Tag Archives: dark

You Have Done A Bad Thing

26 Thursday May 2022

Posted by in Fiction, Uncategorized

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His vision began to clear. He remembered everything being black moments ago. But was it moments? Or minutes? Or hours or days? He couldn’t be sure. He looked at his hands, empty. His shirt clean. Then his memories began to clear.

“They shot me.” He said aloud. His voice was there but not. I’d didn’t echo or carry. “They shot me, I remember that.” He remembered it but had no emotion. It was like a fact from the past. His past but not. Just something that happened to some one.

“Where am I?” He stood. He thought he’d be shaky or unsteady but he was not. He looked around the room. It was gray. Floor to ceiling. Not dark, but there was no light fixture to keep it from being dark, but somehow there was light.

“You did a bad thing.” A voice, from no where and everywhere said.

“What? Who is that!? Where are you?” He asked aloud. The voice echoed inside the room but his did not. It sat in the air around him.

“You did a very bad thing.” The voice spoke again. It’s tone was lower now. He sensed he should feel something but could not. “You did a very VERY BAD THING.” The voice seemed to roar those last words. The reverberated against the walls. And now he could feel something. He felt the voice echo in his bones.

He put his hands on his chest and torso, as if he could hold his insides, keep them from shaking. His hands felt wet. He pulled them away and they were bloody now. His shirt was covered in blood. He could feel the sting. It started as a sting.

“YOU HURT THOSE CHILDREN.” The voice shook the room. “INNOCENTS.”

Pain shot through him as his bones and guts vibrate inside him. He felt tears on his face as his eyes blurred and burned. He touched his face with shaky hands to wipe the tears but what he wiped away wasn’t tears but more blood. “I’m bleeding to death!” He screamed. But again his voice seemed to go no where.

“YOU ARE ALREADY DEAD.” The voice tore at him. “AND THAT IS NOT YOUR BLOOD.”

Then the screams started. Children’s screams. They ripped out of his ears, his eyes, his chest. They were coming out of him, tearing him to pieces. The pain he could not feel before received it’s revenge. It ripped its payment from the inside out. He could feel it clawing away at his chest.

“YOU ESCAPED EARTHLY PUNISHMENT. YOU SHALL NOT ESCAPE THE ETERNAL.” The voice boomed.

He fell to the floor. On his hands and knees he tried to squeeze his eyes closed. To not see the bloody gray floor before him. For a brief moment he wanted to beg.

Painful cries of broken hearts began in chorus with children’s screams, a dreadful song of fear and pain and sorrow.

He choked on blood now pouring from his mouth. “God,” he strangled out. “Please—” he began.

“I AM NO GOD.” The voice boomed. “YOU CANNOT REPENT YOUR SINS TO ME AND BE FORGIVEN.”

He gurgled a groan in misery. And then the voice was in his ears a whisper and and yet still so terrible.

“I AWAKEN WHEN INNOCENT VOICES ARE SILENCED WITH VIOLENCE. I RISE WHEN ACTS OF EVIL ARE COMMITTED. WHEN DEBTS MUST BE PAID.” The voice sliced at him like a whip. “I COME FOR THOSE WHO DO BAD THINGS.” The voice said. “AND YOU HAVE DONE A BAD THING.”

He writhed in pain. Wondered when it would stop. Wondered if it would ever stop. At the precipice of blackness, all sound stopped, and he heard nothing for a brief moment but his own struggling breath.

And then the voice spoke again. Quiet this time. “NOW HEAR THE SOUNDS YOU’VE SILENCED. HEAR WHAT YOU’VE TAKEN AWAY FROM THE WORLD. HEAR AND ANGUISH. FOR YOU WILL FOREVER ANGUISH LIKE THOSE WHOSE HEARTS YOU’VE BROKEN.

Then, one of the most beautiful sounds in all the world, the sweetest of sounds. Laughter and happiness, of children, of women, of men. For the innocent souls of those taken too soon suffer no more. In spite of what someone might want.

Uncountable moments or minutes or hours or days later, blackness turned to blur, blur turned to a gray room with light but no light. And a booming a voice from no where and everywhere. “You have done a bad thing.”

There is a conversation that needs to be had. But too many opinions of what needs to be said make peace and compromise impossible. I feign no knowledge or authority on any subject matter. I only know what I feel and believe. At some point I’ll share my options on the subject matter. But for now I’ll keep those lost, those hurt, and those left behind in my thoughts. As always. Thanks for reading.

-c

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Quickie Fiction

02 Wednesday Jun 2021

Posted by in Fiction, Quickie Fiction

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The Concept

An experiment in which I randomly generate three words and attempt to write a short fiction using them. It’s 11:34pm and I’ve been up since 6am. Wish me luck!

