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Tachigami
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12-01-2012, 06:31 AM
Quote:
NOTE:
(1) I will be adding to this when the inspiration makes itself known.
(2) I've never written in narrative-present-tense before, so give me a little slack during those times I'll no doubt slip into past-tense.
(3) All characters, plots, and ideas come from Tachigami. If I'm given other ideas from readers (which I hope to happen!), I'll give credit where credit is due.
(4) Please tell me what you think. I need feedback to get better at what I love to do!
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For most people, death equals the end of their time on Earth.
For some, it's not.
So, what happens to them, then?
Prologue
All she wanted was an orange. An orange! I said it was just fine. The Shell station isn't but a couple blocks away, they usually have apples and oranges, among other things. Mom couldn't go; she was paralyzed a year after she had Holly in a work accident. That's why I had to stay home, to help take care of her, and of Holly---Dad wouldn't do it. None of us even knew where he was. Thank God I didn't let Holly come along, not tonight. But do I really have to die for an orange? I'm not even twenty-five years old yet! I was thinking about going back to school, too... I could have been a novelist, a journalist, a literature teacher! I was going to make Mom proud! Now I might not even get to see the oil-slicked parking lot outside again if I can't get past the gunmen.
There's four of them. That I'm sure of. Each wear a different color blazer: Red, green and white, light blue, and yellow. They've got some damn big guns too. I didn't even know you could get those outside law enforcement. It's as if they take a couple hundred bucks like it's a jackpot, the way they're yelling and waving the guns around. If I could only understand what they were saying... Their voices are drowned out by the terrified muttering of the girl beside me. I know I'm scared too; I can feel myself shaking. But I'm not giving voice to my fear like the girl. Maybe I'm the silent kind of hostage. Well, on the outside...
None of the gunmen are wearing masks. One's an older man, he's got gray-brown hair. A scar along his left cheek. A set jaw and small eyes. One looks young. Maybe in his late teens. Black hair. Pale skin. One's a woman, maybe my age, a bit less. Raven hair with bright blue tips. Heavy gothic makeup. The last guy's pretty short; his hair is blonde, spiked in the front. He's smiling. Always smiling. And quiet. He hasn't said a word since they busted into the station and told the girl and myself to sit against the back wall of coolers. But the way he keeps eyeing us...
A shattering series of explosions burst forth and send the girl beside me into a hysterical screaming fit. The sudden burst of fear-fueled adrenaline closes my throat and makes it impossible to speak as the oldest of the group shoots the young cashier down with his automatic weapon. He's at such a short distance that the wall behind the counter seems to explode too, painting the notices, signs, and cigarette displays red. My ears are still ringing too loudly from the gun blasts to understand what the oldest shouts at the others, but I feel my breath catch as he glances toward the woman and myself. The smiling blonde stalks toward us, shouldering his hefty weapon and reaching behind him. For a moment I'm not quite aware of anything besides the pistol he draws, until I realize the girl at my side is grasping my arm in a grip that's quite painful.
Should I try and act the hero? Place myself in front of her before he had the chance to pull the trigger? I probably couldn't do much, but it was something, right...? My decision never comes, as two bullets are pelted into the girl's chest, and her grasp on my arm releases in an instant. Between the renewed ringing in my head and the sound of my blood rushing in my ears, I can't even concentrate on the muzzle of the gun as it positions on me. I suppose it's right what they say: Adrenaline dulls pain. Only the force, like being punched in the chest a couple times, shine through before I lose control of my joints and fell backward, into the freezing cooler. Then there's the icy feeling, worse than the cooler's arctic temperature, that fills your stilling blood and makes you heavy.
My vision is fading... I force what little strength I have to move my head to face the right. From where I sit I can see the display of fruit. Apples red, yellow, and green. A few pineapples. Clear plastic containers of strawberries. And a pile of oranges. All I needed was one.
I draw in a harsh breath as my lungs halt, and my jaw automatically clenches as prickling pain begins its slow creeping throughout my chest and along my limbs.
Dark, now... Not just from the nighttime.
Not just from the departing gang flicking off the lights...
Most people get to say goodbye to their families before they die.
I thought I would too, one day.
Last edited by Tachigami; 12-15-2012 at 05:35 PM..
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Tachigami
It's quiet, now.
