tresses around her finger. I felt my lips mouth the syllable, “Ooh,”  as I admired the lovely shades of blue that painted her nail, accentuated by little polished moonstone pebbles that shimmered with an iridescent glow.   

“I don’t know, I do have quite an imagination, Seles…” After a moment of quietly appreciating the thought that must have gone into this evening’s ensemble, I offered her a wink in return and then raised her half a grin.

“Are you challenging me then, Mr. Harbinger?” The corners of her lips tugged further upward still as she giggled playfully.

“Not tonight, Seles. Maybe another time.” I responded.

 “Another time.” She nodded, then stowed her Cheshire cat grin before continuing, “I’m sorry about before. You’re right, I should have known you better than that.” She said it with such an earnestness that I was instantly disarmed.

“I forgive you. I would have been pissed off at me too.” I nodded my head a couple times. Then I shook it.

“Wait, did I say that out loud?” I quirked an eyebrow.

“No, but you should already know that saying it out loud and thinking it are the same thing to me, silly boy. Especially for you. Your heart must speak the loudest out of anybody I’ve ever met.” Her playful smirk had returned. I saw little dimples forming on her cheeks. For a second, I felt like a slab of butter melting on a freshly baked dinner roll. That’s right, Trent, this isn’t so bad.

Hey, what are you doing in here? Hehe.

Next, she began to hum, softly at first. I felt a casing of steel close around my heart as it grew more audible. I recognized the tune – it was an old lullaby. A very old lullaby. In that moment, I felt helpless. Helpless, but warm. Warmth was a currency that flowed freely around me. Into me. The muscles in my neck and back started to relax. Now it felt like the floor of my stomach had given way, like some cliché trap door. I knew what would come next. No, I can’t–

“Why are you still hiding from me?” My eyes were open again, locked with hers. She didn’t blink. No, of course not. She’d been expecting this.

“I’m here with you right now, aren’t I?” She replied back in a sweet singsong. Her grin was innocent enough. I’m not sure when she picked it up, but I felt a fine-toothed brush working through my disheveled mess of a mane now. I could hear the brush finding resistance, but I couldn’t feel any prickling pain along my scalp. Not when I was in a dream, anyways.

“What about when I wake up?” I looked up at her, eyes still imploring. She sighed and ruffled my hair instead, then shook her head in disapproval.

“What about it?” Her tone was flat now.

I didn’t answer with words; instead, I reached up with my own hand to grasp hers in a secure but gentle embrace. Was I imagining the warmth that I felt from it? I carefully drew it down to my chest and placed her palm over my beating heart. Together we listened to the bass drum waltz, fingers entwined.

“Seles, please… tell me where you are.” It was I who broke the quietude.

“You’re as persistent as ever. Can’t we just enjoy the moment?” She offered as a suggestion.

“Don’t you remember the days when we used to lay along those vast, forgotten, empty beaches of baked white sand? The way the sunlight soaked into our pores?” I said it all without skipping a beat or blinking an eye. She didn’t answer.

“What about the smell of the sea salt on our hair? The taste of strawberries on our lips? What about all those mornings when we took in the sunrise, hand-in-hand, for better or for worse?” The words marched out of my mouth with a mind of their own. Before I realized it, the tip of my nose brushed against hers. Our lips hovered a breath away from a kiss.

“Of course I remember…” She tried to look down and away, but our foreheads gently met. Her cheeks burned with a coral-colored rouge that was all natural.

“Then what’s stopping us from actually enjoying whatever time we have left on this crazy little carousel we call the Ring?” All I can see now are her eyes, wide and beautiful like a clear stream on a cloudless summer day. Her lips trembled.

“I don’t know- damnit, Trent. You’re so… all-or-nothing.” She said with an exaggerated groan, finally withdrawing her hand from my grasp so that she could fold her arms across her chest and pout.

“I am only what I know. What I was taught.” It was a practiced response. She rolled her eyes.

“If I told you where I was, I would never be able to get rid of you again.” She furrowed her brow and folded her arms across her chest.

“And why would you want to do that?” My empty hand hovers over my heart as I feign being stabbed. Well, at first I was feigning. Then it really snuck up on me, and I mean it really came in from my blind side, and smashed me over the head. I was reeling from a thought.

She still doesn’t trust me. The words tumbled around in my head like bricks in a barrel rolling downhill. I turned onto my side, facing away from her. For the second time tonight, I felt that painful sting of a big, wet, salty tear welling up in my eye. The one that could still cry, anyways.

 “I can hear you…” She said softly. I didn’t respond; her words scarcely reached my ears; I was so lost in thought.

Hey! I blinked a few times.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Trent. It’s that I trust you will do exactly two things if I let you find me.” I felt her fingers in my hair again, ruffling it, smoothing out any stubborn knots with a gentle touch.

