Tony Spears
02-05-2015, 01:23 PM
**Warning: A small bit of bad language to be had. I dont mean to offend anyone with protaginist's opinions on religious beliefs. Can someone take a knife to this story?? It's my first story and I know that is bad, but I would really apprectiate some hard advice. Any kind of feedback. Thanks. **
He said to board up all the windows. That was yesterday and I don’t care anymore. It’s too late. It’s over. I am slouched under the kitchen island, looking out through the un-shuttered windows or at least my head is facing that way. Nothing to see only darkness.
Dirty Dragon b*****d. I bend over and drop the dish cloth from my mouth. I turn left and heave. Falling back into my stationary position, I let my head hang backwards towrards the ceiling light. There hasn’t been electricity since…whenever.
I swallow a hard breath, careful not to upset the beast that has taken over my stomach. I pick up the dish cloth, my bloody rag, and slap away the ropes of spitty-bile that hang from my mouth. Maybe if I had boarded up the windows I would be safe from whatever crap is in the air. But how I was supposed to board up the windows? It’s not like I have a fully stocked wood-shed at the end of my suburban garden.
That toxic s**t, it builds up in my mouth, I can feel it between the gaps of my teeth and in the hollows of my cheeks. My tongue is so dry that it’s impossible not to swallow, and when I do, all that sulphur ****e or whatever it is gets taken down into my stomach, and then I retch Sulphur is supposed to smell isn’t it? I can’t smell anything.
A God awful shriek cracks the night. The house shakes but I don’t even blink. That noise is familiar now, like the sound of my neighbours barking dogs or the cheers that rise up from the soccer field down the road. The Dragons don’t scare me anymore. The human scream, that’s what scares me., The sound of women and children are the worst, naturally. I haven’t heard anything in a while though, an hour or so maybe. They might all have found good hiding places. I’m not hiding. I don’t care anymore.
Something cathes my eye through the window. A gorgeous wintery red glow, its tiny reflections dance across the marble worktops, the family photos, and the rarely opened glass cabinets. I can hear car alarms going off and an explosion. I can see flames now, menacing they are, licking whips of electric blue-green. The Dragon must have hit an oil tank, maybe beside someone’s house. Dirty B*****d.
I see something else in the sky, some kind of fiery missile, its moving fast, towards me, towards my house. I curl up in a ball with my hands covering my sorry head. The glass windows shatter and the wind tears through. Without even thinking, I’m on my feet. I have to get out of here. I see the thing as I step up; a flaming ball of fire sitting in my garden like a hot lump of coal. I just mowed the lawn yesterday afternoon. It was perfect. From the smell off it I know it is flesh, the city was full of that smell. It could be anybody; a mother, a father, a teen, a child, a babysitter….someone’s pet dog?
I turn and limp across the floor tiles like a war veteran. I pull open the door close it again, sinking down into the hallway floor. Maybe it was my wife? I hit myself across the face for thinking that. I shouldn’t think like that. I want to get sick but I hold it back. She’s probably dead though, Sandra. I think back to yesterday morning, to my petty going-to-work-goodbye, to all the petty goodbyes I have given her these past six months. It’s been tough. She handled it well. Better than any wife could.
Again, I hit myself across the face and melt into a crumpled fold of flesh, heaving. Heaving sweet nothings! I’m all out of bile it seems. I rub my mouth and pick myself up onto my feet. The hallway sways left and right. It would only be a matter of time before my sanity bends towards the mercy of absolute delirium; sh***y air making me think sh***y things.
Clara. My only child. Will she still be alive after all of this? She isn’t even in the same country, maybe the dragons haven’t reached….why am I trying to fool myself? I saw the news bulletins. The dragons were everywhere in the world, even Canada. Why did she have to go there? Why couldn’t she just stay here for University like the rest of her friends? Stay with her family...why didn’t I have more children? I want to hit myself, I really do.
I’m in the living room now. Maybe it was just as well we didn’t have more children, considering the situation. I slip onto the leather couch; my head hits the cushion, creating a sound, music in fact.
The Boss? Yes. It’s him all right. Singing about writing his book and dancing in the dark. I reach in behind the cushion and pull out a neat looking mp3 player. It’s pink. It’s Sandra’s.
