colabottles
01-17-2009, 09:40 PM
Hello! My first post - this is a little story I wrote. Although you can't tell by reading it, this story was heavily influenced by Nirvana.
The giant, jet black Luton van screeched to a halt in the desolate car park, tucked away carefully from watching eyes, covered in a dark misty shroud which hung over the unused parking area eerily. The constant thud of modern dance music which screamed from the speakers covering the passenger area stopped suddenly as the growling engine settled. And all was silent.
A silhouetted figure sat in the driver’s seat, as still as the calm - albeit cold - night outside. His hand slipped slowly and silently away from the key in the ignition and moved onto the door handle next to him. He gripped it tight, holding onto it with a sense of anxiety, as if he thought that if he didn’t grip it so desperately, it would slip away from under his hand. With a firm but careful tug the handle clicked open, filling the silence around him with a loud and deliberate sound. He pushed the rusty door to its limit and hopped out shakily, his gaunt and skeletal frame now more obvious under the dim light of the moon. He staggered past the side of the van and rested his palm on the dusty handle at the back. He hesitated before he opened it, like he always did, then breathed in, composed himself and swung it open viciously, almost theatrically.
Moonlight flooded into the back of the van, and although it was only a dull haze, it was something. Twelve sets of eyes suddenly twinkled with the borrowed light as if they were forced to glimmer, because the true fear in the eyes hid underneath the sparkle of the moon. Each set of eyes brimmed with tears, the moist glaze attempting to cover the deep emotion in vain. Because all of the eyes in the back of the van belonged to twelve terrified people, twelve people with their own horrific unspoken story to tell, twelve people who did not deserve to be there.
“Do not fear,” whispered the driver patronisingly, his eyes glinting with malevolence which overridden the pale shine of the moon. “You know that I am saving you.”
But the truth was, the captives knew otherwise. They knew that each and every one of them had been wrenched from the normality of their everyday lives in the most painful way possible, and they knew that this was how their lives would end, too. Because if they thought that they had even a fraction of a chance of escaping, they would take that chance and run. They would tell the press about how the crazed madman threatened them into leaving their families and friends behind for a life with him, and how much it pained them to have to leave with nothing more than a goodbye note. They would tell their families how much they loved them and live happily ever after. But they knew they would never have the oppourtunity, for the threat that was made was this – ‘Leave your homes and families, and I will save you from the unavoidable doom of the human kind. But disobey my command and I will make sure that everyone you know will never see the sun rise again, and you will be left to pick up the pieces alone.’ Every one of the hostages knew this threat word for word, the short monologue on auto replay throughout their mind. Because this is the call that all of them received when their life was still normal; when they could atone to the usual lull of a mediocre life and enjoy it.
The hostages heard this threat echo throughout the van every night by the man. They listened helplessly to him calmly persuading the poor victim, and they could feel his manic smile spread crookedly across his face as the sound of his panicking, whimpering prey rattled through the speaker. The prisoners all knew the fate of the poor citizen on the other side of the phone, but they also knew that they couldn’t save them. Because they’d all seen the sheer terror on the face of the last person who interfered with the man’s agenda – the expression on their face as they looked down the barrel of his gun was one that everyone in the van echoed as they thought of that night.
All of the captives had seen his angry side, and that was enough to stun them into silence. They all remembered the night when two of them had communicated, when they betrayed his law and shared their emotions, shared the uncontrollable fear and the sorrow. They remembered that that was the day when they were allowed out to observe, and when the blistering sun which blinded their deprived eyes was dominated by the deafening gun shot into the skull of the betrayers.
‘Do not move but an inch, my disciples,’ the driver crooned, breaking the train of thought of the hostages with his harsh tone. ‘You should not worry, nor be afraid of fear. I have my duties to attend to. I will return by dawn with another follower.’
And with that, he slammed the door shut and took back the borrowed light which had filled the van, leaving the hostages in the dark, oblivious to their fate. He took a long, deep breath, composed himself, blanked out the near-silent whimpers from behind him and set off to the house ahead of him. There was something strangely familiar about the house, but he couldn’t quite place what. As he trudged through the messy garden and pushed open the rusty, creaky door, he was met by an all-too-familiar smell; a musky scent of whisky, a stale undertone of tobacco and a warm aroma of something unnameable, but strong and overriding. He shrugged off the unfamiliar reminiscent side of him which was beginning to show through and continued with his pursuit. He knew the house would be empty, just like his orders stated, apart from his victim. He took another deep breathe through his nose, placed his hand firmly on the fading brown of the panelling and opened the door which he knew would reveal his victim.
‘Until now you have been alone in life,’ he chimed as he burst through the door, not looking at his victim, but feeling her presence and thriving off her fear. ‘But that will change,’ he continued. ‘I have chosen you to become my disciple. Do not fear, my child, but instead flourish as a follower of the all seeing and all knowing; I am your saviour.’ He shot his arms out horizontally and lifted his head. This was usually his favourite part of his revelation – where he could bask in the glory of his prize, and walk away feeling fulfilled. But this time was different. The moment his head lifted, his arms dropped as if he were a marionette which had fulfilled its duty. A chill travelled down his spine and shook his whole body, making him cold to the core. Tears travelled down his cheek and hit his neck unnoticed. He felt his heart stop as the realisation hit him.