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12-02-2012, 07:10 PM
Chapter I
(Part I)
What is it people see at the end? I've heard some crazy stories, but I've never been in the place to say whether they're real or not. It's said you see eternal darkness, the likes of which you're floating endlessly in for eternity, with no sense of here nor there. Others see a light before finding their way to Heaven or Hell, or wherever they believe they'll go. They see their life flash before their eyes, every moment suspended in time.
I see... nothing. Am I doomed forever to float among that black abyss, like a universe without stars? I lived a well enough life, I'm sure. I got good grades. I didn't tell but white lies every now and then. I've never been in a relationship... Never did drugs... I've never even touched alcohol! I could have been a saint, a monk.
I should feel as though I'm floating, shouldn't I? That's the point of an endless abyss: You float, suspended, in nothing. But I'm not moving in any way. Whatever's beneath me is cold. Something like brick...
"Calvin. Calvin!"
My name. I can't be in an abyss if someone's calling my name. I never really expected Limbo to be so dark, either... And the voice isn't familiar.
"Calvin, if you open your eyes, you might be able to see."
All the patient tolerance of a father speaking to his son. It's like I'm a child again, closing my eyes in fear of something I shouldn't be afraid of and trying to run away. You can't run away with your eyes closed. It takes a moment, but I manage to both understand what he's saying and put those words into action. I raise my eyelids, heavy though they are, and for a moment, I can't concentrate. Monochromatic colors blur with one another, making it impossible to tell shadow from highlight, or near from far.
Unaware of thinking about the action, I feel my eyes squint, trying to focus through this heavy fog that's settled on my vision. I can slowly make out a few large shapes, like walls lined up behind a carousel at my right, and to my left, another wall, this one facing away from me and ending somewhere toward whatever I'm leaning against. But in front of me... Two slender shapes, which I follow upward to where they bloom a bit.
Lifting my arms take a bit of willpower, considering they feel like they've been weighted down with a wet towel. But I do, and rub the groggy pain out of my face, shaking off the initial cover of confusion.
The two slender forms in front of me happen to be legs. That's obvious now. They're attached to a man who's shockingly thin, covered from neck to foot in a suit that reminds me of a funeral home. Quite appropriate, in my opinion. He doesn't look old, though his face is quite narrow. Even in the dark I could see the pale tone of his hair, poking out from under the brim of what looks like a bowler hat. "That's better, 'innit, Calvin?" He asks with a bright grin, offering a hand. Thoroughly confused, I accept, quite unprepared for the jolt of being wrenched up so quickly. I stumble a bit as my knees almost give out under me, though I'm steadied by the stranger.
"What... happen...?" I could use better English, seeing as it's my first language. But after recovering from... a dream, I guess you could call it, you're not entirely within grasp of forming coherent sentences.
"I'm pretty sure you know what happened." The stranger laughs, as though I've told a joke he hasn't heard before. Staring for a moment, I shake my head.
"Sleepwalking?" I guess weakly, and put a hand to the back of my head. It feels as though a welt is there, throbbing as it would at the end of a particularly nasty beating. I move around and turn, glancing around. The Shell station. The display of fruit. I glance toward the door, and the counter beside it. No one is at the register. But in the dark I can see even darker stains against the back wall. My teeth clench again. I really don't want to at that point, but I turn around and look down.
Beside the dead girl, my eyes stare at me. They're still open. The world tilts suddenly and steeply backward, and I hear myself gasp, throwing myself away from the mannequin-like figures below me. My bones jar under my skin when I fall to the floor, and my shoes squeak as I scuttle backward, away from the discolored pool beneath the bodies that's spread. "God, I'm gonna die... I'm gonna die...!" My voice is high in a mix of shock, awe, terror, and absolute frustrated confusion. "What the He---The...?"
"Calvin, you're already dead." The stranger laughs again, just like last time. "You can't do that twice."
"Am I in Hell...?" The words come out before I can think. It's the only thing I can even consider.
"No, no. You're still in the real world." The man glances at the clock above the door. It reads 9:45. "We gotta get outta here before they come." He steps forward, grabs my arm, and lifts me to my feet. "Come on, can't be here when the police make it."
He doesn't give me time to respond before he pulls me along, toward the door. I expect he and I to go through it, as is known to happen with spirits and ghosts. However, he puts out a hand and pushes it open, out of the way. More questions...
