Chapter 1

It’s dark… And cold. Very cold. I shudder. Where am I? And I realize I’m looking upwards. The night sky filled with blinking celestial bodies. Who am I? My body is rigid. I can’t move. Why? Even my eyelids are heavy. I’m exhausted. Yes. That’s the word. But why? It feels like… I can’t find the words. Sleeping? Maybe… Yeah… It feels like I’ve been sleeping.

A crack sound bloom from my left, like a dried up twig breaking in half. What was that? A surge of adrenaline kicks in on my body. I can move. But don’t; stay quiet. I only move my eyes as much as I can without moving any other part of my body. There are trees—pines, to be exact: tall and magnificent. And there it is. A shadow. There are many shadows, but this one’s somehow… different. Yes, I can see it. Staring at me. Drooling. And I’m here, lying on the ground. Limbs all spread out beside me. Stay calm. I move my head to the side—slowly, very slowly—and face the beast just a few feet away. I move my torso to the side, placing my arms under me. I turn my legs; now my whole body’s completely facing the ground. But always holding the gaze of the formless beast. And all of it takes seconds, no, minutes, no, hours. I don’t know. All I know is that I’m doing it all slow. Very slow. It’s hard to concentrate. Am I sleep deprived? Or famished? Or maybe drugged? My head hurts. Everything’s so silent. I can almost hear my own blood coursing through my body. I try to take a few deep breaths. Slow down. Relax. It’s watching.

The shadow stays there, analyzing me. Probing me. Taking it’s time. Waiting for me to make a mistake. I won’t die today. I carefully raise my knees. Leaves rustle against my clothes. I won’t die today. I put my elbows below my chest. The beast shows of its fangs. It’s eerily quiet. I won’t die today. And finally, slowly as ever, I stand up. If there was any other sound besides the ones happening between me and the beast, it mutes. All of my surroundings goes mute. No movement. No nothing. All goes pitch-black and stays static. I won’t die today, you bitch. And I run.

Heart pounding, sweat on my forehead, adrenaline reaching every part of my body, no matter how minuscule or out of reach it is. The stomps from the beast echo thought the forest. It’s big. It’s big and it wants to kill me. I try my very best to take full advantage of the uneven ground under me. But it’s arduous: twigs, leaves, logs, stones, water, plants, trees, mud; the entire environment, all of it presenting an unbearable obstacle to my flight response. It’s almost as if the forest is trying to make me fall. I won’t die today—my foot staggers against what felt like an above-ground root. Shit. I stumble and fall, hitting hard on my chest against the harsh floor. The oxygen inside my torso retreats, leaving me in shock and feeling horribly dizzy. I can’t breathe.  The beast falls on top of me and grabs hold of my left arm, piercing my flesh with its razor-sharp fangs.

“Agh!” I scream at the top of my lungs. Instinct pours in. I take a big gulp of air and turn. I slam the animal against the floor and try to grab its mouth. Blood oozes between my fingers. I feel it pulling. It’s trying to rip my limb apart.

“Try it, you motherfucker!” I manage to buckle my knees on its chest and push. My free hand moves to its ribcage and I pull. I’m able to get my left hand off and push the monster to its side, resulting in an even more difficult position. The creature grabs hold of my left shoulder. Hysteria kicks in. I search for something around with my right arm. Come on, come on, come on! The beast starts to wildly shake his head, resulting in even more pain.

“GAH!” I grab hold of something heavy and hard and start pounding the monster’s head with it. The beast cries loudly. I keep at it. Again! Again! Again! Darker fluids start to invade my field of vision. I’m not going to die today! Finally, it leaves my shoulder. I place my right foot under me and am able to stand up and run. Run! Don’t stop! Did I kill it? Did I? I don’t know what’s going on! All is happening so fast!

More shadows pile up a few feet from me, growling with unnatural sounds. Oh no. I turn back and see the one that devoured my flesh. Its head is slightly deformed, oozing with blood and covered in dirt. The fluid shines an abnormal light as the Moon’s luminescence touches it. Is it really blood? I can’t detect if it has any eyes. I observe the others, circling a full 360 upon my axis. None of them have eyes. They all appear like formless shadows: no limbs, no torso, no nothing; just fangs protruding from lumps on top of blobs. I take a deep breath. Concentrate. I look at them again. They do have form. They resemble wolves. They have paws, a torso, legs, pointy ears, a snout, no tail, and no eyes. What are these? Again, dizziness begins to invade my senses. My body can’t respond as well as it used to. The pain in my arm is mind-numbing. I can feel my blood dripping. No, I can’t die… The deformed monster moves forward towards me. I stand as motionless as I can, facing him.  I want to move, but I can’t! Why can’t I move!? It’s almost as if something else is preventing me from moving. The beast kneels down a bit, growling deep and horrifyingly. It’s about to attack me. Every inch of my being stands alert. My head hurts so badly. I’m tired... It looks at me. I don’t know how I know, but I’m certain it is looking at me. And then, it speaks:

“I feel sorry for you.” It says. Wha—

It widely opens its mouth and jumps—

“AH!” I scream, jolting upwards. The moonlight shines softly in my room. I’m all sweaty, breathless, and dizzy. It was a dream. I examine the sheets that cover my lower body; I try to feel the mattress, my pillow, my left arm, looking for reassurance that I’m here and not there. My arm still hurts. How is that possible? I know it was a very vivid dream, but to such an extent that my body feels the aftermath? Was it a dream? The thought swiftly passes my conscious before fleeting almost instantly. Yes, it was a dream. I glance beside my bed to my digital alarm clock. It’s 3:49 am. Oh man. I crash back to my bed and moments later I drift to a dreamless haze.