“And those things are…?” I rolled onto my beck again, regarding her out of the corner of my eye.

“Well… the first thing I’m certain you’d do is eat all of my food.” Okay. Guilty as charged. She chuckled.

“And the second?” I turned my head towards her now.

“The second thing… is that I’m certain you would fall madly in love with me and never want to leave my side ever again.” She began to twirl her hair around her finger once again. Invitation accepted.

“Too late for that, I’m afraid.” I shook my head in mock defeat. She playfully punched me in the arm and I pretended to wince, but I couldn’t hide my smile.

“You haven’t even seen me for the last… I don’t know how many years, Trent. For all you know, I might look like an old crone now.” Seles said as she fanned her nails and inspected them for a moment. She turned away from me.

“I find that hard to believe. Either way, it wouldn’t matter to me.” My head tilts forward as I show her back the warmest smile.

“Oh yeah? Well… how about now?” She turned suddenly and for a second, I almost didn’t recognize her. Gone was her youthful visage, replaced by many wrinkles, crow’s feet, and poor posture; Seles had called my bluff and transformed herself. The only thing that looked the same was her hair – still white and silvery, tinged with splashes of sky-blue. I guffawed. Not bad!

“Nice try, but it’ll take more than a few wrinkles and some parlor tricks to get rid of me.” I felt my voice rumbling lower, down at the bottom of my chest.

 “So you promise you won’t ever leave me, then?” She came closer, grabbing my shirt to reel herself in. I can see every single pore, every blemish, every trace of erosion that old age has left on her visage. It was only after I was convinced I’d taken it all in, memorized every line, studied every idiosyncrasy —  only then did my eyes settle onto two sparkling beacons of familiarity – pools of liquid sapphire, each glowing with a quiet power.  

“I promise I would never leave your side. Even if I die. I’ll find a way to come back. Or turn back time. Something like that, I’ll figure it out.” I felt like I was breaking through this time.

“What if I died first?” She pursed her lips together and placed a single digit upon them. I could tell by the way her eyes had lit up that she was serious.

“I’d never let you die if you were by my side, Seles.” A bold promise, for certain, and I meant every word.

“You know there are problems you can’t kill, right?” She scoffed, then leaned back in her seat.

“Nonsense. Everything can die.” I said it as a joke. She didn’t laugh. After a few moments, the silence hung thick and oppressive, like smoke from a campfire that kept blowing back at you no matter where you sat.

“What if I died first?” She repeated, brows furrowed. I still wasn’t sure how to respond.

“What would you want me to do?” I asked. Now it was her turn to pause.

“I want you to think about what you  want, Trent. Not what I want. What do you  want?” She asked, her eyes glittering as she leaned in. I studied them – there were no hints of malice there. What was it that shined behind them..?

“I want to be with you.” I felt the words tumble out of my mouth as if someone had yanked them out. She sighed. I couldn’t tell if it was out of frustration or affection. Maybe both?

“Fine. Let’s get married then.” Yeah, let’s get – wait what?

“No cold feet now, boy! Better go find me a nice ring.” She giggled. Suddenly, she was getting smaller. Smaller, smaller, and smaller, yet I could still hear her laughter echoing around me. The bed tumbled down into an endless well with me along for the ride. I knew what came next…

My eyes snapped open again. A bead of sweat rolled down my brow and into my eye and it stung. I winced.

I’m awake now, but it still feels like I’m in a dream.

'MEET ME IN A DREAM'
Written by Jungle, (c) 2022, all rights reserved. 

One, two, one, two, one, two…!

“How long have I been here?” My thoughts wander for a moment. No. Don’t break the flow. I need to keep moving: if I stand still, they will surround me.

Footsteps closing in behind me now. One pair is near, the others lag behind by more than a few seconds – that’s long enough. Adrenaline seems to bind the hands of time as I drop my shoulder and tuck into a low roll. My pursuer can’t slam the brakes on in time. He tries to skip a step and to hop over me. When he does, my knife lashes out like a whip and I can feel its razor edge tear through his groin from below. A startled yelp preludes a crash followed by horrible wailing.

I’m already up and running again before I can check my handiwork. Barely lost a step against my other pursuers, from the sound of it. They’re still after me though. The Covetous. Fortunately for me, this museum is massive and full of dark corners, catwalks, and balconies. If not for that, I might be dead already.

 “One less rat!” I look over my shoulder as I shout back to my pursuers. When I do, I see one of them plant his feet and raise his pipe shotgun. Shit. I swerve suddenly and not a second later I hear the crack of a lead slug rip the air where my head had just been. Time to disappear again.