I laugh; a head rolling psychotic laugh that only a stage actor could deliver. Yesterday, as I mowed the front lawn, I saw Sandra through the netting, dancing all goofy all over the living room floor, hands rising in semi-punches, hair catching every atom of air. She was dancing to The Boss. Our wedding song. Her choice. She must have had a really bad day at work. It’s not like she would have told me anyway. And what did I do at this moment? I rolled my eyes. Didn’t even crack a smile just rolled my eyes and muttered some s**t. Got back to the mowing. Christ, I should have ran in! Turned off the stupid mower and danced with her. Our first dance. It could have been our last. I laugh again, this time I feel tears coming down my shaking head. This is ridiculous. I’m going to wake up tomorrow on a hospital bed. A mid-life-crisis-induced-psychosis the doctor would tell me, it’s been building up for months. Of course, I’d say, yes, of course.
I rise up. Wipe my stupid face. My neighbours, I haven’t even checked if they were ok, if they need help. What’s wrong with me? They have kids, most of the families on the street have young kids. Where did I put my hunting gun? My head rattles as I approach the hallway, the walls stretch and swell to my disbelief. I know it’s not real. Just the ****ty air playing with me.
He told me to board up the windows, that half-witted priest I almost knocked down driving out of the city. Stuck his demented head straight through my car window. I could smell wine off his breath. Board up the windows, he said, the three days of darkness have begun, repent for your soul! Your sins! The scorpions will grind-… I drove off before he could finish his rant. He didn’t seem to mind. When I looked in my wing mirror I could see him with his head stuck in some other poor mans car. I wonder where he is now. Probably boarded up in some dusty old church, all of his dominions around him. It’s nice in a way. At least they are altogether. Friends and family. They can all die together. Lucky b******s.
My soul? My sins? I have never given them much thought before, until today. The Dragons on the outside seem to have awoken the Dragons inside my head and I can’t hide away from them. They’re breathing new fire into all my dead memories, dragging them back into my consciousness; a relentless series of venomous resurrections. What am I to do about it?
The rifle is in my hand. I’ve taken it from the utility box under the stairs. It’s just as well I didn’t move it upstairs like I had planned. Sandy was always saying it was dangerous to have it there. I reminded her that we don’t have any young kids. It’s heavy. It’s loaded. I walk back to the living room ignoring the bubbling walls and faint fog that I see around me. It’s not real. Just the hallucinate conjuring’s of a brain that is lapsing to mush. Nothing to be scared of.
I’m standing in front of the fully stocked wine cabinet now. Should I have a drink? One last drink before I leave? No. That’s far too cliché and I’m sick of cliché. My whole life has just been one never ending cliché. The top degree. The top family. The top house. The top car. The top job. The sprawling summer chateau in the French hills. The home-made wine sitting snug in my living room for all to witness. Sandy never wanted to buy that chateau. I insisted. Me. A chateau for God’s sake! And now she has to look at that stupid wine cabinet every day and be reminded of her husband’s betrayal. A mahogany testament to our wedding vows.
I pull the trigger. I manage two angry shots. It’s more than enough. The cabinet looks like an open monster wound or some dangerous portal into another dimension. There’s a green-purple haze off the splattered wine that unsettles me; it reminds me of church. I wonder if dragon blood looks this horrible. I wipe the wine from my forehead, careful not to smell its decadent stink.
That felt good. I feel more focused now. I better go check on the neighbours. I see Sandy’s pink mp3 player in the corner of my eye and I consider taking it with me. I leave it where it is.
I’m at the front door. My hand is shaking over the handle. The fake fog has got thicker. The priest said not too leave the house. Or did he? It’s written in the Bible isn’t it? Revelations or something. I don’t know. I can’t hear anything outside. But I know they are there. Quietly waiting. It’s all just a waiting game. I want to go back into the living room. I want to hide. Sit it out another night. To hell with the neighbours.
I press down on the door handle. I’m a proud b*****d.
I walk outside and fall onto my knees. I can’t see anything. Nothing. Only darkness. I crawl forward across the lawn. I can’t feel the grass under my hands. I can’t feel the pavement. What’s going on? I grip harder onto the gun. If I lose that I’m dead. I can’t even see the neighbour’s house.
I roll onto my back, pointing the gun into the sky. The gun is pushed hard into my chest. The wind is bearing down on me as if I am trapped under a helicopter. It’s not a helicopter. The creature screams. I'm done.
I can’t see The b*****d. Squeezing hard on the trigger. I can barely hear the gun in the wind. The trigger softens to a click. I’m out of ammo.
Then I see it again. That log fire glow. A moon shaped wonder in absolute darkness. It expands quickly and I can’t stop looking at it. In this bizarre moment in time, between life and sure-death, I don’t think of my wife. I don’t even think of my daughter. I think of Her. The Other Woman. I can see her red dress as she runs through the vineyards. Blood red. Just like the fire gathering above me. I can only think of Her. The fire drops. I grind my teeth and fade without a spark.
