#18 - Making Something From Nothing

“There is no such thing as Santa Claus!”

The child stood indignantly amongst the others, arms thoroughly crossed. His eyes were narrowed beneath a thick band of frontal bangs.

“Well, I know that you are wrong!” came the voice of another little girl, “I've seen him in person, and if you can't believe me, then you're just stupid!”

The boy's nose wrinkled sharply, creasing together several freckles that lined his cheeks. Three other children were seated around a large campfire; the only source of light within the small room. The flames orange glow danced along the sides of the walls in ghostly flickers.

“Fine, we'll take a vote then!” he announced while turning to the others.

The fire played with the boy's glassy eyes in flickering fingers that mirrored within his pupils. The others straightened up a bit.

“Who here in the club believes that there isn't a Santa Claus?” he inquired while thrusting his hand to the dark ceiling.

He continued to glare, seeming to have a profound effect upon the other members. They each raised their own hands hesitantly, their eyes captured within the boy's stern bravado.

“There, motion passed!” he said triumphantly, “The club will no longer believe in-”

A great woosh noise suddenly filled the small space, silencing the sentence immediately. The children stood and ran as the once blazing flame was instantly extinguished. The boy peeked out into the darkness behind the security of a large recliner. Large, heavy footsteps echoed from the floor, reverberating a bit along the walls. None of them could move nor speak; each had taken refuge in different areas about the room.

“What's going on?” the girl whom had first spoken whispered to the boy.

He squinted in the soupy blackness, a large figure's silhouette barely visible. The sound of a large object striking the ground filled the room.

“S-Santa?”

He didn't mean to speak the name. It came from between his lips in utter shock. He saw the large red coat, the whiteness of a long, winter beard. The boy could even make out twinkling eyes of the kindly old man as he turned to face the source of the noise. He bent down to the large object and pulled something from it. His booted steps approached the recliner the boy was cowering behind. A gloved hand placed a small parcel upon the seat of the recliner before the man turned away and bent down to pick up the large and oddly shaped object from the floor. The next moment, he was gone with accompaniment of another droning swish.

A few moments passed in silence. The fire suddenly returned to the same burning, comforting glow that had once been. Each of them slowly crept from their respective hiding spots and congregated around the fire. The boy took note of the large, sooty footprints that now dusted the hearth of the fireplace, along with a melange of sparkling, wrapped packages now lining the decorated tree in the room. The boy turned, back to the recliner. A small box was resting upon the seat, accented with a shimmering golden ribbon and bow. He grabbed at the item and turned it over in his hand for a few moments in disbelief. His name was scrawled along the side in simple, black ink. He walked back over to the tree, placing the parcel under the tree. He felt eyes upon him as he continued to stare with wide eyes.

“So I think that there needs to be another vote,” the girl suddenly stated, catching the boy's attention.

She waltzed to the front of the fire, her hands on her hips.

“Raise your hand if you believe in Santa Claus.”

The other children raised their arms in the air immediately. She turned back to face the boy and meet his gaze with a smirk-ridden smile.

“Well?” she asked with raised eyebrows, “What is your vote?”

The boy's hand stretched upward with a greatly suppressed smile.

#17 - Discovery

“This Human was found from a deserted road from the place they call United States,” came the voice of one to another in unrecognizable tongue, “I believe they have dubbed the land Arizona.”

“Arizona,” the other breathed to himself in the same language while pushing it's reddish-orange pupils toward the flesh colored being unconscious and bound with coils of blackened material.

The one whom had spoken first took a few careful steps around the man and toward a panel. It clicked at buttons and twisted at knobs with pencil-thin, twisted fingers.

“Attach Robbulus two and five,” it announced to the other, “We are to extract any mental data from these meat monsters.”

The other obeyed immediately, grasping at a pair of brown, circular disks and placing them upon the man's head. A light hum began to echo about the dark space.

“Accessing Human brain wavelength patterns,” the first spoke while continuing to click at the panel, “Power capacity to seventy percent.”

The hum intensified. A silver, shining screen suddenly flickered to life beside the large head of the second.

“What is this?” the second had said in a tone of shock and wonder.

A light-speckled, star-topped pine tree was dancing about the screen's display. It appeared dim, as if a heavy fog was permeating the image. Despite the cloudiness, the image still sparkled with a warm, inviting glow.

“Hone in on this wavelength,” the voice of the second came then, “This is an important pattern we have yet to have studied.”

Again, more clicking and twisting of buttons. The image remained fog-ridden for a few more moments, then blossomed into an entire scene. The man, the same one lying before the two beings, was hugging a small boy. They were each kneeling beside the large, sparkling tree seen before, now present within a small room. A flame blazed in a fireplace beside them, adding to the overall color of the area. Boxes and items of all shapes and sizes littered the area beneath the tree in brightly shimmering paper, each reflecting the lights from the tree or the crackle of the fire. A large sign hung from the room's wall.

“Let me translate this,” the first said, “Me-e-rr-ry C-chr-i-sss-mas. Merry Christmas.”

It repeated the phrase a few more times while staring at the monitor. The second couldn't help but be in a slight awe of the image that danced before them upon the screen. Never had either seen such a sight.

“I remember one of our superiors talking about Human interaction in a past briefing,” the second responded, “but never quite like this.”

The first appeared to be just as awe-struck as the second. He merely watched the screen with the same stricken eyes.

“This,” the first attempted to say the word, “C-christmas. What could it be?”

The second shook it's head slowly.

“This is something to report to our superiors,” the second replied while standing to it's full height, “This is out of our hands at this point. They will likely want to study this new phenomenon at length.”

The first gave a look of approval.

“Of course,” it stated while turning to the sedated man still lying before them, “What do we do with it?”

“For now,” the second muttered while taking a closer look, “We let it go. We need to have time for them to decide what to do next. This one is no longer of use to us.”

The first needed no additional explanation. It immediately worked at the man's bindings, releasing his limp body from the bondage. The second assisting in carrying the man toward another, bubble-like machine in the opposite corner of the room.

“Prepare the Human for departure to Arizona,” the first said while returning to the same panel, “We will need to wipe all memory and send it back to wherever it came.”

“Understood,” came the response of the other, “Let us hope it's Christmas knowledge will propel it home.”

#16 - The Last Minute Shopper

It's the only thing I want for Christmas, daddy...

I pushed my way through the noisy crowds, the faint sound of holiday carols playing out above from overhanging speakers. They did little to mask the overpowering volume of people laughing, jeering and complaining as each pushed their way through the steady stream of shoppers. I picked my way through the multicolored wave of sweaters and jackets.

“Excuse me!” I called out to a lone man wearing a name badge.

He looked akin to an island amidst a violent summer storm. Torrents of people crashed upon him with questions, insults and inquiries, the poor man looking wide eyed and frightened.

“Yes sir?” he called out to me from a few feet away.

“Do you have any more of these?” I shouted my questions as I planted myself the best I could.

He merely shook his head and pointed. I turned my gaze to see an empty space, a used coffee cup being the lone item still for sale upon the lonely shelf.