“Get out of the fuckin’ way!” I can hear him berating his comrades so that he can get a clear shot. No, I don’t think so. I round a corner suddenly to break his line of sight. There are walkways above that are still adorned with ancient, rotting cloth tapestries. Excellent interior decoration idea. I jump, kick my way up the wall to the tapestry and grab it. It barely supports my weight as I use it to quickly scale the wall and ascend to the second level.

Crack! Just as I clear the railing and disappear from sight, another slug flies by me and ricochets off of the stone wall.

“Who taught you rats how to shoot?” My voice drifts down towards them, accompanied by my mocking laughter. I need that one dead. His shotgun is dangerous, even if it is just a steel pipe rigged up to a piece of wood and a few scrap bits. Crouched low and out of sight now, I quickly make my way across the walkway and create some more distance between myself and my pursuers.

“Split up and find that fucker!” I recognize the man with the shotgun’s voice again. He’s the leader. That means he’s probably the only one with a gun, too. Well, you know what they say… strike the shepherd and the sheep will scatter. I force myself to take deep, full breaths and slow down my heart’s thunderous percussion.

“How long until you slip up, Trent?” I feel the hair on my forearms quiver with goosebumps as the voice inside my head takes this break in the action as an opportunity to taunt me. The shadows dance across the ground in front of me again. I look up and see a ceiling above me. Great. I vigorously shake my head to dispel the specter. Focus! You need to survive this. You have to see Seles again.

“It’s not time for me to die yet.” I murmur. Just like that, the doubt and hesitation fade away like a morning mist melting in a midday sun. My vision sharpens. My knuckles crack as I try to crush the steel handle of my hunting knife in my palm. I can feel the electricity starting to crackle and course through me now. That’s right. It’s not time for me to die just yet, not without speaking to her one more time.

Back to business. The man with the shotgun is, predictably, surrounding himself with cannon fodder now. I don’t need to peek over the balcony to know what they’re doing because I can hear the pairs of cautious footsteps beneath me.

“That’s right. Two at a time so your buddy can watch your back for the boogeyman…” I think to myself as I smirk. Predictable behavior. I continue to crouch in a dark corner on the second floor, listening, waiting for them to spread out more. After all, I’ll take the odds when it’s only two against one. Looking up, something interesting catches my eye; all along the second floor, between the balconies, there are steel cables. Some of them still suspend strange, foreign objects and structures in the air above my pursuers on the first floor. That could be helpful.

I continue to work my way along the walkway, staying low and out of sight. My pursuers have spread out now, but I’ve lost track of where the leader is. Another quick scan of my surroundings reveals a nearby staircase. More cautious footsteps now, echoing up the corridor. My lips part slightly and I force myself to keep breathing deep even as the adrenaline continues to flood my system.

The first pursuer steps up onto the landing. Silence. He doesn’t see me crouching behind the pillar adjacent to the landing. The trudge of quiet footsteps continues as he begins moving in the opposite direction from my hiding place. I hear the second set of footsteps clear the landing and continue off in the same direction.

One, two, three, one, two, three…

Heel to toe, heel to toe, gradually rolling my weight across my foot with each step to remain quiet as I creep up behind the two. They’re close now. Crack. I inadvertently step on a piece of broken glass.The man in back snaps around and turns to face me. Too slow: I’ve already blasted my knife through his oily, black beard and into his throat. His eyes bulge in shock and horror as I raise my knee and snap my leg into a front kick. The weight behind my boot is enough to send him staggering backwards into his confused partner. I’m already following up, charging at the tangled duo.

The survivor stumbles forward as his partner slides off of him and tumbles to the ground, clutching at the hole in his windpipe. The one still standing turns towards me and swings with a steel pipe as he does so; I lean back just far enough to avoid it and I can feel his swing push the air past my nose. As he recovers, I rip one of my knives across the back of his arm, tearing through the muscles. He howls and tries to swing with his free hand. I raise my left hand to block the haymaker, step inside to reduce its power, and drive my knife through his solar plexus with my full weight behind it. He gasps as I wrench the knife free and then he doubles over. I grab him by his mop of unruly blonde hair to hold his head down with one hand. A quick flourish to re-grip and now I’ve slammed my knife down into the back of his neck, through his spine.

“Two more dead rats…” I call out in a mocking, sing-song voice as I skip over to the one that I stabbed in the throat and finish him with a brutal round kick that connects squarely with the tip of his chin. Crack. Silence again. Knowing damn well not to stick around in the same spot, I duck around another corner and distance myself from the scene. How many have I killed already? I can’t remember. I had more important things to think about anyways, like how to kill the rest of them. How many are left? I steal a glance at my wristwatch next – and then I realize I do not have much longer to play around here. Shit. Focus. Don’t break the flow.