He said to board up all the windows. That was yesterday and I don’t care anymore. It’s too late. It’s over. I am slouched under the kitchen island, looking out through the un-shuttered windows or at least my head is facing that way. Nothing to see only darkness.
Dirty Dragon b*****d. I bend over and drop the dish cloth from my mouth. I turn left and heave. Falling back into my stationary position, I let my head hang backwards towrards the ceiling light. There hasn’t been electricity since…whenever.
I swallow a hard breath, careful not to upset the beast that has taken over my stomach. I pick up the dish cloth, my bloody rag, and slap away the ropes of spitty-bile that hang from my mouth. Maybe if I had boarded up the windows I would be safe from whatever crap is in the air. But how I was supposed to board up the windows? It’s not like I have a fully stocked wood-shed at the end of my suburban garden.
That toxic s**t, it builds up in my mouth, I can feel it between the gaps of my teeth and in the hollows of my cheeks. My tongue is so dry that it’s impossible not to swallow, and when I do, all that sulphur ****e or whatever it is gets taken down into my stomach, and then I retch Sulphur is supposed to smell isn’t it? I can’t smell anything.
A God awful shriek cracks the night. The house shakes but I don’t even blink. That noise is familiar now, like the sound of my neighbours barking dogs or the cheers that rise up from the soccer field down the road. The Dragons don’t scare me anymore. The human scream, that’s what scares me., The sound of women and children are the worst, naturally. I haven’t heard anything in a while though, an hour or so maybe. They might all have found good hiding places. I’m not hiding. I don’t care anymore.
Something cathes my eye through the window. A gorgeous wintery red glow, its tiny reflections dance across the marble worktops, the family photos, and the rarely opened glass cabinets. I can hear car alarms going off and an explosion. I can see flames now, menacing they are, licking whips of electric blue-green. The Dragon must have hit an oil tank, maybe beside someone’s house. Dirty B*****d.
I see something else in the sky, some kind of fiery missile, its moving fast, towards me, towards my house. I curl up in a ball with my hands covering my sorry head. The glass windows shatter and the wind tears through. Without even thinking, I’m on my feet. I have to get out of here. I see the thing as I step up; a flaming ball of fire sitting in my garden like a hot lump of coal. I just mowed the lawn yesterday afternoon. It was perfect. From the smell off it I know it is flesh, the city was full of that smell. It could be anybody; a mother, a father, a teen, a child, a babysitter….someone’s pet dog?
I turn and limp across the floor tiles like a war veteran. I pull open the door close it again, sinking down into the hallway floor. Maybe it was my wife? I hit myself across the face for thinking that. I shouldn’t think like that. I want to get sick but I hold it back. She’s probably dead though, Sandra. I think back to yesterday morning, to my petty going-to-work-goodbye, to all the petty goodbyes I have given her these past six months. It’s been tough. She handled it well. Better than any wife could.
Again, I hit myself across the face and melt into a crumpled fold of flesh, heaving. Heaving sweet nothings! I’m all out of bile it seems. I rub my mouth and pick myself up onto my feet. The hallway sways left and right. It would only be a matter of time before my sanity bends towards the mercy of absolute delirium; sh***y air making me think sh***y things.
Clara. My only child. Will she still be alive after all of this? She isn’t even in the same country, maybe the dragons haven’t reached….why am I trying to fool myself? I saw the news bulletins. The dragons were everywhere in the world, even Canada. Why did she have to go there? Why couldn’t she just stay here for University like the rest of her friends? Stay with her family...why didn’t I have more children? I want to hit myself, I really do.
I’m in the living room now. Maybe it was just as well we didn’t have more children, considering the situation. I slip onto the leather couch; my head hits the cushion, creating a sound, music in fact.
The Boss? Yes. It’s him all right. Singing about writing his book and dancing in the dark. I reach in behind the cushion and pull out a neat looking mp3 player. It’s pink. It’s Sandra’s.
I laugh; a head rolling psychotic laugh that only a stage actor could deliver. Yesterday, as I mowed the front lawn, I saw Sandra through the netting, dancing all goofy all over the living room floor, hands rising in semi-punches, hair catching every atom of air. She was dancing to The Boss. Our wedding song. Her choice. She must have had a really bad day at work. It’s not like she would have told me anyway. And what did I do at this moment? I rolled my eyes. Didn’t even crack a smile just rolled my eyes and muttered some s**t. Got back to the mowing. Christ, I should have ran in! Turned off the stupid mower and danced with her. Our first dance. It could have been our last. I laugh again, this time I feel tears coming down my shaking head. This is ridiculous. I’m going to wake up tomorrow on a hospital bed. A mid-life-crisis-induced-psychosis the doctor would tell me, it’s been building up for months. Of course, I’d say, yes, of course.