Last edited by Tachigami; 12-18-2012 at 08:18 PM..
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Tachigami
It's quiet, now.
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12-15-2012, 06:37 PM
(Part II)
I’m pulled out the door and around the corner, back behind the Shell station and across the back alley, where a series of old houses sat waiting to be remodeled and put back on the market. It’s dark, and no one really comes down this way. In front of a couple single-story homes with overgrown yards, the stranger finally stops. The run had been tough on me, considering the white-hot pain in my chest, but now I’m more interested in who brought me out of that scene. The first thing that strikes me is his extremely narrow waist. It’s as if under that black mourning suit isn’t much more than a skeleton wrapped in a little padding. His shoulders are sloped, and he’s oddly tall. More than several inches above me, definitely. One wouldn’t expect such a tall, thin type of person to actually have skin, but he does. It’s stretched over that narrow face, making his green eyes a bit larger and his mouth a bit small in comparison.
"Close your mouth, won’t you?” He asks at last, turning to glance behind me. “You may catch a fly.”
I obey, if a bit hesitantly. It takes a moment to work up the nerve, but I finally find my voice: “Uhm... Who are you, again?”
“Jack Williams, at your service.” He extends a hand, and I accept. He’s surprisingly warm; I suppose I expect something icy and skeletal, a bit fragile, but he’s just as strong as anyone I’d met before this night. “I suppose you have questions, don’t you?”
I shake my head involuntarily, a motion of confusion I tend to use to show I didn’t quite understand the question. But I do understand this one. It’s as if I’m hyper-aware. “Uh, yeah... Yes. How is it I’m... alive?”
“Oh, you’re not.” Jack says it so... calmly. As if it’s a comment on the weather. He fiddles with the sleeve of his black jacket and glances at me. Apparently I have a look of utter disbelief on my face, because he elaborates: “You’re dead, I’m sure you know. Shot, rather violently. It wasn’t an immediate kill, mind. You were alive for a few moments before, and I felt the life drain out of you. However, your soul was trapped within your shell of a body. I lifted it out.”
“Lifted my soul out of my body...?” I repeat. This is all a little... much to handle.
“Oh, yes.” Jack smiles. He walks a ways away and sits on an old bench outside the chain link fence behind him. I remain standing, rooted to the spot. “You see, Calvin, when someone is destined to die in a very violent, cruel way, they begin to emit the scent of death. It’s similar to smoldering ash mixed with sulfur, and just a bit of blood. Quite nice, despite its initial combination. Yesterday that scent lured me to your home. I discovered a bit of information about you, including your name and intent to go back to school. I’d noticed you write it in a journal.”
I suddenly feel cold, and the pain radiating from my chest fades. “You... stalked me?”
“No, no. I don’t stalk. I watch. I watch the doomed.”
“You couldn’t have helped me!?”
“No! Calvin, I can’t interfere with the events of the living that are soon to be dead. That would throw the set course of events drastically askew, and cause unbelievable rifts in reality. None of us can interfere in the death of the living, no matter how tragic or terrible.”
I nod. Despite the cruel fate Jack seems to have, he’s oddly chipper in a way I can’t necessarily understand. I step forward, a little closer to him. “So... you knew I’d die? And you followed me, I understand that part. But why did my soul need help leaving my body?”
“From time to time, the newly dead can’t understand that they’re, in fact, dead. The circumstance of their death is so sudden and shocking to their living being that they can’t release and move on as they would any other way. This is where my role comes in. I’m called a Messenger.”
“And a Messenger leads souls to the other world?”
“Well, that’s only part of the job.”
“Really. What’s the rest?”
At that, Jack shifts on the bench, motioning to it. I accept the invitation and sit. “The rest,” Jack says, “isn’t entirely simple. The job of a Messenger is not only a harbinger of death, but a door to hope, and a protector to the living in various other ways. We pull weak or lost souls out of their old shells or away from darkness and lead them toward their final destination, and in that sense they avoid becoming poltergeists, vengeful and angry spirits that attack the living and instill their personal torment on those present. At the same time, Messengers track and destroy demons. Since we are, in a sense, half dead, we walk the line between the worlds of the living and of the dead. We see what the living don’t. We see demons. They vary in appearance, but the grunts are usually small, quick, and strong.”