“He’s over there!” I hear a distant voice call out. I turn my head and see the man with the shotgun clear the landing of the second set of stairs. He levels the shotgun in my direction and I don’t think, I just react, planting one foot on the railing and launching myself off of it towards one of the artifacts suspended by steel cables: an ancient airplane, something Moria had often spoke of. Crack. Another slug rips the air where I’d just been standing a second ago. Thud. I land squarely on the center of the plane’s wings and throw my hands out into the air to steady myself as it sways under the impact. The steel cables supporting the sculpture groan but I ignore it as I make my way across it with quick, careful steps.

“Don’t let that fucker get away!” I can hear the leader’s voice getting louder now. He’s trying to get a better shot. I look down below me for a second. Three have gathered below me, looking up at my perch like hungry sharks eyeing a fresh slaughter. I’m already two steps ahead of them though. I take a deep breath and harness the lightning coursing through my veins. My right eye begins to crackle and itch as I drop into a crouch, my legs coiling like powerful springs ready to explode. A burning blue silhouette encapsulates the man with the shotgun as he raises it towards me in slow motion.

Nothing escapes my eye now. I can see the electrical impulse travel from his brain down to his trigger finger. Right before it reaches its destination, I explode up and off of the suspended airplane and into a soaring backflip. He fires and his slug ends up blasting off the tip of the airplane’s wing, where one of the steel cables had been attached. A deafening groan fills the museum hall as the old airplane, no longer balanced, careens sideways, straining the remaining connections. Pop. Another connection point comes loose, followed by another, and then the entire plane ends up slamming to the ground with a deafening crash. I hear a pair of startled screams as at least one of the men are crushed beneath the massive artifact. The impact of the plane slamming against the ground kicks up all of the dust and soot that had gathered in the museum over time and fills the hall with a cloud of dirt and deafening reverberations.

My poncho flutters around me as I complete my flip and begin to fall towards the ground. I twist my torso, reaching back with my hand to grab onto another one of the rotting cloth tapestries hanging from the balcony. My fingers close around the fabric and I squeeze, trying to break my fall. The cloth begins to tear almost immediately, but it’s still enough to slow my fall to a manageable pace. As I approach the ground, I stomp my feet to absorb the impact and allow the momentum to carry me forward into another roll. Now I find myself on the first floor once more, concealed within the cloud of dust that the impromptu plane crash had kicked up.

No time to spare. I start to make my way towards the stairs, before I can do so, a hand grabs my shoulder and spins me around. Thud. A fist slams into my jaw, but I turn my chin with it to break the impact. My head snaps back and I can feel the fury in my eyes. He goes to swing again, but I grab the inside of his bicep to stop the swing, gripping his jacket sleeve like my dirt bike’s clutch. Taking his trapped arm with me, I pivot to the side and drop to my knees, pulling him over the top of me and throwing him through the air head over heels. His back slaps against the tiled floor and as soon as it does, my other hand is ready to plunge my knife into his eye socket. Another dead rat. I slink away into the shadows once more before his comrades can spot me.

The dust from the crash settles, the reverberations echo away, and silence returns to the museum. My right eye is still itching, crackling with electricity, and a quick scan reveals two fading silhouettes beneath the crashed plane. Two more dead rats. There can’t be that many left. I had counted maybe a dozen at the start. I look down at my wristwatch again and see that the timer I set continuing to tick down, unabated.  Two of the electric blue silhouettes peer cautiously over the railing and down at the crashed plane. I don’t see any others remaining. Time to finish this.

One, two, three… one, two, three…

I slip through the first floor of the museum without making a sound and then I swiftly ascend the staircase. The hair on the back of my neck is standing at attention now – that means the storm is going to be here soon. I have to finish this and get out of here. My remaining pursuers are scared now; I can tell because they are sticking to each other like glue, moving very slowly, constantly glancing around. Pressing my back to the wall still, I pause to think how I can separate them, or at least close the distance and kill the leader before he can blast me with his shotgun.

Then it dawns on me. I clear my throat.

“He’s over here!” I call from the stairwell, cupping my hands over my mouth to try and disguise my voice. It seems to work. I can hear the footsteps coming towards me now. Closer still. Three seconds, two seconds…

“I don’t see—” The first man who rounds the corner starts to respond, but he’s suddenly interrupted as my bayonet pierces the soft flesh beneath his jaw and drives upwards into the roof of his mouth. He looks at me with big, bulging eyes, like a minnow on a fishhook. I’m not done with him though. Using my knife to control his head, I turn him and put him between me and the leader. BOOM! The crude, improvised shotgun’s rapport is deafening as it is fired at point blank range. The slug thuds into a scrap armor backplate, pierces it, and burrows through the man’s chest before it is stopped by his chest plate. I’m already pumping my legs to drive him forward, towards the man with the shotgun. One step, two steps, and then on the third, I shove my human shield into the leader.

