What you get when my brain crashes…

The Night was Dark and Still

I ran across this the other day - an old story fragment I had written long ago.

The night was dark and still, but they could still see the figures dancing.  Like shadows, they seemed to melt into the very darkness that created them.  Yet still there was no sound, and that perhaps was the most disturbing fact of all.  The light of the fire seemed only to annoy them, as they danced around the borders of the light.  The flickering light seemed to dance along with the shadows themselves, engaging in a terrifying display of the power and terror of the forest.

Still, they kept the fire burning, and as long as there was light, the shadows seemed to stay at bay.  So all through the night, at least one person was awake to feed the fire, and ensure the safety of the others.  But there was little that could have been done, if the shadows had chosen to attack.  They called with their silent voices, taunting and teasing.  They made no sound, but it was impossible not to hear them.  Even their vague, dark shapes spoke to you, holding your attention until the last moment, when you realized that the fire had almost burned out, and the shadows were almost upon you.  But always they released you, only to taunt you again when the fire grew bright.

Those who slept were no better off than those who were awake.  They stirred frequently in their sleep, and sometimes moaned as if they had seen horrors untold.  In their restless dreams, the shadows had no fire to fear, and they danced and called without fear.  Sleep brought no rest.

Suddenly, the silence of the night was shattered by an ear-piercing wail.  All were awake instantly, some in a state of confusion, others in a state of fear and panic.  But all states of emotion were driven away by the second wail, louder than the first, bellowing into the night and echoing off the trees and the infinite shadows.  The sound spoke of death, of pain, of terror, of hopelessness, of futility, of fear, and of hate, all at the same time.  The very sound of it seemed to beat at your eardrums, confusing you as if you had been struck in the head.  The sound continued until it became almost unbearable to hear, and then it stopped as suddenly as it began, and the forest was silent again.

The silence was almost as bad as the wail, for a short time.  No one was able to move or make so much as a whisper to break the terrifying silence.  But there was no need to.  So slowly and softly that it was almost unnoticeable, the normal sounds of the forest resumed.  The crickets began to chirp again, the tree frogs began to sing again, and finally, birds could be heard singing praise to the light which was forming in the east.  Dawn had finally come.

A Day In The Life…

As the heat crept up his back and into his body, he gradually became aware of the fact that he was eating pepperoni from a plastic package. He heard the crumpling sound of the plastic as his hand, without direction, picked the pieces up and moved them into his mouth. From the taste, and the feeling in his stomach, he knew he had been standing there eating for some time. Like water melting from ice, he remembered getting the pepperoni from the fridge; his hands groping for the opening to the package. Walking to the heater, and turning his back to it.

He continued to eat.

What is that ringing noise? It was a sudden sound. It stopped, and then started again. Oh yeah, the phone. His feet moved, and he turned away from the warm heater and into the bedroom. The phone was on the floor. He bent to pick it up, and his hand clasped the hard plastic shell while his arm brought the receiver to his ear.

“Hello?”

Someone was intruding into his world. Another human voice - but was it human? How could he be sure? The sound came from the plastic thing in his hand. He supposed it was someone actually talking to him; this was the sort of thing you were expected to do. Talk to people on the phone. People, humans; other beings with thoughts and feelings of their own. He was aware of his own voice, speaking; his mouth moving, not to eat now, but to form sounds which whatever was listening on the other end of this intangible line would interpret as words, as speech.

When he put the phone down he couldn’t remember what he had said. The sounds - no, the words - he had heard floated in his memory like drops of blood in alcohol, slowly mixing; and slowly dying. Something about coming out after work for a drink, that’s all he could remember. Well, it might be a good idea.

A drink. He had a drink. Or maybe he went and got one after answering the phone. He couldn’t recall; and it wasn’t important anyway. The can was red, but that was only an after-thought. It was the same thing he always drank. Supposedly it had a sweet flavor, but he drank it like it was water, the taste hardly registered. Soon, the caffeine in the drink (the words “Code Red” bubbled to the surface of his mind, but they were lost; disconnected, devoid of meaning without context) would bring more thoughts, more memories to his mind. He’d be awake for a while longer. Best to be as awake as he could. And besides, it was time to go.

Keys in hand, jacket against the cold, he stepped out into the night. Just another day…

-Keithius