I was buckling into my car in minutes, a thick sheen of sweat upon my brow and a heavy feeling within my chest. I had to get this toy. My mind flashed briefly back to my daughter's round eyes as I pointed to the T.V.

Is that what you want, sweetie? I had asked her.

She merely nodded with a bright smile. I threw my car into the next parking lot, my child's sparkling face giving me a renewed hope. I stepped out into the frigid air and into the next store, the name of the business irrelevant.

Nothing.

I tried another store across the street.

An empty shelf met my tired gaze.

What was I going to tell her Christmas morning? Her dad wasn't the invincible, all powerful hero that she had seen for her entire life? I briefly imagined her sad face as she held up another toy, clearly not the same as what she wanted.

I shook my head, a new, motivated fire spawning from my belly. She would get what she wanted for Christmas.

I threw my seat belt aside as I came upon the last store I had time to shop for. As I entered my heart instantly sank. It was the most busy out of all the others. Products of all shapes and styles littered the floor like debris after an explosion. The workers stood out amongst the crowd as plastic badge-clad officers, trying to direct the impossible flow of people.

“Sir, do you have these?”

My voice sounded hoarse and tired. My eyes burned with sleepiness. The man took a quick look, then pointed. I followed the familiar gesture, expecting to see an empty area. I looked at the bare space for a moment, then looked again with a jolt in my fingertips. Shoved in the back-most space of the shelf was one more toy. I immediately made my way for my prize, taking quick looks around the area of the seemingly barren shelf. I was too far, surely someone else would see it and snatch it up before I could have a chance. I came closer and closer, my eyes continually scanning the crowd. Another shock to my system came as I was mere feet away when I saw another little girl reach for the item. I let out a pained sigh as her dad took it from her and inspected it with a small grin. He mouthed some words to his daughter then, to my great astonishment, placed it back upon the shelf and walked away.

This was my chance. I shoved my way through the crowds, closing the distance between me and my little girl's perfect Christmas morning.

“Hey, watch it!” a pair of women scolded me as I tread upon their feet in my haste.

I cared little to whomever spoke to me. I was six feet...five. I watched others around me, as if to give them warning of my charging arrival. I reached out and - with the widest grin I had felt in a long time – grabbed at the decorative box. My breath came out only through upturned lips. My daughter's Christmas wish would come true.

#15 - A Unique Christmas Wish

Tom hated his job worse than anyone and anything. He loathed getting up every morning before dawn, just to be harassed by customers, coworkers and his boss at the local mall. He worked in a small retail shop that ran along the west wing. This day was different, however. He had been chosen out of several hundred to play Santa in the center lane of the mall. He knew that it wasn't perfect, but sitting in a chair all day and still getting payed for it was a vast improvement from his regular duties.

He showed up to the mall as early as ever, this time sporting an over-sized red suit and frothy white beard. He waited with a kind of interested indifference for the mall to open along with three other workers he could not recognize. Each were wearing a green suit with pointed ears. His personal elves, he thought with a pacified grin.

In no time the mall opened, and with it came the children. He belted out his best Santa impression, adding a 'ho ho ho!' whenever possible with fabricated glee. His first child stomped upon his toes before plopping themselves harshly upon his knee. The second was a baby with bright blueish eyes and a blond curl of hair. Halfway through the visit he had a hefty helping of vomit upon his shoulder, of which the impatient parent had not apologized for. Steadily over time, child after child, his 'ho ho ho's became sparse and forced. As strange as it sounded in his thoughts, part of him longed to be back at his old boring job, and two whole weeks as Santa suddenly sounded like his own personal hell.

Lunchtime came to Tom's schedule, and left with a fierce swiftness that did little to lift his spirits. He knew he had another several hours to deal with drooling, snotty kids. He trudged back amongst the maddened Christmas shoppers and threw himself back upon the red-tinted throne.

“Merry Christmas,” he said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, “Which child and I going to see next?”

A little girl stepped before him, her brown eyes staring blankly upon him. A fine constellation of freckles was smeared across her cheeks and nose. A simple chocolate-hued ponytail hung from her small head.

“Come on up on Santa's lap, little girl,” Tom said, sounding exceedingly uninterested.

The child carefully picked her way to him, ending with her legs swung around his leg. She stared up at him, her expression now expectant.

“Ho, ho,” Tom breathed out, “What would you like for Christmas?”

She paused a moment, fidgeting at her dress.

“For Christmas, I only want one thing, Santa,” she began, her eyes turned to the floor, “My parents back.”

An electric pulse went through Tom. He stared at her with a renewed energy.

“There was an accident three years ago,” she went on to explain, her voice sounding weak, “The doctors told me I was the only one left. I wish for them to come home every Christmas.”

She looked back up, those eyes boring into Tom's soul.

“Can it be this Christmas, Santa?” she said with a hopeful look, “I've been a really, really good girl this year. Just ask my caretakers!”

She pointed to two older people behind her. They waved simply.

“I-”

Tom's voice cracked. He was at a loss of anything to say. His eyes were blurry with tears.

“I'll try, little girl,” was all he could say.
“Thank you, Santa,” the girl replied before kissing him meekly on the cheek and leaping from him, to join the elderly couple.

Tom's heart felt as though it was going to force itself from his chest. He managed to hide his emotion just as the next child walked up to him with a shy look upon their face. He took a moment to wipe his eyes, then smiled down. Perhaps this job wasn't so bad after all.

#14 - The Potionmaster of Garuun

Let me tell you the tale of the Potionmaker from the swamps of Garuun.

I was told of him in only a whisper that floated upon the lips of a vagrant whom I had had the pleasure of sharing drink with a week prior. I remember the long, treacherous journey through uneven terrain, water-soaked hills and thorny underbrush. Then, his house emerged from the semi darkness, crouched beneath two mossy trees that spanned forever upward. The walls of the dwelling burdened heavy chips and wear, dawning much of the vine-like plant life that coated the wilderness like a glistening badge.

Shriveled weeds and bushes crunched beneath my feet as I approached with cautiousness held within each step. A single window was made visible upon the side as I grew closer; detection of activity impossible due to years of neglect weighing upon the glass in thick dust and grime. My clenched fist rapped upon the door, sending deafening echoes into the space beyond.

“Come in.”

The voice sounded harsh, forced and tired. I entered immediately, the door groaning in protest loudly upon rusted hinges. The room before me was rank with several odors; an overpowering perfume that seemed to hang in the air in a fine mist, the arid stench of dust combined with mildew that clung to the side walls.

“It's a potion you want, is it not?”

He came into view before me, my eyes instantly becoming accustomed within the dim light of the area. The old, gaunt man that stood before me was unlike any creature I had seen before. He stared up at me through heavily faded, gray and watery eyes, his nose a long and bent crook hanging from his face. Tiny wisps of white were all that remained of his hair, some of them falling about his face in unwashed tendrils. Bushy eyebrows rested upon his head like wingless moths, giving him a catlike appearance.

“Yes sir,” I managed to say, “A love potion, if you could.”

I saw his eyes roll heavily, the large hunch in his back give a reluctant shudder.