“Motherfucker!” He screams at me in rage, realizing he’s just killed one of his own men. He bodies the wounded man away to get a clear shot on me. Click goes the breach of the shotgun as it opens and he hastily stuffs another shell inside the barrel. As he snaps the breach shut and raises the shotgun to fire, the tip of my boot finds the bottom of the barrel as I bend backwards and kick it out of his grip. The shotgun sails high overhead, spinning circles in the air. In one practiced movement, I draw one of my other knives with my left hand and tear it across his throat before he can react. Hot blood sprays my face and I squint to see. The shotgun gradually descends and lands in my waiting right hand.

“You lose, pig.” I smirk before I pull the trigger on the shotgun. The slug takes the man’s head clean off of his shoulders from this range and a geyser of crimson erupts from his torn neck. Strangely, he manages to stand on his feet for a few more seconds before he drops to his knees, then slumps over backwards. An awkward looking corpse, to be sure. I wipe the blood off of my face with my poncho and collect my knife. Deep breaths, Trent. Deep breaths. You did it. My shoulders slump as the collective exhaustion from this encounter hits me all at once.

I begin to make my way towards the exit now. As I do, something interesting catches my eye. A porcelain figurine of sorts, life-sized, illuminated by a single ray of sunlight beaming through the window above. The statue is wearing a long coat of sorts, very heavy and made out of thick leather. I can tell that this coat is much older than I am, but it seems to be in good condition. More interesting than that is the short blade belted to the statue’s side. I grasp the handle and draw the blade. My ears are quick to appreciate the bell-like chime the blade makes as it is removed from its sheath. I look it over for a minute – the blade looks to be about twenty inches long, much longer than any of my knives, but still manageable. I swipe the blade through the air a few times to test it. I like this.

A few minutes later, I am back on my dirt bike and speeding through the city streets, careful to swerve around the many breaks and obstructions littering the old roads. My leather duster flaps behind me as my new blade rests in its sheath by my side. I glance over my shoulder and see the telltale indigo hue of my lonesome only friend gradually growing more and more distant. I’ll need to take a bit of a roundabout route to get to my next stop, and so I rip the accelerator and speed off towards the setting sun.

A PILE OF DEAD RATS AND THE HUMAN MOUSETRAP
Written by Jungle.
© 2021, all rights reserved.

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I ride. I ride until I can’t feel my tender toes hidden inside my beaten boots – they’re doing little to ward against the unwavering winds whipping my hair around my face. I ride until the huge shock of adrenaline gradually erodes away, like some imaginary cadaver dragged behind me by a sturdy length of chain, grating against the dirt, the rocks, and the broken patches of pavement here and there. I rode until I could see shocks of sunlight streak across the sky, radiating from a single focal point behind distant peaks. I ride until I see the dawn sun crest the horizon and with it, bring a new day with new challenges.

My ride ends in a dim alleyway that the sun’s rays have not yet reached. I remove the key from the dirt bike’s ignition and proceed to open the door to the adjacent garage. While the bay doors to the garage are, certainly, locked shut from the outside, the side door here was left open. Fortunate for me, this bike will walk its way inside without a problem where nobody will be the wiser to it.

Yes, this will do. I tip the bike over onto its side, gently, and pull a dusty blue tarp up and over the bike, then scatter a few empty cans of paint and some other garbage around to make it look natural. Perfect. Nobody will see it. This is just another bombed out building on the outskirts of just another ruined city. Not atypical for this world we live in.

Satisfied, I leave the building and shut the door behind me. I’m too tired to trot after riding for hours and so my tempo is not quite as lively as it normally is, but it is still spritely enough. After all, I know what is waiting for me – a clean, made bed to fall asleep on. I glance over my shoulder for a moment. Sure, I can still see the indigo thunderheads, but they’re now distant and hardly threatening. I’ll be able to get real sleep tonight. Finally. All the murder was worth it.

After a quick stroll, I arrive at an old apartment building a couple blocks away. I do not see or hear a single creature on my way there – and this is not unusual. Not here, close to my home, that is. I do not bother to walk to the front door of the four-story building. After all, there is no real way up to the top floor anymore. I’ve trapped the first two floors of the building and destroyed the stairwells. You aren’t getting up there unless you know the right way to approach it. Well, that or you’re impervious to tripwire shotgun traps.

Fortunately, I know the right way to approach it. After all, this is my home. I continue walking past the front entrance and around the outside, towards the adjacent brick building. Turning on my heel and rounding the corner, I spot my objective: an old fire escape ladder with several missing rungs. No problem. I simply muscle my way up past the missing rungs, as I’m accustomed to. I’m wearing gloves and so I don’t have to worry about the rusty iron too much.