Rattle sounds echo throughout the room. My eyelids are unbelievably heavy. What time is it? I glance at the clock. 5:47am. Oh God. It’s a sin for something to wake you up at this ungodly hour. Or someone. More rattle resonate. Hmm, I probably won’t get much sleep from here anyway.  I get up. The room is dark, but just as always: a small closet, a desk with my laptop, a window, and of course, my bed. I grab the doorknob and cross through the small hallway, and immediately get flooded with light. I cover my eyes and blink a few times. My sister’s doing the dishes. She stays with me on my apartment for her college studies. We have ourselves a little deal.

“Mornin’, Car.” I say.

“Don’t call me that, Clide. Mornin’.” She replies. Her real name is Carol, but I like to tease her with that from time to time. Somehow, it always ticks her off.

I begin my morning ritual: bathroom, breakfast with Netflix, dress, and then head out to work—

“You were screaming again.” Carol says.

I halt immediately and turn.

“Really? Again? What did I say?” I respond.

“I don’t know. It all sounded like gibberish this time. You should go to a doctor, Clide.”

“Hmm, I should. Anyway, see ya in the afternoon.”

“Wha—Hey! Who’s doing your dishes? I’m not!”

“I’ll do it when I come back.”

“You bet you’ll do. I’m keeping an eye on you, or I’m telling Mom.”

“Okay.” I scoff.

My car is just as ever: dirty. But why should I clean it? I mean, there’s dust everywhere from all of the constructions sites around. Ugh, I hate this place. I get in, start the engine, turn the radio, and head off. The route is also the same: traffic, the occasional angry-reckless driver, the advertisement. “Eat this!”, “Look beautiful with that!”, “Get the body of your dreams with this!”, “Escape to vacations with that!”. All of it strategically placed on the road with most traffic. All of it designed to get the most attention from commuters. It bothers me. I thought I had the unwavering right to think freely. How can I possibly do so with all these words and ideas pouring to my head almost every five seconds? I realize I’m squeezing the steering wheel. That’s funny, why would I feel angry about that? What was I even thinking about? Oh man, I just remembered. Today is the meeting where I have to give the presentation. Hmm, I’ll probably grab a burger on lunch.

The Merlot Skyscraper looks stunning today. Perhaps is the recent increase in the Maintenance Department’s budget. You’re welcome. The parking lot is as full as ever. Why can’t they give me my own spot? The heat is scorching today. My skin feels all moist and slightly uncomfortable. Ugh. I haste throughout the sidewalk and get to the lobby. I catch Joe’s eye at the reception desk. I walk towards him.

“Yo, Joe. What’s up? Morning.” I ask. He’s kinda the only one with whom I can talk casually with. Honest, almost everybody around here is so tight and fancy and strict.

“Not much, Clide. Morning. Saw the product of your project? I’ve talked to some of Maintenance. Apparently, they’re very happy. You’re early today.” He says.

“Yeah. You know, it happens when you have a flatmate. Give them my regards.

“Right, Carol is living with you. How’s that going?”

“It’s been okay, I guess. We’ve been living together for most of our lives, so we know how each other work.”

“That’s cool.”

“Hey. Have Stanton arrived yet?”

“No. Got a presentation?”

“Yeah. Well, I guess I have time for a few edits. Lunch today?”

“You got it. Good luck man.”

“Thanks.”

I head for the elevators. Luckily, there’s no one in it. I press the button labled 17^th. The building’s name is inscribed on one of the walls: The Merlot; Professionals here to change your lives. Hmm, do I want my life to change? Well, there’s been an awful amount of routine going on lately. Is not like there’s nothing wrong with that, really. It provides stability, constant progress, and wellbeing. Well-being? Is it well-being for someone to let someone else change his or her life? Without his or her consent. Is routine well-being? Don’t get me wrong, I’m no longer that teenager who wanted risks and something amazing to happen in my life, like in the movies. The bing sound from the elevator reaching its destination disturbs my stupor. Damn, this is a quick elevator.

There are only a few people here and there on the room, yet it’s a weird view to see it so full of small offices. Almost like it’s ready, even anxious, to devour today’s employees’ hours of life in exchange for production. Why am I so self-conscious today? I head for my own little piece of the room and start my computer.

Only five minutes until lunch. I save my now official-edited presentation for this afternoon, clean my desk, and go out the office. Now everything around me is like a busy beehive: everyone buzzing here and there: talking, typing, suggesting, presenting. It’s almost as if they dedicate their lives on it, and their lives depended upon it. Why does it have to be this way? I die for a day in the woods, or in a river, or mountain climbing—

“Hey, Clide.” Someone besides me say. I turn: Erick.

“Hey, Erick. Headed for lunch?” I say.

This guy. He’s… okay, I suppose. But he’s just so… troubled, I guess? He’s the guy in the office who’s always in a hurry, who’s always awkward and isn’t much of a team player. He’s a genius, I tell you. But sadly, now-a-day that’s actually not so important anymore. Either you play well and share your toys with the other kids, or you don’t get to play at all.

“No. I got a bunch of stuff to do. The other assholes refuse to do a good job.”

“It happens. But you gotta eat, man. I mean, this is your health we’re talking about.” I chuckle.

Erick frowns, and I know I’ve crossed one of the many lines upon acceptable social etiquette.

“Stick to your business, Ruland.”

And that’s the first time ever on my five years on this company that my last name has been used in order to reproach me.

I sit down in the chair besides the small table. Joe is still at the counter waiting for his meal. He’s anxious. Well, he’s always anxious: turning around, taping his feet, clicking the counter top with his fingers. He’s dressed with his usual work uniform: white shirt with open collar, black blazer, and slim, black pants. It suits him, really. Especially with his dark skin tone. And I’m on my navy blue suit with a gray tie, white shirt, navy pants, black belt and shoes. I wonder what other people can assume about us. Joe really looks almost like a young CEO—

“Daydreaming, bro?” Joe startles me.