Jack pauses to study me. I do believe him, in a sense. What else, after all, is there to believe when you were just shot? I raise a hand to my chest, wincing at the quick, though dull, pain that shoots through my chest. I can feel the holes where the rounds pierced my ribs. Jack continues: “While for the most part we appear as humans, we cannot hide the source of our death. For example, I was gutted one night in Corby---a town in the UK---and that left me generally hollow on the inside because most of my organs were spilled out and stolen to be sold on the black market. I became a Messenger that night, and had to sew the resulting hole down my torso. Though now it’s as firm as regular skin, it’ll always be there.” He looks down, as though he can see the scar through his clothes. I grimace at the thought. At least I was only shot...
Jack looks back up and huffs. “Anyway. My insides were replaced with makeshift models. I can still function as I did when I was alive, I’m just much thinner.” He laughs, as though the concept instilled humor since it was so long ago.
“So, what am I?” I ask at last.
“You’re a Messenger. That is... if you’d like to be. I brought you out of your body a bit differently, so you’re able to be seen, heard, felt, and acknowledged just as a human is. To anyone’s knowledge, that’s what you are. And you’ll be doing a very good thing for your city.”
I stare at Jack for a while. For so long, in fact, I feel my eyes begin to water, then dry out, and I have to blink. “Er... I don’t...” I pause, and think a bit harder. It’ll be a lot more than what I’d been doing before... And it’d give this... unlife, I guess you could call it, some kind of meaning. But my mother... My sister... “What about my family?”
“You can never go back. Never. While now, because of your death, you’re unrecognizable to them, you’d be far too tempted to help them when they’re in need.”
“But Holly’s too young to take care of Mom. I... Now she’ll have to have a live-in nurse. Or go to a family member’s house...” I feel a sadness well up inside me, breaking my voice. I hadn’t thought of that... I hadn’t thought of them. But now...
“You have to make sacrifices, Calvin.” Jack’s voice is low now. I look at him. “My parents vanished when I was seventeen. I had five siblings at that time, the youngest being three. Even now I don’t know what happened to them. I took care of my siblings for several years, until I was killed. They were put in an orphanage, luckily it was together. But they were never adopted out. They aged, left, and finally made a life for themselves. I watched from a distance, because I couldn’t reveal what I was, who I was, to them. I saw them marry, have families, become experts in their field of work. It was amazing. And they were never far from one another. They gathered each year on Christmas and oftentimes, I heard my name spoken.” He smiles thinly at the thought. “Only when they were on their deathbed was I to approach. And they were so... happy to see me before they passed on. I even helped them to the other side.”
I feel myself sigh. Why hadn’t I considered Jack’s own past? Perhaps it was the aftermath of shock. Perhaps it wasn’t relevant to me at the time. I can’t remember. But his was so much more to leave behind. And now... He’s alone. I can see it in his eyes, when he looks at me. I set my jaw. “Looks like you’ve got a new Messenger.”
I can never forget that smile. It was as if I’d given him something to believe in. Not necessarily a reason to live, as we weren’t entirely alive, but it was something, all the same.
__________________
You can find me on Discord these days. If you know, or knew me, and wish to reach out, please do! But please talk to me first. I like to keep my friend's list small, with people who enjoy chatting.
Vinn#4378
Last edited by Tachigami; 01-03-2013 at 08:44 AM..
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Tachigami
It's quiet, now.
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01-03-2013, 08:49 AM
(Part II: End)
Jack stands and stretches, glancing toward where we came from. “Well, they ought to have you and the other two ready to be carted off. Want to go take a look?” He seems almost eager. I, however, am a bit apprehensive. I mean, on one hand, a morbid curiosity burns and demands I go. But on the other hand, the prospect of seeing my own corpse, along with those of the girl and the cashier, chills me.
“I, eh... I don’t know.” I say at last. “W-wouldn’t they see us? I mean, you say we’re not quite ‘dead’ as in spirit-based entities, so we must be... visible, in some way.”
“Oh, of course, but considering we’re technically dead, we can transition from corporeal creature to spirit-based entity. While this happens, we can walk unseen by the living, obvious only by a slight chill to the air, so we’ve overheard.”
“How do I do that?”
“Focus, Calvin. You can feel your energy, focus it, concentrate on what you want. You’ll see the world shimmer for a minute, like you’re looking at it through a foggy window, and when it clears, you’ll be invisible to the living.”