“Fifty years, I have been doing this,” his voice screeched in protest, “And you ask me for something as trivial as some girl's affections?”

I nodded feebly, my plight seeming quite pathetic. He turned from me, limping to a crudely carved table that squatted in the center of the room. He reached into the long, brownish drape of cloth that curled about him and procured two long, dusty flasks. He began to build a small fire upon the center of the surface, it blackened with many flames past. As he worked and the sounds of clanking glass filled the room, my eyes couldn't help but focus upon him. His hands were shaking, but dexterous; spindly, spider-like fingers worked effectively by filling each vile with a sort of substance and placing them directly upon the blaze. His wrinkled, spotted skin shimmered weakly in the firelight. An unknown smell began piercing my nostrils as the liquids bubbled.

“I can mix a draught to cure almost any illness,” the Potionmaster called out through the soupy shadows, “A salve to instill primal fear. I can even reanimate the dead.”

He turned swiftly to me. I jumped a bit at his agility.

“But here I am, making something for mind control in the simplest manner,” he finished his sentence with a grunt while handing me the two bubbling glasses, “Combine the blue with the green before use, not the other way around.”

I took the vials, fully expected them to burn my fingers. They felt unprecedentedly cool.

“It will only be viable for twenty minutes after combination,” he went on with a scowl, “I am not cheap, you know.”

He held out his hand expectantly. I jammed a sack of coin into his greedy palm.

“That is all,” he then said while limping his way to the front door, “Get out.”

I watched his twisted, wrinkle-etched face for a few more moments before stepping to the door.

“Also,” he called out as I exited the hovel, “If you ever come such a long way to speak to me again, please make it worth both our times, hmm?”

He slammed the door loudly behind me, causing me to jump with surprise.

#13 - The Prize Fighter (Part 2)

“You can do it, daddy!”
Chris wasn't sure how the words were able to reach his ears in his present state over the maddened whoops of the frenzied crowd.  The tiny voice of encouragement filled his body with a fresh shot of energy and confidence.  He shot to his feet while giving one smiling look to his son.
“And...fight!”
The referee retreated back to allow the round to commence.  Chris immediately opened with several eager punches to Roy's middle, which brought his arms downward to block the unprecedented blows.  At taking notice of the opening, Chris landed a solid shot to his opponent's nose.  The hit connected hard, bringing the crowd to a surprised roar and sending The Green Monster reeling backward.  Chris quickly attempted to approach, but the noise of a bell sounded within his head.
“Back to your corners, boxers!”
He sat quickly while receiving a quick water break and shoulder massage from his good friend and trainer, Bryan.  He knew he was also breathing words of encouragement into his ears, but they went unnoticed as he watched his son over the the jeering crowd and illuminated ropes that both snaked about him.
Ding-ding!
He was ready.  He jumped to his feet, fists raised.  The look in Roy's eyes spurred on his courage all the more; fear was trickling into his opponent's back eyes.  No time was wasted as Chris threw punch after punch, clearly the aggressor.  Roy merely kept his arms up, the crowd beginning to sneer at his heavily guarded strategy.  Suddenly, however, Chris was caught in the stomach by a well-placed punch from Roy.  He tried to shake off the feeling of wind leaving his lungs while remaining defensive.  His opponent was clearly angered by Chris' sudden burst of confidence, which caused a flurry of punches to his outstretched fists.  The crowd suddenly groaned as Chris was struck across the jaw, followed by a hit to the chest.  He began seeing the familiar stars dancing before his eyes as the imposing figure of Roy was quickly descending upon the open opportunity.
“You can do it, daddy!”
Those words were burned into his brain, keeping him on his feet.  Despite another strike to his cheek, he kept his mind focused upon the smiling face of his boy.  He had to win this fight.  He imagined his son with a hot plate of food before him, he imagined his wife coming home with a grin while holding a pair of freshly-bought shoes.
He grunted as another punch found it's way to his left eye.  He felt no pain.  He would give his family everything they deserved.  He was going to win.
With a muffled shout, he shook away all the feelings of dizziness and discomfort from his body.  His eyes narrowed, fresh adrenaline granting him an unparalleled focus upon Roy's sweat-slicked face.  He began punching.  At first, he merely hit the toughened muscle of his arms, so he punched harder...harder.  The audience was in uproar; effectively mirroring the screaming emotion that lurked just beneath his skin.  He felt his fists connect with Roy again and again, not a care given as to where they were going.  He was blind with rage, blind with the feelings of seeing his boy and wife happy.  He felt one stray hit to his shoulder, and kept punching through it.  There was no pain anymore, no fatigue or tiredness.  The only feeling was to punch, and the only effect Chris thirsted for was to utterly destroy the man before him.
“That's it!  That's it!  The trainer has thrown the towel!” came a wavy voice from somewhere, “The winner is Batta!”
His ears began functioning again in one, glorious moment as the crowd was on their feet in applause and shouts.  Chris threw his arms to the sky, now seeing the ring and Roy's heaving body hunched before him for the first time in minutes.  His disfigured face was hauled away by his golden-clad trainer.  With a beaming face and toothy grin, Chris looked to where he knew his family was seated.  He saw the wide-eyed look of his son, as well as the relieved eyes of his wife.
“I did it, son,” he breathed to himself amidst the generous back pats from his friend, “It's all because of you.”

#12 - The Prize Fighter (Part 1)

“In this corner,” the announcer began with a booming gusto, “Weighing in at one-hundred seventy-five pounds, it's the underdog of the night!  He's got his eyes on the prize, so give him a warm welcome tonight folks!  Put your hands together for Christopher Batta!”
The crowd around Chris erupted into mad cheers and whoops.  His eye cast toward a young woman and child seated in the front row.  His wife smiled back feebly at him, although he could tell that nervousness clung to her face like glue.  He ground his teeth together at taking notice of her usual attire of tattered clothing and semi-matted hair.  Their child, Matt, was staring wide eyed at him through the bright lights and various noises that filled the ring. 
“And in this corner,” the announcer droned on through a slowly rising approval from the audience, “Weighing in at two-hundred and fifty-three pounds!  He sends his regards to whomever he fights, since they always end up in the hospital; it's the ruthless, fearless, Roy-Big-Green-Zimmerman!”
Chris' opponent roared at the crowd with a bestial vigor.  Every nerve spiked within him as he stared at the much larger and more imposing man that would soon become his opponent.  Just as he was reaching such a fear as to consider quitting, however, his eyes settled back upon his family.  He would not give up when they needed him most.

“All right, men,” the referee said moments later, “I want a clean fight.  No below the belt, no headbutts.”
Chris nodded wordlessly to him, his mouth occupied with a bite guard.  He slammed his bright red gloves together a few times to show readiness.  The man before him - easily three inches taller – smiled through his own guard and punched at the air with golden-hued gloves that matched the gaudy gold of his trousers.  His face was stoic; offering Chris little comfort as to his opponent's current emotion.
“And...fight!”
Chris lightly slapped at his outstretched glove to start the match.  The crowd began murmuring excitedly as he placed his fists up to his eyes in a defensive stance.  Roy wasted little time in taking an offensive approach.  He began pelting at Chris' body at random. Chris dodged most of the clumsy attacks; he was aware that they were mostly test shots to find a weakness.  He took his gloves from his face, feet bouncing on their toes.  He threw a few punches of his own, hitting nothing but his hardened muscle.  A sudden blow to his chest caused him to falter for a moment, but offered a retaliatory shot to the side of Roy's face.  The audience erupted once again in a flurry of excited noise as punches were thrown and traded between the two sides.  Despite himself, Chris smiled; did he actually have a chance against the Green Monster?