“Oh. Sorry, man. I didn’t get much sleep last night. I was wondering what people might assume about us.” I say.

“What do you mean? Like a gay couple?”

“No. What? No. You look like the fucking CEO of the company.”

“I’m flattered. You got something against gay couples?”

“What? Joe! What the fuck, man? No, I don’t. And that’s not even the point. What I mean is that it’s so easy for people to misinterpret what they see because of what they are seeing.”

“Uh, I think I get what you mean. But the way you put it just sounds horrible.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

A small silence spreads.

“My brother is gay.” He mutters.

“And my friend’s brother is gay. Fuck you, Joe.”

We continue our meal in silence. All the sounds around us bloom: people chatting, an espresso machine blowing steam, the unusually loud television— There are explosions on the visuals.

“Joe, check that out.” I say.

Joe turns and checks a girl on the corner.

“I know, man. She. Is. Hot! I call dibs.” He responds.

“No, not that. The TV.”

A reporter, all shaken up and in palpating fear, offers an explanation.

                We interrupt the regular broadcast to bring you the images of what appears to be a terrorist attack. A group of unidentified extremists apparently placed bombs on a series of buildings owned by multimillionaire corporations, causing extreme damage to assets and nearby infrastructure. The police force, medical assistance, proximate fire stations, and other government agencies have been mobilized. We advise the viewers to stay calm and follow safety precautions. More information will be available later on the day.

“That is some Fight Club shit right there.” Joe reacts, unusually excited.

“The novel or the movie?” I ask.

“The movie.”

We continue our meal with nothing else to add to the conversation. Maybe because we’re paying attention to the surrounding conversations. It’s unexpected, but Joe and I make eye contact, and I’m absolutely certain that we both agree to shut up for a bit and listen.

‘Another attack? How can this be? Didn’t we get enough with 9/11?’

‘They’re at it again. I’m certain.’

‘Thank God it wasn’t here.’

‘You gonna eat that?’

‘They’re called “The View”.’

We stop eating and look at each other. We both know is not safe to talk about it here, but somehow we’re talking to each other without raising a single muscle of our lips. The View… What are they? Are they real? Was it really them? Are they among us?

Image credit: Guillermo Feliciano Morales

Publisher’s Note
This excerpt was written by Guillermo Feliciano Morales, an aspiring writer and a Mechanical Engineering student in the University of Puerto Rico, Mayagüez Campus, who’s currently working on his first novel. No part, snip, piece, or excerpt of such story shall be reproduced electronically, mechanically, or in any other way unless a written request is sent to Guillermo Feliciano Morales and he himself approves; meaning that this piece won’t be scanned, copied, taken by photo or picture, or posted on a publicly (or privately) accessible website or social network without the author’s notice. Legal action will be undertaken if such directions are not followed. Micros and its contents (unless otherwise noted) by Guillermo Feliciano Morales are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Raw

“Who are you working with?” asks I-forgot-his-name guy.

“Um, I’m working with Scott. Sorry man.” I say.

“That’s cool. Take care then.”

“Yeah, sure. You too.”

I turn and face Scott. It’s surprising how small he is. All spectacles, a mustang T-shirt, and cargo shorts. God, what happened with the desire to look better?

“So, another thing to our ever-growing list of stress and all-nighters.” I say.

He finishes with his exhausting protocol of backpack checking. Always making sure that he has all of his stuff with him, twice. He faces me and scoffs.

“Hey, we’ve done this before. We can do it again.” I say and slap his upper arm.

“Yeah, I guess so.” He says.

“So, how about we read the material by ourselves and then we talk about the plan on how to work things out. How’s that?”

“Sounds okay.”

“All right. Well, I’m taking off. You’re going to the problem session?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve got some things to take care of.

“SAE?”

“Yeah. I’m hoping for an interview. I’m going to one of their semester meetings. You should come.”

“Yeah, no, man. You know I’m not looking for projects this year. And besides, you’re going to need somebody who can give you the session’s material.” I wink at him.

He laughs. As ever: shyly and low.

“Well, things just got weird. I’ll see you, man.” I say.

I grab my backpack and head outside the classroom. Then suddenly, a weird, overwhelming sensation grabs hold of my senses. I stumble for a bit, stopping to a halt in the middle of the hallway. Then, I continue forward.  What was that? I turn back. The room seemed as normal as ever. Some students desperately trying to get help from the professor, others desperately trying to get out of the place, a few chit-chatting and saying goodbyes. Must be the caffeine. Then, I see her. The sensation starts again, but this time stronger. I catch a glimpse from her and our eyes lock. She noticeably blushes, looks away, and walks to the opposite side of the hallway. I’ve felt this before, but never with such intensity, this raw. I keep walking. Who is she?

“Remember, tomorrow night will be out third test. I’ll have office hours tomorrow as usual. You’re free to visit.” The professor says.

I get out of the classroom. Oh man, the hardest test of the semester… Scott didn’t show up today. I wonder what happened. I leave the building and it’s raining. Typical. I grab my umbrella inside my backpack and continue walking to the Statics classroom. Everything’s the usual, only wetter: students walking with their umbrellas, others running with nothing to cover them, professors and staff members driving their small golf cars. Someday, I’m gonna ride one of those.

I arrive at the building. Groups here and there, chatting, joking, studying. All seems relaxing on this wet afternoon. It’s amazing how talking to someone can make you forget all about mid-terms and stress and frustration— The sensation. Oh God, what is this? I stop for a second and scan the room. Nobody I know. Why do I feel this way? I climb the flight of stairs, leaving trails of wet footprints and droplets from my closed, damp umbrella. Calm down. I take a few deep breaths while going up. It’s probably just the lack of sleep. I’ll need to make adjustments to sleep more.