Before long, I’m counting paces from the edge of the roof. One, two, three, four, five. Yes, that should be enough. I take a deep breath, steel myself, and spring forward to cross the distance in five bounds. After the fifth bound, I hurl myself across the chasm between the two buildings. I let momentum and gravity carry me into a graceful front roll as I pass through the open fourth floor window and land in my home, an old apartment that I’d appropriated and blockaded off.

Dark and sparse, just as it should be to avoid attracting any unwanted attention. Nothing unusual here. Nothing worth checking out. I glance over at the cupboards briefly, thinking to eat, but my bed looks too attractive at this point. I saunter over, spin on my heel once more, and allow myself to sink into the bed. I don’t even bother to burrow under the covers, but I manage to toe off my boots and kick them onto the ground.

Sleep comes for me now and with what to follow in its wake?

A HOME WITH ONLY WINDOWS
Written by Jungle.
© 2021, all rights reserved.

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The first step towards getting anything done is coming up with a plan. The most important part of any plan is the goal. So, what is it that I want? Is it simply to survive in this shithole, alone, until I finally slip up and get myself killed? No, I’ve had enough of that. That’s not a life: that’s waiting to die. I want to at least live a little bit before I die.

I also want to see her again, at least once. Miss You-know-who. The little phantom. Some know her as the Queen of Dreams. Others know her as the Siren of the Sunken Shore. I simply know her as Seles. You know what I noticed about her name? If you spell it backwards, it is still the same: Seles. It suits her. After all, she’s always so quick to tell you what’s on her mind. She’s usually just as quick to tell you what’s on yours, too.

Time to attend to the details. I need to make myself presentable. That means finding someplace to bath and wash my clothes. Should have enough water in the rain catchers to handle that. What else? Right, I should visit Izya’s place and see if I can trade for a quick trim and a clean shave. That shouldn’t be too hard if she’s in a good mood. If not, I may end up getting cut. A considerable risk, sure, but so is looking like shit.

What else? I’ve got the dirt bike now. Easy transportation. There are plenty of places to siphon fuel around here too. It does get pretty fucking cold riding that bike at night though. I should go for a walk around the ruins and see if I can find some heavy coats since we’ll be on the road for a long time. Maybe Ruina will inspect that bike for me. Don’t want it crapping out and leaving us stranded. On that note, I should probably bring a good present for Ruina, just in case she’s still mad at me.

What next? Oh, right. Medicine. Surgery. All the forte of my friend Dr. K. She’s the first person I see any time I get stabbed or shot. Yes, it happens more often than you might think. She can also take care of animals, too; Dr. K has a knack for fixing all kinds of broken things. She also likes to keep her company limited to the furry four-limbed variety and so I don’t think she’ll be keen to roam the world with us. With any luck, she will agree to put together a care package for the road.

Okay. That’s the plan: first, scavenge the ruins, then I’ll make my rounds.

Then I’ll see Seles.

Now it’s on me to make the plan happen.  

A MAN AND A PLAN
Written by Jungle
(C) 2021, all rights reserved.

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“One, two, three. One, two, three…”

The gentle percussion of falling raindrops accompanies my mantra.

“One…”  

One radiant red ember bobs up and down in the gloom above the gas pumps. I can discern the silhouette of a single rotten rook as the dirty bird titters away, alone on his perch. The cologne of cannabis accompanies a cold breeze.

“Two…”

The back door bursts open with a bang and now a portly watchdog stomps out. He tears off his plastic football helmet and discards it like a piece of garbage. The helmet awkwardly tumbles across the cracked concrete before it comes to a stop in front of a rumbling, grumbling generator.

Now the watchdog glances over his shoulder as he heads towards the corner of the gas station’s brick main building. As he opens a chain link fence and melds into the night, his silhouette does not escape my gaze, not even when he slides around the corner, confident he’s given his pals the slip.

The muted flash of orange flame announces the birth of a second red ember. This one smells warm and savory: tobacco. My lips involuntarily pucker at the thought of treasure poised for the taking.

Lightning strikes in the distance, offering momentary assistance to the waning crescent moon. White light tinged with violet washes over my hiding place, revealing only a murky shadow among the rocks to the untrained eye. The flash is quickly accompanied by a foreboding thunderclap: the menacing growl of my lonesome, only friend.

“It’s time to begin the show.” My boots barely touch the ground as I glide through the darkness like a shadow dancing in the depths of the ocean. The watch dog on the corner gradually grows discernable. He’s too worried about being caught by his friends to notice me standing just an arm’s length behind him now.

My knife doesn’t make a sound as it is drawn.

The watchdog is midway through sucking in another mouthful when my hand darts past his head. I do not feel the lit end of his cigarette against my gloved palm as it slams down over his pursed lips like an iron portcullis. The smoldering ember falls into the empty abyss of his windpipe, but the watchdog does not get a chance to cry out.