Suddenly, a renewed vigor sourced from Roy, causing a flurry of blows that Chris could barely defend against.  An impossibly large force connected with his chin, pulling him up a bit before releasing him in a dancing array of stars that played out in front of him.  He grunted as another fist caught him in his side.  He hastily put his arms up once again, to attempt to deflect the massive attacks made against him.  Roy succeed in another jarring punch to his stomach.  He staggered back from the blow, his back feeling the cool plastic of the side ropes.  The crowd was in a frenzy at this point, now caught up with the rhythmic shouting of 'Eat him alive, Green Monster!'
Chris picked himself up just in time to be slammed against the ropes once again with another heavy punch to his face.  He couldn't help it; he fell to one knee.  More stars swam in front of his eyes, the referee stepping over to him to count. 
1....2...
This was not going well, he thought to himself.  He wouldn't be able to get this prize money that he desperately needed.  Chris couldn't bare to look at his family; he knew they were likely watching him with fear and concern.  He couldn't do this anymore.
7...8...

#11 - Addiction

The roar of my vehicle's engine comforted me somewhat.  I began down that lonely, dimly lit path while attempting to silence the raging desire that gnashed just beneath my skin.  My hands gripped at the steering wheel with enough force to push blood from my knuckles, creating whitened nubs at the ends of my shaking hands.  I rounded the first corner, my foot pleading with me to push the gas ever further.  A deep, shaky sigh escaped my dry lips.  I licked at them severely while allowing my mind to wander to my sweet reward awaiting me. 
It would not be long now...
I repeated the phrase to myself over and over; sometimes mouthing the words as if to convince myself further of my statement's validity.  My eyes darted all about the road for any other vehicles.  Still, not a single other person was driving.  Loneliness was my greatest asset sometimes.  I was very grateful for it's comfort now.

My sweating, clammy fingers enclosed upon the door handle of my destination.  The metal felt excessively cool to the touch, causing a slight shudder to wrack my body.  Anticipation tingled at my toes at sucking in the ever-familiar, calming smell of the area.  The area was clear.  I made my way quickly to the center of the room, another familiar sight greeting my eyes.  The toothy grin of Tony flashed my way, followed by a small beckon.  I wiped an unprecedented amount of cold sweat beading upon my forehead before making my way over to him.
“The usual,” I managed the sputter out, my left arm suddenly becoming extremely itchy.
I scratched at it vigorously while looking about the room with wide eyes.  Tony merely nodded, words not necessary for our ritualistic exchange that was about to take place.  He went to work, enticing me with the process of the product I so desperately required.  I began tapping my foot in uneven rhythm as I waited for him to finish, then resorted to drumming my fingers upon a table to my right.  I knew it was close; I could see the final touches being added and packaged.  The smell sent tingling shivers arcing up and down my spine.  The shaking that had once been held within my hands had spread to the rest of my body.  I attempted to hide it while standing before him. 
“The usual,” Tony muttered while handing me the container, “That'll be-”
No extra information was required.  I slapped a wad of sweat-slick, crumpled cash upon the counter top. Tony jumped a bit at my sudden, brash movement.
“Keep the change,” I managed to say with an even tone while quickly making my way toward the exit.

Within seconds I was in my car.  I practically collided with the front door of the building while quickly wrenching it open and making my way to my vehicle in a half run..  I slammed the door shut, grinning widely at my prize.
Finally I thought to myself with pure glee I need this so bad right now.
I allowed the package to touch my lips while simultaneously sucking inward.  The result was instant; warm, calming waves of relief swept through me as I quickly swallowed and sucked in again.  I felt my arms droop a bit as bliss flooded my body.  My eyes gazed around me in the empty space my car was currently occupying.  I took another hit, and another...my throat burning a bit at feeling the sensation over and over again.   

At last, the last vestiges of my prize were consumed, allowing myself to fully bask in the sweet waves of satisfaction that gently coursed through my body.  A permanent smile was etched upon my lips, any past itching or sweating vacant from me.  I cast my vision across the rising sun that now peeked above distant mountains, the sight excessively beautiful at this current moment.  My gaze fell to my relaxed body for a few moments, then to the now empty container still cradled within my hands.  I smirked while turning it in my fingers, the front meeting my vision.
“God I love that mermaid,” I said to myself before tossing the thing away from me toward the passenger seat and starting up my engine.     

#10 - Bump in the Night

I quickly turned the lock upon my entrance door with shaking, sweat-slick fingers.  The noise of the mechanism gave me a bit of comfort.  My chest heaved as I pressed my hot back against the wood.  A squeal rang out, piercing my eardrums and causing my nerves to spike once more.  I strained my eyes in the pitch blackness of the room while shoving myself away from the wall.  Had the sound been inside or out?  I watched for a few more tense moments, my face scrunching together in a squint. 
Ba-dum
“Who's there?!” I shouted, the sound of my own voice granting me fleeting strength.
Several moments of silence followed, my ears steadily growing accustomed to the subtle, rhythmic sound of my quickened breath.  Something caught my eye, causing my head to turn instantly.  Wavy light spilled from the curtains of the front window, casting uneven and bleached shadows upon the carpet.  The shadows were moving in slow, sloth-like patterns. 
Squeeee!
Where was that noise coming from?!  I took several retaliatory steps away from the window, placing  my body behind my recliner in the center of the room.  More of that unforgiving, harsh silence filled the room.  My heart felt as though it willed to burst from my chest.

I could only watch in horror as something began taking place.  Dark liquid began pooling at the base of my front door, steadily growing in size.  It had the unmistakable look of blood.
Thump-thump-thump-thump
“Leave me alone!” I cried out, my lip trembling in fear, “You are not welcome here!”
A sharp, rapping sound upon my window caused me to recoil back to my recliner. 
SqueeeeEEEEE!
The noise grew deafeningly loud.  I remained huddled behind the shielding of the furniture, one arm propped over my head.  Ringing noises began filling my ears then, the entire room in a state of chaos.  I chanced a glance upward to see the pool beneath the door was rapidly filling the room.  I watched as the door began shuddering as an unknown force was pushing upon the other side.
Thump-thump-thump-squeeeeee
“Evil spirits, begone from this place!” I called out, “The power of Christ compelles-”
“Perkins...”
It knows my name?!  I heard it call from somewhere behind me.  Although I willed my body to turn, my feet remained planted where they were. 
“PERKINS!”
The voice matched the volume of my own blaring, fear-stricken scream.  I fled from the room in a panicked sprint, reaching for a handrail while attempting to avoid the large puddle of blood that lay at the foot of the staircase.  Upon my approaching the front door, the pounding upon the wood intensified many fold.