‘Mother,’ he whimpered.
The giant, jet black Luton van screeched to a halt in the desolate car park, tucked away carefully from watching eyes, covered in a dark misty shroud which hung over the unused parking area eerily. The constant thud of modern dance music which screamed from the speakers covering the passenger area stopped suddenly as the growling engine settled. And all was silent.
A silhouetted figure sat in the driver’s seat, as still as the calm - albeit cold - night outside. His hand slipped slowly and silently away from the key in the ignition and moved onto the door handle next to him. He gripped it tight, holding onto it with a sense of anxiety, as if he thought that if he didn’t grip it so desperately, it would slip away from under his hand. With a firm but careful tug the handle clicked open, filling the silence around him with a loud and deliberate sound. He pushed the rusty door to its limit and hopped out shakily, his gaunt and skeletal frame now more obvious under the dim light of the moon. He staggered past the side of the van and rested his palm on the dusty handle at the back. He hesitated before he opened it, like he always did, then breathed in, composed himself and swung it open viciously, almost theatrically.
Moonlight flooded into the back of the van, and although it was only a dull haze, it was something. Twelve sets of eyes suddenly twinkled with the borrowed light as if they were forced to glimmer, because the true fear in the eyes hid underneath the sparkle of the moon. Each set of eyes brimmed with tears, the moist glaze attempting to cover the deep emotion in vain. Because all of the eyes in the back of the van belonged to twelve terrified people, twelve people with their own horrific unspoken story to tell, twelve people who did not deserve to be there.
“Do not fear,” whispered the driver patronisingly, his eyes glinting with malevolence which overridden the pale shine of the moon. “You know that I am saving you.”
But the truth was, the captives knew otherwise. They knew that each and every one of them had been wrenched from the normality of their everyday lives in the most painful way possible, and they knew that this was how their lives would end, too. Because if they thought that they had even a fraction of a chance of escaping, they would take that chance and run. They would tell the press about how the crazed madman threatened them into leaving their families and friends behind for a life with him, and how much it pained them to have to leave with nothing more than a goodbye note. They would tell their families how much they loved them and live happily ever after. But they knew they would never have the oppourtunity, for the threat that was made was this – ‘Leave your homes and families, and I will save you from the unavoidable doom of the human kind. But disobey my command and I will make sure that everyone you know will never see the sun rise again, and you will be left to pick up the pieces alone.’ Every one of the hostages knew this threat word for word, the short monologue on auto replay throughout their mind. Because this is the call that all of them received when their life was still normal; when they could atone to the usual lull of a mediocre life and enjoy it.
The hostages heard this threat echo throughout the van every night by the man. They listened helplessly to him calmly persuading the poor victim, and they could feel his manic smile spread crookedly across his face as the sound of his panicking, whimpering prey rattled through the speaker. The prisoners all knew the fate of the poor citizen on the other side of the phone, but they also knew that they couldn’t save them. Because they’d all seen the sheer terror on the face of the last person who interfered with the man’s agenda – the expression on their face as they looked down the barrel of his gun was one that everyone in the van echoed as they thought of that night.
All of the captives had seen his angry side, and that was enough to stun them into silence. They all remembered the night when two of them had communicated, when they betrayed his law and shared their emotions, shared the uncontrollable fear and the sorrow. They remembered that that was the day when they were allowed out to observe, and when the blistering sun which blinded their deprived eyes was dominated by the deafening gun shot into the skull of the betrayers.
‘Do not move but an inch, my disciples,’ the driver crooned, breaking the train of thought of the hostages with his harsh tone. ‘You should not worry, nor be afraid of fear. I have my duties to attend to. I will return by dawn with another follower.’
And with that, he slammed the door shut and took back the borrowed light which had filled the van, leaving the hostages in the dark, oblivious to their fate. He took a long, deep breath, composed himself, blanked out the near-silent whimpers from behind him and set off to the house ahead of him. There was something strangely familiar about the house, but he couldn’t quite place what. As he trudged through the messy garden and pushed open the rusty, creaky door, he was met by an all-too-familiar smell; a musky scent of whisky, a stale undertone of tobacco and a warm aroma of something unnameable, but strong and overriding. He shrugged off the unfamiliar reminiscent side of him which was beginning to show through and continued with his pursuit. He knew the house would be empty, just like his orders stated, apart from his victim. He took another deep breathe through his nose, placed his hand firmly on the fading brown of the panelling and opened the door which he knew would reveal his victim.
‘Until now you have been alone in life,’ he chimed as he burst through the door, not looking at his victim, but feeling her presence and thriving off her fear. ‘But that will change,’ he continued. ‘I have chosen you to become my disciple. Do not fear, my child, but instead flourish as a follower of the all seeing and all knowing; I am your saviour.’ He shot his arms out horizontally and lifted his head. This was usually his favourite part of his revelation – where he could bask in the glory of his prize, and walk away feeling fulfilled. But this time was different. The moment his head lifted, his arms dropped as if he were a marionette which had fulfilled its duty. A chill travelled down his spine and shook his whole body, making him cold to the core. Tears travelled down his cheek and hit his neck unnoticed. He felt his heart stop as the realisation hit him.
‘Mother,’ he whimpered.