I arrive at the third floor, take a semi-circle to the left to face the hallway— There she is. She’s leaning casually to the side of the sidebar, checking her cellphone.

I gasp and stand still for a second. Bro, get yourself together! I turn and head back the 180 degrees. She’s just a girl, man up! I need to calm down. I take another few deep breaths. Seriously, why am I acting this way? Okay, I have to talk to her. Wait, what? Why talk? You don’t even know her. My subconscious hisses at me.  But I can meet her. She’s is the first woman that has ever made me feel this way. There has to be a reason. Yeah, there has to be. And now that I realize that, I’m dead curious.

Okay then. I take one last deep breath, and move. I take the 180. She’s still on her cell. Good. I stop walking just a few steps away from her, place my backpack on the floor and lean my back to the wall, all as nonchalantly as I can, which is very hard. I start sweating. Oh no. I close my eyes and breathe. Focus. How is it possible that a woman can make me act this way? She hasn’t even placed her eyes at me. I open them. She’s still on her device, yet I have a feeling she isn’t. She hasn’t move, not a single muscle. She’s tense. Oh, I see.

“Are you waiting on Stephanopoulos?” I ask.

She turns rather quickly and we make eye contact. She gasps visibly.

“Yes, I am.” She says.

“Hi, I’m William.”

“Hi. Victoria.”

We shake hands. A strong electrical current bypass my senses as our skins touch.

“You’re not on this section, are you?”

“No. I’m on the next one.”

“Oh. What do you think of him so far? You know, with the rumors and all.”

Call me an asshole. She isn’t hot. Honest. She must be like average height; dark, slightly oily hair; round face with a few patches of acne here and there, just another engineering student. Yet, there’s something about her…, this connection. Probably something on her dark eyes, her curvature, her waist, her legs, her lip biting. She’s biting her bottom lip. That’s… Amazingly sexy. Wait, how many seconds has gone by? None of us is talking, and I’m staring. Oh no! I drop my gaze and chuckle.

“I’m sorry. I’m a little distracted.” I say.

She looks away as well, showing a small hint of a smirk on her profile. Wow.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” I ask.

“I don’t think so.” She says.

Okay, I think I’m going too far. Always know when to get out.

“Oh. Okay, then. Well, time to get to work.” I blurt out.

Really? ‘Time to get to work’? Real smooth, Casanova. I sit down on the floor, hoping that my face isn’t red with embarrassment. She turns and continues whatever she what’s doing on her cell. What have I done? This is so embarrassing. I grab my notebook and grab my already completed homework.

More students pile up on the hallway. Some of them say hi and I gratefully start conversations with them. Fortunately, topics between student engineers are diverse: technology, ethics, world politics, memes, social media, Statics, whatever; all for the sake of distraction, really. Victoria hasn’t changed her status quo. She probably doesn’t know anyone. But it’s… weird. Even though I’m somewhere else in space, that tension hasn’t really lifted up: her mind is on her mobile, my mind engaging itself socially. Yet, it’s almost as if nothing else really exists, like, everything is an illusion. It’s not real, it’s not happening, and the only things in existence are me and her. The professor arrives, all hastily, dragging me away from my almost-like stupor. Finally.

Class is finished, leaving me under the domain of an infernal headache. It’s uncomfortable finishing the class without Scott, almost awkward. Students pile up around the professor, literally making a significant bee line. I almost feel sorry for the guy. I bet he’s as tired and frustrated as the rest of us. I walk outside and catch Victoria outside, again on her mobile device. How is it possible that there are people that actually spend that much time in front of a screen?

“Hi. That class is quite a headache, don’t you think?” I clumsily say. Get a hold of yourself.

She visibly gasps.

“Oh. Hi. Yeah. I even think I might need a little extra help.” She says.

Help? Hmm, is she one of those girls who flirt for homework? Sure, just pick the guy who asks a bunch of questions in class and play around with him until you get what you want. I’m not falling for that one. Not again.

“All of us need help, I believe. Go to the problem session. They’re excellent with the students. Anyway, it was nice to meet you.”

She’s clearly taken aback, she did not expect this. Too bad, you little bitch. I see what you’re up to, and you are not playing me.

“Wait. How about we exchange numbers? Maybe we can help each other out.” She says.

Pathetic. Or am I being paranoid? No. This is not the first time it happens. And I’m tired of the awful, bitter taste it leaves. Or maybe… Maybe. I can get something out of it.

“Sure. Hey, are you free tomorrow? How about we get a cup of coffee? I know this great place just outside campus.”

“Great!”

I still can’t believe I’m going to her apartment. How did this happen? Only two weeks have gone by since that last coffee. Maybe I’m thinking too much out of it. I mean, we’re just going to see a couple of movies and that’s it, end of story… Is it? I want to believe that, but somehow I can’t. Do I really want to believe that? After all, I shaved, manscaped, used my body wash, my perfume, my best deodorant, best underwear, bought condoms, dressed with what I considered my best outfit, which include lightly ripped jeans and a fitted, white dress shirt… Yet, I want it to be only a few movies. Yeah, I do. She seems like a great girl: confident, smart, cute, and with a great future ahead: a soccer player—with a scholarship—studying Engineering. I wouldn’t mind going slow and see what happens. I wouldn’t mind at all! But it feels like it’s happening so fast. I don’t think I’m ready for sex. Is that what I expect? Sex? Whatever. It’s too late to cancel. And besides, it was bound to happen, no? Having sex with a girl? I’ve kinda always wanted it to happen, but now that it’s here… It makes you think—

My cell vibrates. I instinctively reach out for it, knowing it’s a text from her.

This is really happening. I’m going to Victoria’s apartment. I can’t believe it. My hands start to sweat. Oxygen somehow fails to reach my lungs. Okay, calm down. I take a few deep breaths and wait for a few minutes. Yes, follow the rules to texting.