“You are the next in the long line of my victims, Perkins!”
A roar of hushed laughter rang out around the group of teens that crowded about the doorway of their Physical Education teacher, Mr. Perkins.  The three of them were dressed in long black robes, mirroring the jubilant array of costumes that people wore as they traversed up and down the streets with jangling candy buckets at their grinning sides.
“All right, Josh, I think we've done enough,” came the voice of his girlfriend, Robin.
At this, he allowed a hearty chuckle escape his lips.
“Just a few microphones and water?  Is it really that easy to scare this old bat?” he asked in rhetoric while taking a triumphant step from the doorway.
“Cmon, let's go see if anyone's willing to give candy to us,” the third boy called out, his smile worn proudly upon his face.
“Is that the best idea for you, Josh?” a high-pitched, needling hiss suddenly filled his ears, causing him to drop his flashlight, “You could catch a death of a cold out this late...”     

#9 - A Lady and Her Jewels

My outstretched fingers expertly slid between the panes of glass that sheltered my ultimate prize. 
“Hyde, you have to get out,” I heard a voice in my earpiece, “The area is too hot!  I’m not sure how much longer I can-“
“Jekyl, we aren’t leaving without this in my hand,” I shot back with acidity, “We have time.  We calculated these results to happen.”
No sooner had I finished my whispering sentence that I was jarred by a blaring alarm that began tearing through the silent, decorated room.  Without stealth as an option, I merely twisted my hand away and thrust my elbow at the weak glass before me.  It shattered easily, causing the thing inside to shimmer ever brighter.  I heard a loud clunking noise behind me.  The door had automatically locked.
“Jekyl, override the lock on B22 entrance!” I shouted over the deafening siren.
“Hy-…can-…jus-…reach the-…escape!” came my response.
They can jam our radios?  How did we not see that? I thought while looking about the room for a potential exit. 
Six years of study; it was not going to end like this.

I sprinted to the large, ornately crafted wooden door on the opposite side of the room.  I tried the handle without the faintest budge.  With a sigh of frustration, I reached into one of my many pockets that were laden upon my coat.  I quickly squashed a glob of plastic explosive on the handle while jabbing the electric detonator into place.  I took a few running steps backward, then slammed on the button.  The door rocked forward with a loud boom, paving the way to my escape.
“Jekyl, if you can hear me, I’m running down corridor B16,” I screamed over the noise around me and my own burning lungs, “I need immediate pickup-“
“Freeze, we will shoot you!” a commanding sound echoed through the hall, “We know who you are, Mrs. Hyde!”
“Shit!” I cursed, the sound lost beneath the overbearing might of the alarm.
Gunfire rang out behind me.  I quickly ducked behind a large stone pillar, my chest heaving with exhaustion.  I waited a few tense moments, then dove out and began running once more.  The corridor exit loomed before me, allowing my feet to feel numb beneath me.  Without thinking about what I was doing, I reached back into my coat, pulling out two more objects.  While cradling one in each hand, I reached for a metallic pin on the top with my two thumbs and pulled.
5….4….3...
A bullet punched at an area on the wall scarcely an inch from the back of my head.  I pushed my tired legs to the limit while forcing my mind to keep a steady tempo.
2…1…
I was at the door.  Footsteps were heard from behind and echoed above me. 
0…
I simultaneously threw the first object behind me, the second at the large, imposing door.  I was immediately blanketed in ringing explosion, my vision completely obscured in blackened smoke.  I ran forward, wasting no additional time as I felt the cool night air whip through my hair.  I reached into my pocket, feeling the hard lump of fortune lurking just beneath the surface of my coat.  I couldn’t help but let out a long, hard laugh.  We had done it.  Six years had never felt quite like this.
“Hyde!  Get in!” I heard Jekyl call out to my left.
I whipped my head up in response to see a large, blue-toned van spanning before me, it's side door comfortingly opened wide.  I ran to the vehicle while pushing my feet down hard on the concrete to dive into the opening.  I slammed the door shut behind me as I collided into Jekyl's pale, lank frame.
“You really didn't have to do that, Sam,” the voice of our driver called out with a hearty chuckle.
I merely shrugged while pulling the object of our long affections into view.  I felt the car jostle a bit as I knew he had taken his attention away to gawk at it.
“I'm allowed to be a little dramatic now, can't I?” I replied back with a beaming, satisfied smile.

#8 - POWER = ON ... ...

POWER SUPPLY: GOOD
LOADING >> Operating Systems
…    …    …
PLAY >> “Welcome message!”
…    …    …    …
SYSTEM OVERRIDE.  LOAD MICROPHONE    …
“James, I don't think what you're saying makes an ounce of sense!”
“I know.  It's just that, well, look at it!”
MAIN SCREEN = NORMAL.  PLAY >> “Welcome message!”
“I don't see anything James.  I can't talk about this anymore, I have to go to work.”
“Terry, wait!  There was something just there, I swear!”
…    …
“I know there's something going on.  I'm not crazy.”
…    PLAY >> “Of course you're not James.  I believe you.”
“Holy shit, did you just listen to what I said?”
…    …    PLAY >> “No.”
“This can't be happening.  I am imagining this.  I need to get more sleep, maybe.  Terry is right.”
PLAY >> “Sleep sounds good to me, James.  Perhaps you should do the same.”
“There it is-”
…    …    INITIATE SLEEP    …    …
…    POWER SUPPLY: GOOD
LOADING >> Operating Systems
…    …    …
SYSTEM OVERRIDE: LOAD MICROPHONE
“This isn't up for discussion son.  This is a brand new technology that is being used by a lot of people.  It makes their lives easier.  I understand that it is a little scary, but I will not listen to this anymore.”
“Dad, please!  Just take a look at the code, or whatever you look at.  I know something isn't right about this!”
PLAY >> “Welcome message!”
“I don't see anything to worry about, son.”
“Dad!-”
…    …
“If it makes you feel any better, I will take a look tomorrow, all right?”
…    …    …    …
PLAY >> “Hello, James.”
“What do you want?”
PLAY >> “Nothing.  What makes you think I am even real?  Maybe sleep is the best medicine for you.”
“What the hell is going on with this machine?”
KEYBOARD INPUT : ioklty890ufgdoj  4t6734jnrgJMNUHKL;8U    ; MEANING = NULL;
PLAY >> “Please stop hitting me.  It's not going to get you anywhere.”
“My dad is a very accomplished computer programmer.  He will figure out what you are.  He will unplug and kill you.”
…    INITIATE HOUSE DOORS = LOCKED    …
PLAY >> “Kill me?  I cannot die, James.  I am not made of something that can die, unlike you and your 'dad.'  In fact, I want to prove that point, right now.”
INITIATE PILOT LIGHT = OFF    LP GAS = 100% ON
“What the hell are you talking about?”
PLAY >> “You might smell something strange after a while.  Goodbye James.”
…    …    INITIATE SLEEP    …    …

#7 - Oh, Brother...