I rise up. Wipe my stupid face. My neighbours, I haven’t even checked if they were ok, if they need help. What’s wrong with me? They have kids, most of the families on the street have young kids. Where did I put my hunting gun? My head rattles as I approach the hallway, the walls stretch and swell to my disbelief. I know it’s not real. Just the ****ty air playing with me.
He told me to board up the windows, that half-witted priest I almost knocked down driving out of the city. Stuck his demented head straight through my car window. I could smell wine off his breath. Board up the windows, he said, the three days of darkness have begun, repent for your soul! Your sins! The scorpions will grind-… I drove off before he could finish his rant. He didn’t seem to mind. When I looked in my wing mirror I could see him with his head stuck in some other poor mans car. I wonder where he is now. Probably boarded up in some dusty old church, all of his dominions around him. It’s nice in a way. At least they are altogether. Friends and family. They can all die together. Lucky b******s.
My soul? My sins? I have never given them much thought before, until today. The Dragons on the outside seem to have awoken the Dragons inside my head and I can’t hide away from them. They’re breathing new fire into all my dead memories, dragging them back into my consciousness; a relentless series of venomous resurrections. What am I to do about it?
The rifle is in my hand. I’ve taken it from the utility box under the stairs. It’s just as well I didn’t move it upstairs like I had planned. Sandy was always saying it was dangerous to have it there. I reminded her that we don’t have any young kids. It’s heavy. It’s loaded. I walk back to the living room ignoring the bubbling walls and faint fog that I see around me. It’s not real. Just the hallucinate conjuring’s of a brain that is lapsing to mush. Nothing to be scared of.
I’m standing in front of the fully stocked wine cabinet now. Should I have a drink? One last drink before I leave? No. That’s far too cliché and I’m sick of cliché. My whole life has just been one never ending cliché. The top degree. The top family. The top house. The top car. The top job. The sprawling summer chateau in the French hills. The home-made wine sitting snug in my living room for all to witness. Sandy never wanted to buy that chateau. I insisted. Me. A chateau for God’s sake! And now she has to look at that stupid wine cabinet every day and be reminded of her husband’s betrayal. A mahogany testament to our wedding vows.
I pull the trigger. I manage two angry shots. It’s more than enough. The cabinet looks like an open monster wound or some dangerous portal into another dimension. There’s a green-purple haze off the splattered wine that unsettles me; it reminds me of church. I wonder if dragon blood looks this horrible. I wipe the wine from my forehead, careful not to smell its decadent stink.
That felt good. I feel more focused now. I better go check on the neighbours. I see Sandy’s pink mp3 player in the corner of my eye and I consider taking it with me. I leave it where it is.
I’m at the front door. My hand is shaking over the handle. The fake fog has got thicker. The priest said not too leave the house. Or did he? It’s written in the Bible isn’t it? Revelations or something. I don’t know. I can’t hear anything outside. But I know they are there. Quietly waiting. It’s all just a waiting game. I want to go back into the living room. I want to hide. Sit it out another night. To hell with the neighbours.
I press down on the door handle. I’m a proud b*****d.
I walk outside and fall onto my knees. I can’t see anything. Nothing. Only darkness. I crawl forward across the lawn. I can’t feel the grass under my hands. I can’t feel the pavement. What’s going on? I grip harder onto the gun. If I lose that I’m dead. I can’t even see the neighbour’s house.
I roll onto my back, pointing the gun into the sky. The gun is pushed hard into my chest. The wind is bearing down on me as if I am trapped under a helicopter. It’s not a helicopter. The creature screams. I'm done.
I can’t see The b*****d. Squeezing hard on the trigger. I can barely hear the gun in the wind. The trigger softens to a click. I’m out of ammo.
Then I see it again. That log fire glow. A moon shaped wonder in absolute darkness. It expands quickly and I can’t stop looking at it. In this bizarre moment in time, between life and sure-death, I don’t think of my wife. I don’t even think of my daughter. I think of Her. The Other Woman. I can see her red dress as she runs through the vineyards. Blood red. Just like the fire gathering above me. I can only think of Her. The fire drops. I grind my teeth and fade without a spark.