I rip him backwards by his face onto twelve centimeters of sharp, matte black steel: the chosen instrument for this passage. My knife slides through his ribcage like a skeleton key and I can practically hear his heart squealing through the tip of my knife. As I twist my wrist ever so slightly, I can hear its pitch whinny to a crescendo before he goes limp, lost in death’s embrace.

“Another breathtaking performance.” I can feel a smirk creep onto my lips the way a snake might wind its way along a tree’s outstretched limb.

I free my knife from the fresh cadaver and help my appreciative audience member to a seat against the adjacent wall. Tendrils of smoke ooze out of his parted lips while his dead eyes remain wide, permanently stretched into a state of surprise. Before I stand upright, a quick pat down of his pant pockets reveals a pack of cigarettes, which I pick up.

“Treasure for the taking.”

The rook on the roof continues to chuckle away, oblivious, even as I plant my foot on his fallen companion’s shoulder and test my weight. Satisfied, I step away from the wall for a moment, measuring about three paces.

“One, two, three…” My lungs inflate with air once more, as if to help buoy myself into the air. I spring forward with three steps and scale the wall with my new friend’s assistance before pulling myself up and over the edge of the roof.

I can’t really say for certain what that stoned bastard thought he saw when I floated up onto the roof like a phantasm. Judging by the way he dropped that joint in his lap, I’d guess he thought I was a ghost. Not far from the mark.

Unfortunately for him, neither is my throwing knife. He tries to scream but he doesn’t realize my instrument has nestled itself into the soft spot beneath his sternum. His diaphragm pinned by my knife, he clutches at the pommel, wide-eyed in mostly silent agony, as I casually saunter over to the lawn chair where the rook is perched.

I find myself squinting as a break in the clouds allows a ray of moonlight to reveal my face for a moment. The little rook’s terrified slack jaw is immediately replaced by an accusing scowl.

That doesn’t sit well with me.

“You need a new mask.” My baritone voice is barely a whisper beneath the wind. I can tell by his muddled eyes that he doesn’t understand and so I decide to show him my meaning.

With a casual flick of my wrist, I draw another knife and carve an ear-to-ear grin beneath the rook’s chin. Red rivulets of blood stream down towards the ground, leaking profusely from the rook’s freshly painted smile. I wrench my throwing knife from his solar plexus, freeing his pinned diaphragm and allowing his lungs to flood with blood as the rook gasps hungrily for air. His bubbling gurgles remind me of a fish and so my grin becomes a grimace.

“Shh… it’s rude to disturb a performance.” I chide him with another whisper. He bleeds out without further protest while I wipe my instruments clean using his shirt sleeve. As I do so, I notice the red ember of the rook’s joint on the ground and stoop down, pinching the cherry to extinguish it before pocketing it.

“Another rare treasure for the taking…”  

Now my eyes flash towards the back door beneath me as I hear it burst open once more. My instincts tell me to get low and I hit the deck, hugging the roof of the gas pumps to avoid being seen.

“Three…” Staggering steps beat out an oddly timed meter that turns itself around with a heavy thud. Retching ensues along with the wet slap of something splashing against the cracked concrete.

“Three will make four…” Now I listen and wait. A minute passes and the retching diminishes to a series of struggling hacks and dry heaves. I briefly wonder if this one’s a free win.

Another minute passes us by. The hair on the back of my neck is standing at attention now. I am a patient hunter though, and I am certain at least one opportunist will wonder where this dumb drunk got the extra booze from.

“… deal me out… be right back.” An older man’s voice, deep and full of gravel, rises to my attentive ears amidst the competing voices from inside. For a third time, the back door swings open with a bang and I hear a much heavier set of footsteps now. Stronger, more confident steps.

A strong wind catches the flat face of the door and slams it shut.

I pause for a few moments before I risk a peek. Less than two meters away, I spot two more animals: the dumb drunk skunk, doubled over in the dirt, and the opportunistic old owl trying to figure out where the dumb drunk is keeping his extra booze.

The old fart with the thick spectacles is too busy poking around his pal’s pockets to hear the subtle flutter of my black poncho as it sails through the air behind me. I can feel my feet and hips rotate behind and above my head as the wind and the wet rain whips me in the face. As I complete the front flip, I slam both of my boots together, driving the full weight of my body into the old owl’s upper back from above.

I can hear and feel the crunch of his ribcage breaking as he is completely flattened beneath my feet. A bloody gasp erupts from his lips as my weight squeezes the air out of his punctured lungs like he was a makeshift trampoline. The old owl writhes on the ground, but his flooded, collapsed lungs cannot muster enough air to cry out.