“Hi, you.” Victoria says.

“Hi.” I respond.

We kiss in the cheek. Again, that thing that simulates electrons breaking loose through my skin. Not the time for geeky thoughts, man. Right, Victoria.

“I brought popcorn.” I say, trying to divert my introspection.

“Why, yes you did. Come on in.”

I enter to what it looks like a studio. A small kitchen, with a kitchen bar and a table with a glass top, and beside it a night drawer with a printer on top of it, all in a single, small room with a dim orange light. Very college-ish.

“Make yourself at home.” She heads into the kitchen. Maybe getting drinks?

“Thank you.”

I immediately notice a tiny hallway that leads to three doors. Three rooms? I take a step forward, and a man comes out of one of them. What the fuck!? We both freeze at the instant we place eyes at each other. He looks like a graduate student whom has spent his entire BS in front of a screen: hunched, and lanky. The awkwardness is almost palpable, and looks like Victoria sensed it.

“William, this is Herman, my brother. Herman, William.” She says.

“Hi, how are you?” I extend my hand.

He gives a small, awkward smile, shakes my hand, and heads to the kitchen. He picks up what looked like a snack and moves back to his room, all in one swift, calculated move.

“William, why don’t you go to my room while I prepare the popcorn?”

“Okay.”

A housemate? I wasn’t prepared for this. Yes, it is quite common for students to have flatmates. I guess I had my mind so wrapped up around the fact that I am going to a girl’s apartment that I didn’t thought about what I could actually find there.

I cross the mini-hallway to her room. It’s tiny. Very tiny. A twin bed, what looks like a few, stacked-up boxes that carry a small TV, a window, a closet, and a desk on the side. All of it cramped inside of a cube no wider than the inside of a car. A few messes are here and there. Clothes, it seems. Messy one, is she? Well, anything looks messy on such a small space.

Pops start to sound on the distant. I sit on the edge of the bed decorated with colorful pillows and sheets, all decorated with 90’s cartoons. Honestly, she’s 21, right? I don’t mean to be an asshole, but I’m 19 and I have an organized, cartoon-free—

“So, what do you want to watch?” Victoria closes the door on her back. Electrifying chills run frantic throughout my shoulders.  She got a bowl of popcorn on her hands, but also she has everything else. She has pink short shorts; a worn, a-bit-too-tight black t-shirt; and her surprisingly sexy, black wavy hair, falling naturally on to her shoulders, down to her breasts. Oh my… Wake up, mate!

“Uh, um, uh, I, I don’t know. You told me on the coffee shop you are a movie collector. I think your judgement will be better than mine.” I wink deliberately.

She flushes momentarily. “Oh, okay. Good to know actually, because, well, I took the liberty to pick some before you came.” She walks to the bed and places the popcorn on it, then heads to her desk and gets her laptop, her back facing me. Lean fitted back and shoulders. She really does exercises. Great… Curvy body; and that whole lower body: a plump, round ass, and the shorts giving away a bit of it; and some great, I-play-soccer legs. Oh my God, woman. You are killing me. She’s taking a little while fidgeting with the keyboard. She’s doing it on purpose. Oh, she is evil.

She takes the chair from the desk and puts it on front of the bed, placing the laptop on it. Then she sits alongside me, our arms lightly brushing. The area just below my navel clenches delectably. Man. She clicks away on her device.

“These are my recommendations.” She says.

“Mmm, oh, this one. I’ve always wanted to see it.”

“Excellent choice.” She smiles sweetly and bites her lips. Oh God, you are… bewitching.

She clicks play and sits at the back of the bed, then taps the spot to her side, signaling me to get back there too. I smile and do as I’m told. I place my arm around her. She welcomes it and gets comfortable besides me.

The movie goes by. And honestly, I’m not paying any attention to it. All my concentration is being transferred to the controls over my body. She’s a few millimeters away from you. Don’t do anything stupid. She’s moving. She’s placing one of her legs on top of mine, gently rubbing her skin against my jeans. Oh my. My body tenses, and she notices it. She moves her leg a bit higher, and higher. Slowly. Wait, wait! Now!? I’m not ready! I’m so overwhelmed by her, yet she’s done so little. This is going so fast! I need to relax. I close my eyes for a second and breath. She places her hand on my chest and gently caresses the left-side of it with small circles. She wants to, and me too. Is this okay? Is this right? It feels right, yet is it? It isn’t true deep feelings. It isn’t a solid relationship. Yet, it’s happening. Right here. Right now. And I’m here, and I want to.  I’m willing and yearning. Seduced by a woman more experienced than I. I don’t stand a chance. And you know what? I don’t care. I don’t care if it’s right or wrong. I want it.

I move my hand and mirror her circles on her arm. She shows a small hint of a smirk, and moves her hand to my abdomen, navel, down to my hip, simultaneously brushing her leg with mine. All sounds or noise outside us vanishes. The entire Universe vanishes. All that’s left is us. And we lock eyes. We stay there, immobile. Us having an entire conversation in a few seconds, without lifting our lips. And we agree.

We kiss, intensely. Our tongues meet. I place my hands on her face, and she does the same to me. Instinct kicks in. She moves to my lap, legs spread apart besides mine. I put my both my hands on the bottom part of her back and move them upwards slowly. She moans lowly. Yes. Our mouths hover just centimeters of each other. I reach her shoulders and trace my fingers down to her spine. Murderously slow. Her breathing becomes ragged. I move to her arms, tracing them with the soft parts at the end of each finger, and finish at her own. Then, I place them on my hair. She instantly grabs hold of it and pulls it downwards, making me slightly growl outside of my control.

“You like that, don’t you?” She says in a low voice. She chuckles. “My turn.”