“Seems too simple...” I sigh. It’s like a movie. It’s always ‘focus, and you’ll get what you want’, or ‘focus and your power will awaken’. But I do. I concentrate. I feel my power. It warms me from the inside, emanating from my chest and making the slight ache from the gunshot wounds seem to simply vanish.
“It doesn’t need to be hard.” Jack assures me. “You’ve done it. Now you can pass through solid objects, people, and manipulate items with a movement or two. That is, if you’ve got enough power.”
I look down to myself. Nothing seems to have changed, but I don’t feel pain anymore. The world looks normal, but it seems as though a thick fog has fallen over everything. “Okay Cal, come on.” Jack puts a hand on my shoulder, and leads me back to the gas station. As we pass through an alleyway Dumpster, I feel a tingling run through me while I regenerate. It’s a bit uncomfortable, but I’m sure I can handle it later on. Police tape has already been put up, and various vehicles are scattered throughout the parking lot. Including two coroner vans. I pause, and feel an involuntary shudder go through me as I witness one of the gurneys wheel out. I can’t identify the body, but I don’t need, nor want, to. My imagination generates myself lying there, zipped up from the world, ready to be carted off.
Jack glances around. “You okay?”
I nod, bite my tongue, and step close to a small gathering near the door. One of the women is speaking: “... of the same four that are targeting small businesses. Doesn’t look like much was taken, and they didn’t even crack the safe.”
“No surveillance videos?” One of the men asks.
“They took every tape.” The female officer replies. “We don’t have anything.”
I step back, ignoring what the man replies with. If they have no video of the event, what is there? The shooters hadn’t touched anything, so there were no prints to pull. Their boots had looked like generic work boots, all male, even the ones worn by the woman. They’d shot us all, and left nothing. Jack steps up beside me. “Best to get going.” He says. “You may be too tempted to show yourself.”
I nod, feeling defeated. It’s true that I feel I could offer some insight. At least what these people look like. But I allow myself to be led away, though I don’t see when someone approaches us and walks right through us, forcing me to gasp as a chill explodes through my body, and they pause, shudder a bit, and mutter something about the cool breezes in the evening air. We walk down the road a ways, until Jack looks to me and notes to return completely to the world of the living. I do with little challenge, and it’s as if I’d done this all my life... Or, death, perhaps? No one is around, anyway, though as the fog fades away, I think I see some dark shadows flitting about before dissipating.
“You saw the demons.” Jack looks at me. I hesitate, feeling unsure of whether I should nod or ask what he meant. But he takes the silence as a chance to go on: “They’re the shadows you’ll see when you’re transitioning between the world of the living and the dead. When you’ve fully transitioned, you’ll see them in their entirety, especially after you’re fully formed. They’ll attack when you’re in transition because you can’t see them yet---be prepared for an ambush.”
I nod, and Jack pulls me along. In silence we walk, for what seems like hours, and Jack simply wanders, as though the world doesn’t matter to him; his face is relatively blank, turned toward the sky. It’s as though he can see something I can’t, and when I look up, I find the sky is darkly shrouded with clouds. He can’t possibly see the stars. I study him, and he suddenly turns to me, forcing me to stop without even raising a hand. “You need a place to live.” He says simply.
“W-where?”
“The Elders set up housing for Messengers. I’ll have to take you to the council to get you accepted.”
“Council...? So, I might not be accepted to be a Messenger...?”
“Oh, no doubt you will. I sensed a power within you, and I’ve sensed it in several others. Each time they were amazing Messengers, and survived for decades, but one day, were smited.”
“S-smited? Like killed!? I didn’t think you could be killed now that...?”
Jack shakes his head, and puts his hand on my back, leading me on again. “Messengers can die. They can be killed by anything not of the living world. If we’re shot, stabbed, run over, burned, poisoned, or anything else by a human or human-made item, we’re just fine after a while. But if we’re mortally injured by a demon, we’ll be forced into a black abyss where we float, unable to see, hear, or speak, as if suspended with only our thoughts.”
“How... do you know? If you’re stuck there...?” I clear my throat. It feels dry considering the general tensity winding my body tight.
“An Elder once made it there, and returned. Using his power, he opened a doorway to this world and stepped in. When he returned, he described the sensation.” Jack’s face falls suddenly. “He... became reckless after that. He was enormously powerful, this Elder. He decided to go after the origin of all demons, their creator and mother, and of course, he fell at her hand. He just didn’t watch himself. I almost think... he wanted to die.” Jack pauses, and I stop too. He looks distant, lost, and doesn’t even see when I wave my hand in front of his face.