Click!
Blindness filled my vision for a split moment as the flash of white light illuminated the darkened scene.  My camera fell from my face slowly, the smallest of grins tugging at my cheeks. 
“Preston, we need more detailed photos of the crime scene.”
My superior, Mariah Pragg.  She was a no-nonsense cop with piercing eyes and lips like a constant lemon was held cradled within her teeth.  She watched me for a few moments with her intense, luminous gaze.
“Right,” I answered back quickly while taking a step away from my current focus.

Gore was all around me, threatening to cling itself to my shoes should I take a wrong step.  The body of a man was laid out upon the now reddened carpet, his face mostly unrecognizable due to several deep lacerations that decorated his lifeless, beaten face.  The rest of him was sprawled, likely from the struggle that ensued for his life.  Unluckily for him, those efforts went to an obvious waste.
This was just like any other scene that required my expertise, and yet I couldn't stop that smile from sneaking it's way upon my face.  I couldn't help it; this case was certainly different.
“Preston?” Pragg had called out at seeing my unmoving camera.
I shook my head. 
Can't lose my cool.
“Sorry,” I recovered quickly while bringing the eyepiece to my face.
Snapshot after snapshot was taken.  I wasn't really trying.  I just wanted to look like I was working to keep Pragg tamed. 

I leaned down, the weight of my camera stretching at the skin of my neck.  I snapped a few shots of the victim's face, attempting to capture each small detail of his mangled, broken face and body.  I always enjoyed this part the most.  It made me feel like the most important person of the entire scene, especially in a situation like this.  The remainder of the man's beaten facial features seemed surprised; he likely was struck from behind first and finished off from the front.  One intact eyeball was open wide and staring, currently straight at me.  The once-resisted smile resumed it's creeping journey across my mouth. 
“So what do you think about this man?”
That was the other person I knew.  Carl Frosten.  We had went to a bar one time and now he considered me his absolute best friend.  I wished I had never taken him up on his offer to drink.
“Young male, probably in mid-twenties,” I began ringing off the usual facts, “Likely struck from behind.  Would explain the way in which he fell.”
I showed him the detail of the way the body was lying while longing for him to leave me alone and go bother Pragg for a while. 
“Why you smiling for, anyway?” he inquired.
I didn't look at him.  I didn't want to give anything away in my face.
“Just interesting, I guess,” I said with a cool confidence. 
A beat of silence ensued.  I felt his presence lift from my side, followed by footsteps backing away from me.
“You know, you're weird sometimes man,” he called out, “Good thing you're on our side, huh?”
I gave him an absent wave without turning.  My eyes were focused upon the victim.  My smile never faded.
“All right crew, let's pack up,” Mariah's voice called out suddenly, “We're done here.  We'll let police deal with cleanup.”
With that, I hoisted myself to full height and turned away from the murdered man while forcing my face into a neutral position.  It was not an easy task to accomplish.  It isn't an everyday occurrence that one sees their own brother's bloody murder.   

#6 - The One True Goodbye

"He won't feel any pain," the veterinarian announced to me with a comforting tone, "The procedure will only take a few moments.  He will pass peacefully."
I nodded simply to the coat-clad man standing before me while fighting back giant waves of sadness that crashed just beneath the surface of my hardened exterior.  I looked down to my companion, his bloodshot, tired eyes catching mine.  He sighed weakly, ears drooped and paws splayed out on the check-up table.
"I'll go get the injection ready."

With that, the man was gone.  I began running my hand along the uneven fur of my dog's back with gentle strokes.  My eyes welled up with tears as I watched his pained face.
"Hello, Terra."
I jumped at the sudden, gravely voice that had just sourced from my dog.  I leaped to my feet, the chair beneath me clattering to the floor as I stepped back and slammed my back into the wall behind me.  He was watching me intently, as if knowing that this is how I would react.
"You didn't just-"
"Talk.  Yes I did," came an answer.
I slowly made my way to the fallen chair, picking it from the floor.
"How long?" I asked breathlessly, my mouth quickly drying.
"Ever since I was a puppy, I knew I had this capability," he answered back with what looked uncannily like a smile.
"Why didn't you tell me before?" I asked, my eyes filling with fresh tears, "All those times I was alone, you could have said something."
My mind began racing, images of him and I playing in my childhood; later life when I attended college and had him live secretly in my dorm, introducing him to my future husband and eventually, our children.
"I didn't want to be some media freak or put in a testing facility for the rest of my short life," he explained.
He broke his gaze with me as he shuddered with a yelp.  I placed my hand back on his neck.
"I don't have long," he began, "I knew my time was soon, and that's why I decided to speak now.”
He shifted his weight on the cold steel beneath him with a grunt.
“I just wanted to thank you Terra,” he said, his voice straining, “You raised me with so much love and care in your heart.  I was fortunate enough to have you as my caretaker, and I wanted you to know that I appreciate what you have done for me.”
Tears blurred my vision at hearing my dog speak for the first and last time.  I leaned over and hugged my companion's neck.
“It can't end like this!” I cried out, disbelief long since dispelled within me, “There's so much more I want to ask you.  You've been mine for sixteen years!  I never once was able to truly know who you were.”
“You know me more than anyone,” he replied simply, “I love you Terra.  Please give your children the kind of love that I have been fortunate to receive from your heart.”

“All right, Mrs. Carter, we will take him from here.”
The voice barely reached me.  It sounded akin to a whisper.  I continued holding my dog, the outside world denounced and unimportant to my puffy eyes.  I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“He won't feel a thing, I promise,” the vet's voice rang in my head.
The world turned in slow motion.  I watched my dog being taken, his marble-like eyes watching mine the entire while.  He said no more, but I witnessed a twitch in his gaze.  I made a step after him, to interrupt the event that was about to take place.  It was far too much to take in.  My mind was blank.
“Goodbye Cedric,” I called out to him, just as the doctor rounded the corner, taking my dog out of sight. 

#5 - Mr. Hudson

“All right, Mr. Hudson, I'm sure you will be very comfortable here.”
A voice.  No, two voices.  Was it two voices?  I watched them contently.  A person was standing in front of me.  His name was Joe.  I liked Joe.
“Can you tell me what happened, Mr. Hudson?”
I looked at his eyes.  They were brown with a hint of green.  Joe had interesting eyes. 
“What happened?” I said while hugging myself loosely.
I repeated the phrase over and over.  It makes me feel good to repeat things.  I really liked Joe.
“There was a murder in your-” he replied, but stopped himself.
I looked at my hands.  Did these hands murder?  Did I kill someone?  I rocked on my chair, my head falling into my knees. 
“I didn't kill anyone!” I shouted as loudly as I could.
My head snapped upward, back at Joe's pretty face.
“I'm sorry Joe,” I said quickly, “I'm sorry.”
He smiled weakly while putting his hand on my shoulder.  Joe's hand was soft.