She places a trail of light kisses from the corner of my mouth to the base of my neck. Then kisses it, every once in a while using her teeth. Oh my, that feels so good. Her hands leave my hair and plays with my upper body progressively—circles, lines, zigzags—until she reaches the end of my shirt, and pulls it upward. I raise my arms and she takes the shirt, throwing it to the floor. She immediately places both her hands on my chest, as well as her lips, and start sucking, licking, biting. Holy shit. I reach down to her blouse and do the same. She reacts intuitively and moves her arms up. She grabs one of my hands and places it on her right breast, pressing it and rubbing it. Damn. We both fall complete to the bed’s length. I reach her bra and unhook it. Wow, I can’t believe I did that so quickly. She stills completely. Then she moves her hips rhythmically against mine, while biting my neck. Shit. Fuck.

“Oh, that’s amazing.” I say between ragged breathing.

“I figured.” She says, smirking.

Oh God. I can’t stand it. I want her. I want her so badly.

“I want you, William.”

I can’t help letting out a small gasp. She wants me.

“Inside me.”

Oh my. It’s happening! I can’t believe it. Condoms! I reach my pockets. Nothing. Shit! I must’ve let them inside the car.

“Um, can you give me a minute? I left the condoms on my car.” I say.

She stops. Oh God, she stopped. NO! What have I done!?

“Oh, that’s unfortunate.” She replies.

No! No, no, no, no, no. Please, no! Not like this. I don’t want it to end like this!

She stands upright and moves around the room. She picks up bra and blouse and puts them on. No… I’m left there, still in bed. Still with the yearning and everything, and nothing to do about it. Why did I leave them there? How can I possibly forgot them!? I sit upright at the edge of the bed.

“What happened? Is something wrong?” I ask. I myself don’t want unprotected sex. Yes, I get that. But still, it’s only a few minutes to walk to the car and then head back!

“No, it’s nothing. Get dressed and let’s keep watching the movie.” She says, almost as an order.

What did I do wrong?

“Okay.”

We watch the rest of the movie, we say our good-byes awkwardly and I drive back to my apartment. Nothing else happens. Literally.

Class is heavy today. Probably the lack of sleep, and the intense pain on my groin. I can barely walk, not to mention pay attention and concentrate. It happened so fast. I did something wrong? Or did she had seconds thoughts? Or probably both. What about her brother!? Did he hear any of that? Oh man, it wasn’t my intention to make her uncomfortable or anything. In fact, none of that was really my idea! I just wanted to see a movie with a friend. Honest! She was the one who started touching stuff, playing with her legs and whatever. I gotta text her.

I want to work things out. Seriously, the bitter taste that that left is awful. And it was going so well. This sucks.

Classes of the day end, and still no respond. Okay, I didn’t expect this kind of behavior. I mean, let’s be adults around this and work things out on a healthy and organized way. Or at least end it. Man, and I was there, hoping to become something with this girl. Maybe, there’s still hope. Yeah. Maybe she’s still taking classes. Or she’s busy with a project or homework or something. My cellphone vibrates. Tension rises through my whole body, and suddenly the afternoon becomes unbearably hot. Oh man.

What?

Image credit: Kamila Gornia on flickr

and reproduced under Creative Commons 2.0

No changes were made; the image was maintained as the original.

Publisher’s Note
This short story was written by Guillermo Feliciano Morales, an aspiring writer and a Mechanical Engineering student in the University of Puerto Rico, Mayagüez Campus. No part, snip, piece, or excerpt of such story shall be reproduced electronically, mechanically, or in any other way unless a written request is sent to Guillermo Feliciano Morales and he himself approves; meaning that this piece won’t be scanned, copied, taken by photo or picture, or posted on a publicly (or privately) accessible website or social network without the author’s notice. Legal action will be undertaken if such directions are not followed. Micros and its contents (unless otherwise noted) by Guillermo Feliciano Morales are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

DOA

Gasping for air. Running towards no specific destination. Houses, alleys, stores. I just want to live. Nothing else is being registered on my mind. No cars on the road, no pedestrian here and there, a waning moon up ahead. And his footsteps are still clear. Behind me, looming each time a little bit closer, a bit more, more. More. I’m running. Running as fast as I can. Trying harder; trying to go faster. Faster! A hand grabs my shoulder and a sharp, foreign object stabs the inferior section of my back. Both of us abruptly stop running. He pulls the knife and stabs it back in. Again, and again, and again. I gasp. I’m out of breath. My whole life flashes in my eyes. My wife, my kids… Mind’s getting darker, harder to get a grasp on what’s going on. I can feel my conscious sweeping away. Pain being it’s substitute. Pain… I stumble down, my attacker being careful enough to make me fall to the ground slowly, pulling the knife simultaneously. Next thing I know, he’s searching me. Why can’t I die already? He got what he wanted. Maybe my wallet or my car keys. I don’t know. He sprints away. Leaving the crime scene. I’m still here, alive. Pain. So much pain… Getting. Tired…

“Got the news?” George asks me.

I keep staring at my report. There’s nothing that can stop George from making a conversation. Nothing. I’ve tried. He’s this huge, fat, white cop; the living proof of police stereotype. Donuts around the corner, can’t run for shit, stays hours in front of his laptop watching YouTube videos and porn, always late on deadlines and paperwork. Honestly. But he has saved my ass a couple of times. After that, he isn’t as bad he seems. I turn my eyes at him. He won’t take his stare out of me. He won’t let this down. I exhale, annoyed.

“What are the news, George?” I say.

“Lakers won.”

“Hurray.”

“You know, nobody around here appreciates your sarcasm, Richard.”

“I love you, George.”

“Don’t start with that shit.”

“I love you, bae.”

“Fuck you, Richard.”

“You’re just saying that—”

Eleanor appears out of fucking nowhere. I jump on my seat and my knee hit my desk. I grunt lightly, but try my best to keep my posture. Oh man, it hurts… She stares at me for a while, maybe two, two-and-a-half seconds, and drops a bunch of files onto my desk.