He stand there for a long time. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but he doesn’t even seem to be of this universe anymore. As if his consciousness was pulled from him, leaving a statue. Then he blinks, shakes his head, and sighs. “But that was... a long time ago.” He says. “Come on. Too late to go to the Council now!” Jack steps off, and I follow quickly. But the nagging won’t leave me.
“Jack. Was that Elder your friend?”
“Yes, of course. I loved him like... a brother, I guess. A siamese twin attached to me. He said I might one day become an Elder, even in his place.” Jack chuckles, and shakes his head again. “I don’t think so though. I’m still not as powerful as I ought to be. Ah, here we are!”
We stop in front of a large, two story, Victorian-style house. I find elegance in its beauty, the dark way it’s built. Accented here and there with dark oak. “This is where you live?” I ask.
“No, no. This is where you live!”
“Me!?” I laugh out loud. “I figure you’re a joker, but really, Jack---I love this house too much to find it funny.”
“Then don’t find it funny.” Jack pushes me toward the tall iron gate surrounding the dwelling. “That’s where the last of my partners lived. When one Messenger dies, a new one takes their place, and therefore, the new one takes their home.”
“That’s... efficient?”
“Oh, very!” Jack laughs, and digs in his pocket. “Here.” He hands me a key. “This is to your new house. Go in, take a look, I’ll be back at six in the morning! Then we’ll have all day to clear things up, eh?”
I nod, and Jack pats me on the shoulder, crosses the road, and starts along another one that branches out from the one I’m standing on. I push through the gate, go up what I assume is a brown-toned cobblestone walkway, and onto the wrap-around covered porch. It’s definitely a beautiful place, and when I look around, I’m only ever more amazed. It seems the previous occupant loved updated everything. A large plasma television sat above the mantle of a dark stone fireplace, and comfortable-looking purple-upholstered couches and chairs, hardwood floors, and bookshelves all over. The dining room is to the left of the foyer when one walks in, leading into the kitchen; its appliances look to have been stainless steel, only the steel was swapped out for copper, and beside the door that leads to a large pantry, a sunroom sits wide open to a back yard. Upstairs, four bedrooms house large beds, and one is, instead, an office-library crossover. The hall bathroom and ensuite is magnificent, as I’d expected it to be, and the basement, accessed by a door in a small alcove in the living room, is finished, and is a sitting and entertainment room.
I don’t take more than a few minutes to enjoy the fine interior before taking to my new bedroom and falling onto the bed. It’s soft and even, unlike the old mattress at my... old home. While everything is so beautiful, I can’t help but feel a bit of emptiness. Even peeling out of the old, dirty, somewhat bloody clothes doesn’t help me feel any more at home than I would if I were back with my mother and little sister. All throughout my exploration of this castle of a home, I could feel a little smile on my face. But now... that smile’s faded. Holly was probably staring out the window, waiting for me. It’d be well past her bedtime by now. Maybe Mom called the police. Maybe the police were already at the door... I run a hand over the two bullet holes on my chest. They could do with a little plugging but... I’m so tired. Maybe I’ll wake up, and this will all be a bad... a bad dream.
__________________
You can find me on Discord these days. If you know, or knew me, and wish to reach out, please do! But please talk to me first. I like to keep my friend's list small, with people who enjoy chatting.
Vinn#4378
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Tachigami
It's quiet, now.
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01-10-2013, 07:17 AM
Chapter II
(Part I)
I’m blinded by sunlight when I open my eyes, and for a moment, I blink, trying to see past the neon streaks that assault the darkness behind my eyelids. I hope to see the cracked, off-white ceiling and semi-bare walls of the bedroom I share with Holly, the old sliding closet doors that are always somewhat open because they get stuck. When I rub the pain from my eyes, however, I find even that simple hope is still to expensive to buy. I find a plain textured ceiling above me, painted beige, a couple shades lighter than the walls of this room. Rolling over, I find a vanity, a mirror on the wall, a bedside table with a lamp, a clock, and a dark red candle. The floor clean, a brown toned carpet that gives an earthy feel to the room. I bring my hand up to my chest, and feel the two holes still housing metal in my chest. But they don’t hurt anymore. Not at all.