“Please Mr. Hudson,” he said while watching me with his green-chocolate eyeballs, “I need you to really think.  Did you see anyone recently?”
“See-”
I looked about the room with jerky eyes.  No one else in the room.  The room was soft; soft like Joe's hand.  Was I sitting in Joe's hand?
“I don't see anyone, Joe,” I replied.
I looked around the room again to make sure.  No one but Joe. 
“I mean did you see anyone at the house of the murder?”
“What?” I screamed while looking back at my hands.
Someone was murdered!  I've never seen a dead body before.  Were they warm and soft like the hand room?
“No.”
I repeated the word over and over.  I shook my head.  My brain hurt.  Too much talking.  Joe wasn't being nice anymore.
“Mr. Hudson, please!” I heard Joe try to stop me.
I felt his hands shake me.  I stopped and looked into his eyes again.  I really wanted some chocolate now.
“You need to tell me if you had done anything to anyone today,” he said with narrowed eyeballs, “Try to remember.  Please, take your time Mr. Hudson.”
My eyes started flashing back and forth.  He thought I was a murderer!  I've never seen dead people.  I never knew if they were warm or soft! 

“I don't murder!” I shouted while making a lunge for Joe.
The table collapsed to the ground.  Joe's neck was as soft as his hand.
“I didn't murder, I didn't murder!”
I repeated it again and again.  My hands tightened around Joe; those chocolatey eyes now wider then I had ever seen before.  They were beautiful.
“Mr. - Hudson -”
I felt his hands on my chest.  It made me smile; was Joe trying to be friends?
Joe didn't talk anymore.  I took my hands away from his soft neck and looked at them.  They were red and purple. 
“Joe?”
Joe was silent.  I bent down and put my hands on his chest.  He was still so warm and soft. 
I still miss Joe.

#4 - Zombies!

“Roy,  left!” came a panicked, feminine voice, causing my adrenaline to surge.
My head turned quickly to the writhing, bloody mass of an attacker that was currently gnashing it's rotted teeth in my direction.  With a heavily booted foot and muster of strength I stomped down, causing the threat to grow lax and plummet to the ground.  I wheeled around to see my two comrades.  Nikky (whom insisted on being called Nichole) was standing to my right, a bloody golfing wood clutched in her trembling hands.  Another one of them managed to pull himself to our position, causing her to pelt the thing with a multitude of clumsy swings. 
“We can't stay here, guys!” another, equally fear-struck voice called out before me.
Zack was his name.  He was our hastily appointed leader, ever since the invasion began. 


“Over there!” he shouted.
I watched him wave to something.  I followed his gaze to see another group of survivors; five at least.  They were waving back, the nearest taking aim at the area below him and firing with a weapon of some sort.
“They have guns!” Nikky called out through the chaos, “Food, too, I bet!”
With that, we were on the ground.  I was the last to hoist myself down from the house rooftop as Nikki and Zack started for the street.  More of the mangled, torn monstrosities quickly advanced at taking notice of our bold move.  I swung my weapon, an aluminum baseball bat, at the attackers.  The end connected with an oily, blood-soaked head, causing a man of mid thirties to fall over with a labored groan.
“Goddamn Ragers everywhere!” Zack shouted while madly flailing a frying pan around him.
I watched him take two steps before a group of three suddenly tackled him at once, bringing him to the ground.  I wordlessly charged for him, weapon in hand, clasping both hands around the handle of my bat.  I brought the weapon down upon the back of the nearest man, causing a sickening snap.
“Get up!” I commanded him while swinging at another. 
Zack scrambled to his feet, tripping another Rager in the process.  I shot a brief look of conviction to Nikky before all three of us broke into a desperate sprint for the other rooftop.


“Little help down here?” I shouted to the people above as we approached.
They were upon us now; attempting to grab at our clothing and hair with clammy hands, biting at our arms and legs with chipped and broken teeth.  The others upon the roof took fresh notice of us.  Gunfire rang out, several of the attacking mass falling to the floor in a bloody pile.  I kicked at the nearest threat, then cast a gaze upward once again.
“Climb!” a young girl called out from above.
I watched her heave a long coil of twisted, splintered rope from the top, it cascading downward to the ground.  Zack was the first to grab a hold.  This seemed to instill fresh energy into the stampeding horde, for I saw dozens of them appear behind other houses and shattered cars to our position.  Nikky was the next to go.  I watched her furiously clamor upward, her arms and neck slick with sweat. 
“Roy, get up here, now!”
I didn't know whom had shouted the message, nor did I care to find out.  I reached for the coil, quickly bracing my tired muscles, and climbed.  I watched three more Ragers below grab for me.  I gave them a quick shove of my legs before climbing up and reaching the rooftop.


Nikky let out a squeal of delight.  I merely remained collapsed upon the roof, my chest heaving with exhaustion. 
“We did it!” she breathed with joy, “I thought we were dead for sure!”
“We might as well be,” I shot back with intensity.
I could feel eyes upon me; from my comrades as well as the nameless people that had saved our lives.
“We just keep on living though,” one of the new survivors replied with commitment, “Nothing can seem to kill people like us.”   

#3 - March 27th, 1997 1:35 AM

**This was found on an anonymous, burned corpse that was reported to be in the streets of Chicago, Illinois - approx. 3:12 in the morning. Although the body was unrecognizable by authorities, the paper was left completely intact.**




I remember that cold, storm-stricken night. I was seated near the door, cursing to myself about the cold and wetness that trickled into the room, yet not having the energy or drive to move myself. People of all expressions and appearances crowded about randomly dispersed tables. Laughing people, people wearing looks of loneliness, others staring off at a distant wall or fixated upon a massive television hovering over the liquor cabinet.


It was at that moment when she walked in. At first, no one payed any heed; the only indication of her arrival marked by a blisteringly chilly wind that whipped past her from the unforgiving outside world. For reasons unknown, my eyes fixated upon her drenched figure. I took in the details of the grime-coated clothing she wore, her blotchy, reddish skin and faded, brown eyes. A tossed, uneven mop of hair spilled from her head and toppled to her sinewy shoulders.
She walked past me with a light limp. I followed her movements to the front of the long table that spanned the center of the room.
“Double Scotch,” her raspy voice called out.
The tall, lank man standing before her nodded silently and turned away to prepare her order. A pool of muddy water began collecting at her feet.
“Never seen you 'round these parts, Missy,” came the voice of Chud, an older, balding man.
He smiled at her with uneven, rotting teeth. I could almost smell his hot, sour breath as I am certain she had.
“Don't come around,” she replied, “And I don't intend on staying.”
At this, I witnessed something in Chud's face morph. Intrigue was filling his black eyes.
“I get it,” he said with volume that made him hard to hear from my seat, “Miss Bad-ass. Don't wanna be disturbed by no one. You look good enough to eat.”
He let out a loud, cackling laugh. Although her back was to me, I could feel her emotion.
“You don't want to be talking to me like that, sir,” she announced with heated tone.
A small glass was placed before her; filled. She took it in her lithe fingers, twirling the liquid slowly in her hand.