“Richard.” she says.

“Eleanor.” I respond, trying to sound nonchalant.

She stops for a while to stare at George. She scowls.

“Filthy pig.” She says.

“How are you, my shinning sunshine dear?” George responds.

Eleanor doesn’t stand George’s shit. She’s this scrawny, tall, old woman, whose body’s too old for her age. Or beaten up for that matter. She always carries this cigarette holder around, making awful progress on damaging her dreadful, yellow teeth. Not to mention her constant overuse on makeup.

“I’ll put you on a stick and sell you to the Puerto Ricans on Christmas, you pig.” says Eleanor.

I laugh out loud. Uncontrollably.

“I love you too, sweetie.” says George.

Eleanor makes a quick turn and heads to her office. She’s a bitch, a god-awful bitch. But I’ve always appreciated her dark humor.

“What about you, you dick? Shouldn’t you side with me against the forces of evil like that witch?” asks George.

“George, you’ll always be my man. But, I gotta tell you, Eleanor is a funny bitch.” I respond.

“Yeah well—” he freezes, looking dead-forward towards his screen.

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s been a murder. Aw, shit. I hate these types of cases! Why can’t people just stung each other? They can buy tasers, and stun guns, and lots of other shit.”

“Well, it’s only a matter of time before—”

Eleanor materializes out of thin air in front of my desk.

“You two. You’re up.” Eleanor says.

I nod at her and she heads to her office and closes the door. I turn and look at George. He’s staring at intensely at Eleanor’s.

“I hate that bat.” He says.

We arrive at the crime scene. It’s chaos. There are paramedics, cops, police canines. Police canines? What the fuck? Why? My mind questions. There are seven or so automobiles parked here and there. Curious civilians roam just outside the established outside limits of the crime scene. The accident took place in the middle of a suburb. It occurred in front of a convenience store, in the front-adjacent street.

“How come there are so many people? What? The mayor was killed?” asks George.

Somebody taps my shoulder. I turn: a tall man about to introduce himself.

“My name is William Walkmans, I’m the public prosecutor in the case.” he says.

The man has a sharp face: dark eyes, elongated nose, square jawline. A hat. The guy’s dressed as a detective in a criminal case on the 1920’s. All dark brown hat combined with a brown coat, brown trousers, and brown shoes.

“Aren’t you a little over dressed for a day with a 90 degree temperature?” I say

“My wife. She insists.”

“Of course.”

“Are you officer Saunders?”

“Yes. This is my partner, officer Parsons.”

“How do you do?” says George.

They shake hands. It makes me uncomfortable to see George act so ‘appropriate’. I know him for such a long time, and I know who he really is. He’s a disgusting son of a bitch. Yet, in the face of apparent authority, he’s just a cop. Well, I do understand why he has to do it. And myself.

“I’m sorry, we arrived a little late and haven’t been told what happened.” says George.

“Right. A civilian got stabbed on the lower area of his back, impacting one of his kidneys. We’re guessing that the victim entered on a panic attack, making him unable to move properly and call for help, causing him to bleed to death.” says William.

“It appears it was an attempt for theft. The individual doesn’t have a wallet or a cellphone; we don’t even know who he is. We’re running a few background checks, questioning some of the people that lived around, searching for evidence; looking for anything that might help.”

“You know a hell of a lot for somebody who’s function is in court.” I say.

“It’s part of the job.” He responds.

Gunshots ripple throughout the whole area. Everybody starts to run. Civilians scream and officers get behind their cars. Without thinking, each one of us run for cover. I get as fast as I can to the small alley behind the store. I take a few seconds to breath.

“You okay!?” says someone behind me. It’s William.

“What the fuck!? How did you get here!?” I snap.

“I followed you!”

Gunshots still dominate the air space. Why would someone attack cops at a crime scene? The bangs are numerous and loud. Really loud. It looks like the police is fighting back. I check myself. No wounds; gun, badge, all in place.

“William, are you hurt?” I ask.

“No.”

“Good. Where’s George!?”

I turn my head and see him behind our car. He’s fighting back. A bullet hits him in his forehead. Another one his chest. His left arm. Close to his neck. My vision of the world blurs, having as a sole focus the image of my partner dying. All of it slows down. Seconds become minutes, minutes become hours. All slow, aware that in reality it’s been a few moments. I’m not sure how much time has passed by. His body hits against the ground. Blood is all over the place. He had a wife, a small girl, a family. He doesn’t deserve this. A couple of strangers invade the scene and grab George’s body. I can feel my soul leaving my body for a mere instant for the sake of observing myself. How I react to the fact that they are taking my partner away. They are taking the chance of a honorable funeral to a man who died on duty. I can see myself opening my mouth, starting to scream. William takes my shoulder and forces me to stand down, to retreat. All of it is occurring so fast, yet so slow. I can see it all. Every detail, in luxury of having the time of the world to contemplate it. How I push William back. How I reach for my gun and aim at the motherfuckers. At firing each bullet with cold accuracy. How I hit one of them; he crashing to the ground filled with coppery scarlet. It’s clear they didn’t expect this: they leave the body, and their accomplice. Fucking cowards. I start to run as fast as I can, yet everything is still slow. I want George’s body. I keep firing at the retreating sons of bitches, screaming with the top of my lungs, only to crash crying at my partners torso, staining my uniform with valuable red. William appears behind me and checks the fallen criminal. He seems unconscious. Sound is again restated as a functional sense on my brain.

“Saunders, get down!” William screams.

A group in a white van is firing at the remaining cops. Some of them are carrying something to the van. It looks heavy—the stabbed victim! Why would they go through all this trouble just for a corpse!? There’s less of us. The retreating company, looks like three men, are carrying one of them. He’s hurt on his leg.