I force myself to sit up and realize how completely filthy I feel. After one lies in their own body’s fluids in the aftermath of a murder, I’m sure you understand how I’d feel. Or if you went on a week-long hiking trip nowhere near a rest area or actual shower. The coating of grime, sweat, dirt, and insect bites and stings may well make you feel very uncomfortable. So I stand, gather up the bloody old clothes I’d discarded, mostly, before I’d fallen into a comatose state of sleep, and pile them on the bed before going out and to the ensuite bathroom. It’s a beautiful thing, I have to admit, as I’ve got an eye for detail and various styles.
This one is a rustic, yet elegant, Victorian style. The iron claw-foot bathtub is in a diagonal alcove to the left, and to the right, I discover that the ornate oak doors I thought to be a cabinet actually leads to a shower with a beautiful, waterproof lighting fixture. The floor is shiny wood, and the actual cabinets and sinks are a combination of the same oak and iron from the bathtub. While the intricacies and calming tone is almost distracting, I move on, going through my usual morning routine as I normally would, which is a bit strange to me. Being dead, as I am, it’s simply odd to be able to act as a normal human being, a living thing. Not that I’m complaining, mind. In most ‘ghost stories’ or legends, you’ll normally see the ghost as a transparent thing giving off a pale light, unable to touch or, sometimes, speak.
One thing I do notice, before leaving the bathroom, is I don’t need to shave. I tend to grow hair very quickly, which requires almost monthly haircuts to keep my constantly-messy nest of black hair remotely tame. I make a mental note to question Jack about this when I see him next as I go to the closet, wondering about the clothing the previous owner of the house wore. If his style in decor could be anything to go by, I assume he dresses as he existed: Very well.
My suspicions are affirmed when I pull the string on the ceiling, lighting the small area. Very good-looking clothes, creme-colored shirts, various earthy-toned and royal colored vests, dress pants, slacks, and belts, ties and cravats, and even a few jackets and a couple trench coats. Deeper in I find very durable black clothing, resembling a bounty hunter’s style. My choice is quick: One of the plainer shirts, whose arms seem to be a bit roomy, tucked into one of the brown-toned pairs of pants. The clothes fit well, and I can only assume he who resided here before me was around the same size. A bit odd, considering my below-average weight. Even odder, should I dare use the word, is the fact that the shoes I find on the floor of the closet fit my feet. Curiouser and curiouser.
When I go downstairs (with the clothes I’d piled on my bed), I’m met with the face of a grandfather clock I hadn’t seen when I looked around the place the first time. It’s ten minutes until six, and I recall Jack saying he would be around at six, specifically. Taking the old clothes into the kitchen, I throw them into the trash near the door leading into the pantry. Old things as they are, it’s as though I’m getting rid of a little more of my past, and thinking this, I think of my true home. Mom. Little Holly. My sweet sister. My disabled mother. What...? What will they do now? My mother will now have to call a family member to help her live, such a thing she never wanted to do. She didn’t even want me to have to do it. But I’d insisted---I’m... I was her only son, her oldest child, more than capable of handling it. And now... It’d kill her to have to burden someone like that, even if they feel she isn’t a burden. The poor thing is always more worried about others than herself.
I go back the way I came, passing the door as I do. As if on cue a knock sounds, and I startle. I hadn’t expected it so suddenly, but the dropping feeling in my stomach fades as I open the door. Jack. “Sorry I’m a few minutes early---but I expected you’d be awake.” He steps past the door and closes it for me.
“You... made pretty good time.” I note, and follow as he walks into the living room.
He nods quietly, then sits in the rocking chair at the corner of the room. “Yeah, I know. I thought I’d get here as soon as I could. Considering you’re still getting used to everything, I don’t doubt you’d have questions before we go meet the Council.”
I feel my lips curl in at that. I’d not recalled having to meet the Council. No doubt it slipped my mind amongst everything else. “Um... Right. Well, there’s something wrong, I was wondering about... A hair situation.”
Jack nods, and sits forward. He’s in calmer clothes, I notice. Lacking a jacket or hat, and his tie is loose rather than stuffy and proper. “Right, right. So, we’re dead. Technically. We don’t grow hair anymore.” He brings his hand up to his face. “I died with a goatee. Then I got tired of it, and made it into a mustache. Then I got tired of that, too, and now I have no hair on my face. What you have is what you’ll have for good, Calvin. So don’t go doing anything you’ll regret with your hair.” He studies me. “I don’t think you’d look that good with no hair, anyway.”