My momentum carries me forward into a breakfall roll. Turning and standing upright, I now come to regard the drunk skunk with a calculating gaze as he stares up at me, totally, well, dumbfounded. Before his addled brain can make any sense of the scene, I catch him with a vicious kick to the side of his head, knocking him to his side, then follow up with a few well-placed stomps to his head.

“One, two, three, four…” I murmur quietly. The rapidly approaching indigo thunderclouds voice their approval with a resounding roar. I squint instinctively as another wave of light flashes over me not a moment afterwards. I know I’m running out of time. My unblinking eyes come to a rest on the generator near the door as it continues to rumble away.

“A calculated risk.” I creep towards the door and the generator, knife in hand. The wind continues to whip the rain into my face as the downpour intensifies. Dirty rainwater glides down the weatherproof coating of my poncho sleeve as I reach my outstretched hand towards the generator.

I clench my jaw shut as hard as I can and hold my breath. The naked tip of my index finger touches the positive pole of the generator. In a single instant, electricity courses through my entire body. My teeth grind together as my brain struggles to process a single signal on rapid-fire repeat.

Pain! Pain! Pain? Pain! Pain. Pain? Pain. Pain. Pain? Pain…

Now that signal short circuits. Silence.

My right eye grows hot and itchy. I close my left eye and squint to reveal a crackling blue glow enveloping the generator as well as the wires conducting its power. Squinting harder, I can even see it through the walls, like my own private blueprint of the gas station. As I put together the layout of the building, I become aware of four human silhouettes inside, all seated in a circle.

A card game, most likely.

I pinch the jumper cables and disconnect them from the building’s back-up power supply routing. All the noisy white light vanishes without a trace, plunging the gas station into an impermeable din that not even the frequent flashes of lightning would illuminate through its boarded windows.

Dismayed voices echo out from inside.

Now I concentrate and imagine that hot, itchy feeling in my right eye traveling down the side of my neck, running the length of my arm. The scrape of somebody’s chair sliding backwards against the concrete floor increases my sense of urgency.

”One, two. One, two. One, two…”

Blue lightning lances down my arm and wraps its way around my fingertip and into the cable, instantly traveling into the building’s back-up electrical supply input.

The building’s interior once again becomes bright and the voices inside change their tone. A couple seconds tick by…  

Then the electricity discharged from my fingertip overwhelms the circuit and causes a violent power surge. The sound of glass shattering echoes from inside the brick building as all the lightbulbs burst simultaneously. This is immediately accompanied by a confused cacophony of pained cries and angry shouts.

Two gunshots roar back at the competing thunder clouds in rapid succession. I instinctively duck down low. Two heavy thuds follow; these must be the sound of two bodies hitting the concrete. I hear the latch of a breach open: a double barrel shotgun.

It doesn’t shut again. Cold, hard smacks echo out inside now: fists on flesh, presumably a struggle over the weapon. The mechanical click of the latch closing shut followed immediately by another blast from the shotgun. A third thud. Quick footsteps towards my location outside the back door.

Deep breath.

I press my back to the wall. Before the footsteps can reach the door, a startled cry; the owner of said footsteps seems to tumble to the floor and something thick, presumably his skull, crashes against the metal door with a reverberating clang. The door’s latch prevents it from opening and I presume the crack that follows that he probably broke his neck.

Only the sound of the downpour around me and the steady rhythm of rolling thunder fills my ears. I stand and turn towards the wall, squinting through my right eye once more. They’re fading, but I can still count four motionless blue silhouettes lying on the ground. True to my prediction, the one closest to me lies with its head slumped up against the door, its neck cocked at an unnatural angle.

I’d like to let out a deep sigh of relief, but a pillar of lightning laces the ground across the street from the building. The clap of thunder is immediate and deafening. I know it’s time to go claim my prize inside and get out of here while I still can. Quick, light footsteps carry me around towards the front of the building.

Less than two minutes later, I find myself exploding towards the glaring white light pouring out from the bright LED headlamp of my brand-new treasure: a fully operational dirt bike. An incredibly rare treasure, indeed, and with a full tank of fuel and spare tanks to boot.

As I speed down the cracked pavement of the broken road, I chance a quick glance back there, over my shoulder. Sure enough, I can see that telltale indigo tinge up high in the clouds behind me. As I swing my gaze forward towards the road before me, I swear that I can see a massive dark shadow for a moment, like the sort belonging to some mythical bird of prey hovering high overhead.

“Now, now, Trent… it’s only your imagination.”

The voice I hear inside my head this time does not sound like my own.

I rip the accelerator and speed off into the night.

A KNIFE FIGHT, A LIGHTNING STRIKE, AND A DIRTBIKE.
Written by Jungle.
(C) 2021, all rights reserved.
Special thanks to Sparrow Sensei for coaching me up!!

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