The Words:
https://randomwordgenerator.com
The Fiction:
Blue Skies Are Boring

The sky was angry. Well, it wasn’t just angry. It was furious, like someone pissed in its Cheerios. It looked like it wanted to go John Wick on the culprit. But it withheld its revenge, for the moment.

Why is it every funeral Jay ever attended involved inclement weather? Snowing, raining, the gods taking their wrath upon mortal man for his misdeeds. There was always something.

“Blue skies are boring,” Katie mumbled. She had her forehead leaning against the cool glass of the passenger door, staring at the clouds, and until that moment was silent. “Nothing to see in them,” she added.

Jay glanced over at her, then glanced back out the driver’s side of the windshield. He wanted to focus on the string of cars in front of him.

“You’re gonna have a mark,” Jay told Katie. She said nothing. “On your forehead, from leaning against the window. A big ole red mark. People will wonder if I bonked you on the noggin.”

Katie shrugged but he could see out the corner of his eye she tried not to smile. He liked it when she smiled. He hadn’t seen her smile in a few days.

The procession of cars slowly came to a stop, but then continued slower as they made the final turn to the gravesite. Cars lined themselves along the fence, and people in various shades of black climbed out, and made their way silently to the graveside.

Katie flipped down the visor and looked in the mirror. “Told ya.” Jay said. She punched him in the arm and he laughed as he feigned pain. They walked side-by-side in silence.

Mourners had gathered, sitting and standing at the side of the closed casket, settling in as the officiant waited patiently. When everyone had placed themselves he began to speak of the deceased like one would hope to be spoken of in this moment. Good deeds, a big heart, loved by many, good person. Missed but no longer suffering. Blah blah blah.

These were all the same, Jay thought. And the older you get the more people you lose. He’d been to more than his fair share. He’ll skip the next one. This one, however, he could not.

After the words were spoken and tears shed it was time to pay final respects, say their final goodbyes. “Would I be a fool to believe we’ll see each other again?” He thought as he watched people step up to the casket, touch it gently, and walk away. “I think I’d prefer foolishness.”

He took his step up, placed a hand on the cream colored casket. The subtle gleam of pink pearliness seemed to glow despite the low light. He spread his fingers there and pressed as if to leave a mark in its perfect surface. When he removed his hand, for a split second, a fog remained—the heat of his hand on the cool surface—but that was all.

He turned and walked away, and glanced back. The sight he saw shook him. The lowering of the casket into the fresh hole, surrounded by strangers ready complete the task. And Katie. Standing there, watching him go.

For the first time in days he let himself feel it. He choked back a sob, a tear rolled down his cheek.

Katie smiled, waved a small wave. She mouthed the words, “I will see you again, big brother.” Then she smiled up at the sky.

Jay felt the first big drops of rain pelt his head and he too looked up. When he looked back she was gone. “Then a fool I’ll be.”

The Conclusion:

If you read I would love comments and/criticisms. This was a whim of an idea. I literally thought of it five minutes before I started. This is also the first fiction I’ve written in a very long time. It took a darker turn than I imagined, but when your words include “funeral” why not? Also it took me an hour.

Thanks for Reading

-c

A Damp Spring Night and the Clutter of Life

12 Wednesday Apr 2017

Posted by in Non-Fiction, Truth

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I hate driving in the rain. I also hate driving in the dark. Therefore driving in the rain at night is a perfect combo platter of awful for me. 

I’ve only been mobile a four years now. So, I feel like I am still inexperienced. I’ll probably always feel that way. But I gotta do it. 

Tonight I worked late so when I got off, it was dark and pouring rain. The route I take follows a river for most of the trip. On the way home it’s on the right. On nights like this–dark and damp–I cannot help but picture me and my Chevy Cobalt swerving uncontrollably, crashing through the guardrail, and sailing majestically RIGHT. INTO. THE. RIVER. 

I have a bit of a paranoia problem. I get it from my mother. 

So, during the trip tonight, I drove much slower than normal (luckily there weren’t any impatient drivers behind me) and listened to the sound of rain and wipe blades working overtime. I left my music off because concentration. 

In my “quiet time” of fear, thoughts ran uninhibited through my head. Visions of my demise on damp spring night in a cold raging river plagued me. 

The main concern was that my dear husband would be left with the aftermath. Just last year he had to deal with not only the loss of his father, but his brother as well. And since his brother had no children and his wife had passed several years previous, my hubs and his mother were left with sorting through the clutter that comes with life. 

He doesn’t need to have to do it again, anytime soon. So, I’ve decided to do it myself. I have an office/guest bedroom filled with clutter and useless items gathering dust. I plan on spending several days over the course of the summer purging the office of my lifetime of clutter. 

The fear of death by river brought out my need to organize. 

I never said I was normal. 

-c