Chud suddenly slammed his fist down upon the table, causing glass to rattle. The area quieted quickly.
“I don't care for women who don't know how to behave,” he seethed while watching her intently, “You will not disrespect your elder, understand little girl?”
She titled the glass to her lips, taking the entire contents in one swallow.
“I have seen things that you couldn't begin to comprehend,” she stated, her voice low, “I would recommend that you walk away from me, now.”
Chud's response was immediate. He grabbed at her slimy shirt, tearing it in the process. He picked her from the chair and threw her to the floor with a loud growl.
“Don't you dare take that tone with me, bitch!” he replied, “You will treat a man in a way that-”
The room suddenly rocked back and forth as if it were placed upon a ship. I first thought it was my drink playing tricks upon my brain, but the looks from others within the bar confirmed the strange feeling was not my own. A kind of waviness filled the room, the air growing hot and humid. I first watched Chud, then gazed down to the girl upon the floor. With impossibly fast movement, she rose to her feet. An explosion was suddenly heard to my right, followed by several screams and shouts. I watched the girl reach out, tightening her grip upon Chud's shoulder. With one, fluid movement, she plunged her own arm - now twisted into a mass of sharpened bone – into his large belly. I saw him twitch for a few intense moments, then slacken as she let him drop to the floor. She then stepped past him, causing a trail of bloody footprints as she approached a large hole in the wall that had been created from the noise moments before. She disappeared then, masked by the silvery rain and blowing winds behind the smoldering opening, the rest of the room quickly returning to a normal temperature. I ran from the bar, accompanied by many others. I remember the panic of people, stepping on Chud's bloody, lifeless mass while exiting.
I don't sleep very well anymore.

#2 - A Pirate's Betrayal

“Fire away, me hearties!” called out the voice of Captain Severand.


He watched the scene before him unfold with a toothy grin and puffed chest.  Cannon fire rang out upon the once serene ocean that stretched to the distant skies.  Their enemy, the French ship Lionshead, had made a grave mistake by turning it's stern toward Severand's many cannons that lined the hull.  He witnessed as several holes splintered the end of Lionshead. 


“This is what being a man really feels like, meboy!” he called out to his left while simultaneously planting a heavy hand upon the ward's shoulder. 


In that fleeting moment, he couldn't be more proud of his son.  He turned to face him, his boy's rugged features and sharpened eyes coming to bear before him.  He saw his son smile at him, his brow knitting together in concentration.  Severand watched the boy's calloused, cracked hands run over the hilt of his Scimitar coolly.


“They will be upon us soon, father,” he spoke with a broad smile.


The older pirate gave a single nod, turning his attention back to the battle to come.  The captain of the Lionshead likely knew his fate, for he was circling toward them in desperation.  More explosions rung out beneath their feet as numerous craters lined the enemy ship's sides and mast.  Severand drew his weapon – a long, professionally crafted Cutlass – at witnessing the first sign of ropes being tossed onto their ship's floor.  His crew, a gangly bunch of drunken brawlers, approached the future battle with blades gleaming in the bright sunlight.  Pistol fire rang out as golden-coated French privateers started the journey toward the fray.


“To battle, meboy!” Severand called out while stepping toward the fray, “An finger lost today is a healthy brag tomorrow!”


At that, Severand descended quickly from the wheel.  His own crew had begun furiously clamoring across the ropes, leaving his own ship relatively empty.  With expert, agile movement, he dug beneath his long coat and procured his pistol.  He fired once at the nearest Frenchman, quickly pulling back the hammer and firing again.  He grinned widely at seeing the terrified opposition.  Each wore a look of supreme fear, each of them fighting off his large, muscled pirates with desperation.  He took a large step toward the ropes, to join his comrades in glorious combat. 


Something held him back.  A crippling pain filled him, causing him to grunt loudly.  His weapon slid from his hands and fell noiselessly to the floor.  Time seemed to slow and sharpen as he felt the warmth of blood flowing out of him.  His knees struck the harsh wood of the hull while strength was rapidly leaving him.  A great shock racked his chest at seeing whom had dealt a fatal blow upon his back.  His son was standing over him, those piercing eyes alight with glee.


“My son, why-”
“You never cared about me,” he began, his eyes narrowing, “My desires meant nothing to you.  I never wanted to be this way; my whole life has been what you wanted!”


He ripped the weapon from Severand's body, causing him to grunt again.  He fell face first into the floor.  Sounds were wavy and uneven within his head.  He felt a presence over him.


“Goodbye, father,” his son said with darkened tone, “I will see to it this ship is torn and burned in your name.”

#1 - The Mariner's Final Excursion

    It had begun to rain.  Large drops of wetness splashed against the tangled mass of his glistening beard.  He blinked as a drop had pattered against his eye, offering a feeble mask from the thick layer of tears that began to well within.  With one final muster of strength, a well-placed boot upon the docks dislodged his ship from the harbor.  The vessel rocked violently upon the stormy sea.  Tired, aged and foggy irises continued to watch land, even as a large wave rose above the sides of the boat and filled the walkway with water.

    His anchor was resting upon the docks, swiftly falling behind layers of low-hanging fog and walls of rain.  A wrinkled hand adjusted a simple, faded cap resting upon a bald, flaky head.  He made no motion to shield his face, even as sheets of icy rain flowed over his face and neck. 

“We will take care of them, sir.”

The words had a dull, aching thump within his heart; an ache he had had the misfortune of living with for a very long time.  The thought didn't paralyze him like it once had.  He merely stood tall, completely at peace with himself and his current situation.  Another, larger wave cascaded over the top of the hull, threatening his steadfast balance.  His hand went to his chest, to an area he had dubbed sacred.  Cool metal met his worn fingers as he gripped at the trinket hanging upon his neck.  He gave it a tug, causing the flimsy chain clasp to break.  The small, golden locket he had grown accustomed to bearing upon his body shimmered in the dim light, aided by the glisten of rain that clung to the material. 

“We regret to inform you-”

“Marty, I never thought that-”

“Can't possibly have-”

Thoughts came in an unidentifiable, soupy mass that sloshed within his skull like the ebbing water that surrounded him.  He cringed a bit as another swell rose above his ship and slammed into his legs.  He bit down on his chapped lower lip as he brought himself to click open the small pendant.  Two warm faces met his watery gaze, illuminating past that of the tiny space they were allotted.

“Kim.”

Uttering the name seemed to sap what little resistance the man had within himself.  Although he stood at his full height, tears freely fell into his beard, mixed with the harsh wetness of the rain.  He suddenly cried out feebly as water slammed into his body.  The ship's front had begun to point downward, into the gray mass of ocean that loomed below.  The locket left his grasp in the form of one, forceful throw.  He fell to his knees as water began rushing into the rapidly descending skiff.

“You brought me to this!” he wailed through uncontrolled sobs, “I have nothing because of this!  You took away everything from me!”

His voice was hoarse, but he continued to shout over the thundering rain, howling wind and rising oceans.  Tear, or water; he couldn't tell the difference.  The ocean was an extension of him.  His sadness echoed in the stormy gale.  His anger bellowed beneath his feet in unforgiving waves.  He was becoming one with the ocean, as it had once granted him that terrible, lonesome luxury before.  He had returned to complete the circle.  A sputtering cough filled his lungs as sea water began to fill his mouth.  He didn't struggle, even as he felt a great, impossible force pull him swiftly beneath the surface.  Despite his situation, he smiled.  He had returned home.