I turn away as Jack snickers. Maybe not. But I’m not about to try it. I like my hair---it’s messy and never listens, and more often than not it gets in my eyes, but it’s what people recognize me by---
“Uh... Jack... I don’t remember if I asked yesterday. But will people know who I am? I mean, if I see Holly or my mother, or a friend or some other family member... Will they recognize me?”
“No, no. Unfortunately, you appear quite different to your friends and relatives. While you retain your appearance, those that have connection to you and love you in life can no longer see you for who you really are in your death.”
I nod. It had to be expected. “Oh, but... I can connect with them as a... friend? Someone to help them?”
Jack turns stony. The only other time that expression crossed his face was when he was speaking of his own ascent to Messenger. “Calvin. Sometimes it’s better to let your life become your past.”
Normally, I’d be much more vocal about this. I don’t want to leave my mother, my sister, my family and friends. I love them far too much. Especially Holly. I was helping her through school. I was the only caregiver she would accept. Now... she had to accept someone else. Now I’d left her, Holly, alone. I’d see it. I’d have to walk by like I don’t even know them. Jack clears his throat suddenly, alerting me to his presence again. “Kid, I know it’s hard.” He says. “I was the protector of my siblings, like I said. And I had to watch them from afar, like I didn’t know who they were, and just... make believe they were just random people I’d see every now and then.” Then he smiles. “But you know... That last few moments with them while they’re alive, and that instant of leading them to an eternal paradise... It’s worth it. I know they’re in a good place now. You should too, when that time comes.”
He’s right. I know he’s right. But I still don’t like it. Going around to the chair nearer him, I let myself flop down. “I get it.” I mutter at last, breaking the silence that hangs in the air like a fog. “I just... hate it. My mom said to me one day after she hurt herself. She said she didn’t want to be a burden to anyone. And I’d said to her it wasn’t a deal to me, because she’d done so much for me already, because, you know, she’s my mother. I recognize the sacrifices she’s made all her life just for me, and now, for Holly. She really won’t want to think herself a burden on any other family members now.”
“Thus the struggles of the living.” Jack shrugs. “Both the living and the dead have our own issues, our own stories and problems to deal with. We have to face them. You, Calvin. You’re dead now. You have new responsibilities as a Messenger. Which, I’m hoping, is what you want to be.”
“I never said I wanted to be a Messenger.” I look away. Truthfully, I never asked for this title. It was just... branded onto me.
“I know, I know. No one asks to be a Messenger. It’s their power that lures a nearby Messenger to them, however. You can handle this. Otherwise I’d not have been drawn to your aura, which only got stronger as life faded away.” He stands, stretches, and runs a hand through his hair. It only makes it stand up in the back. “Alrighty then, Calvin, we have to go!” He pulls me up and toward the door. “Best to get to the Council’s judgment house early!”
“Judgment house?” I don’t have time to gather my bearings as Jack pushes me out the front door. I pause and lock it, a habit I’m glad I have. “Where’s that?”
“At the end of the community.” Jack bounces down the stairs as though he’s got springs on his shoes. “A two-lane road, little thing, leads to an old house. That’s the judgment house. Kind of resembles a church.”
“A-and they... judge me, obviously... on what?”
“Ethics. Power. Ability. There are different levels of a Messenger’s ability, and each one has to correlate with one another. Most Messengers are paired up to work together, though. That’s when two are brought in that are too one-sided, so they balance one another in their work.”
“That makes sense.” I follow Jack out of the yard and pass the gate, and am a little surprised to see an old, sleek Lincoln sitting outside. “This is... yours?”
“Oh, yes. The Council watches over every Messenger. Our jobs are dangerous, so they generally give us what we want on request, given a day or two to reply. Get in.” He goes around to the driver side, and I follow suit. It’s all so... damned baffling! I can’t understand it all... I don’t bother pulling my seat belt over my chest, though. Seems Jack is doing the same, as he doesn’t hesitate in pulling out a key, inserting it in the ignition, and turning it. I clench my teeth at the prospect of meeting very, very powerful creatures. Once human, but now, so much more.
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