“That’s what you get when you mess with one of mine, bitch.” I blurt out.

I go and check George’s vitals. No pulse.

“Goddammit, George!” I scream at the top of my lungs.

I can feel a rush of tears materializing. A faint sound of tires screeching against the pavement. Cops shouting, guns has ceased. More cars leaving the area. People rush towards me and George. What’s left of him… They force me to get up and leave the body. Paramedics, cops… I feel… Tired. Someone is carrying me.

“You’ve received three gunshots. We are going to get you to a hospital.” A faint voice says.

Image credit: Alan Cleaver on flickr

and reproduced under Creative Commons 2.0

No changes were made; the image was maintained as the original.

5000 Miles Closer

The small blonde kid startled me from my sleep. He has spent the last whole hour asking me questions. ‘Sir, what’s a star?’, ‘Sir, where does chocolate comes from?’, ‘Sir, is Elmo a monkey with red fur?’, ‘Why?’ He seems like a smart boy for his age. Of course, such intelligence can be hell of annoying.

“Josh, leave that poor boy alone!” says a woman a few lines down.

She looks at me and she mouths “I’m sorry.” Josh heads down the aisle and pops into his seat. I indulge into the moment, savoring the few seconds of silence. I close my eyes and exhale. All right, no kid around. I open them and immediately catch a glimpse with my peripheral vision of an old man sitting next to me, staring at me. I turn slightly and we make eye contact. He looks away to the side window. I chuckle inside— He turns to face me and starts to talk.

“Don’t mind the poor fella. I bet you were as curios as he is when you were his age.” He says.

I can’t help containing some small laughter.

“I better call my mother and ask.” I respond.

He snickers.

“I’m Leonardo.” He says.

“Henry.”

We hand shake. He has an amazing grip for his apparent old age. He looks like a 70-ish year old man. Soft brown eyes, with the most mischievous smile on his mouth. Grey hair combed to one side, casually dressed with a patterned brown shirt and brown pants.

“Where are you from, Henry?” He asks.

“I’m from Eastern Asia. South Korea, more specifically.”

“Really? I thought you were from the states. You speak English very fluently.”

“Thank you.”

He laughs. I didn’t intended it as a joke. My mind snaps. I smile and turn the other way to see the plane’s right aisle. All is fine, I suppose. Just an air hostess providing drinks to a certain someone.

“You nervous?” Leonardo asks.

“Yeah.” I say.

“How come? I assure you, nothing bad will happen to this plane.”

“No, no. It’s not the plane. I’m meeting someone.”

For a split-second, his eyes widen. Why so surprised? Anyone can fly to meet someone on the other end—

“It’s a girl, isn’t it?”

What the… How did he…? I can feel a rush of heat coursing through my face. I start stammering. I try and look away, and decide to get the air hostess attention, which is strangely on the same spot as she was before. She approaches me and I order a drink. As I do so, I hear the old man giggle. As the air hostess makes her leave, I realize I overreacted. Why am I acting like this? He didn’t mean any harm. He was just…, curious? I turn and face him—

“Don’t worry. It happens to all of us.” He says.

“Really? Somehow—”

“I mean, the circumstances you are in are probably very different from what any of us experienced. But that really doesn’t matter, right?” He winks at me.

I am speechless. This guy has taken me by surprise completely. This has gone a bit too far for my comfort. I need to take a grip. Maybe by redirecting the conversation?

“What do you do for a living?” I ask. It took every bit of my will to sound as nonchalantly as possible. It seems it takes no effort at all from his part.

“I’m an aeronautical engineer.” He says.

Really? Before I can respond, the light that instructs us to get our seatbelts turns on. We both start to fiddle with them. I take a peek outside the window: land. I can’t believe it. America. I’m going to America. I’m in America. Who knows what I’ll find there? I mean, I kind of know what I will find there. But still, there’s so much I don’t know yet. Wikipedia can only help me so much.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. This is your captain speaking. We are approaching the airport. Please, remain seated as we attempt landing.” The captain says.

“You haven’t answered my question, young man.” Leonardo the engineer says besides me.

“Oh, sorry. Yes. She’s a friend.” I respond.

“I bet she’s really excited to see you.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I guess? Young man, friends don’t travel more than 5000 miles to see each other.”

I can feel my face burning up with embarrassment. My palms start to sweat. I direct my gaze towards him, and he seems static. Body facing forward, head facing mine, eyes relaxed, but fixed towards me, waiting. No movement at all. Mind your own business, old man. I nod at him.

The plane starts to rotate slightly to one side, circulating a section of land that appears to be the airport. The day appears to be clear; no strong indication of rain. That’s a relief. It would be a bummer to spend the whole day inside a house because of rain. That is, assuming we are going to a house. Now that I think about it, none of us really discussed this. No, correction, I did mention it. She was the one who kept ignoring it. Oh, Elizabeth, what am I going to do with you?

The plane is already in position for landing. Land appears to be zooming in, its details more clear by the second. Closer, closer, closer— The small shock of the wheels touching the ground is felt throughout the plane. The plane keeps decelerating until it begins to gently move towards the assigned gate. Butterflies pop up out of nowhere inside my stomach. I got the feeling that I’m about to throw up and pass out simultaneously. Leonardo chuckles softly to himself. I don’t see him—my vision is fixed up ahead—but I know he is laughing about me. How does he know I’m going through all this?

The plane has completely stopped, we proceed to retrieve our hand bags and get out of the plane. I just noticed how crowed it is. Everyone is covered in sweaters, some even in coats. Is it really that cold? I have a t-shirt and jeans, nothing else. Why would I have more? Maybe the place you’re going is colder than you expected. My subconscious snaps. I shudder at the thought— A hand grabs my shoulder.

“Listen, I was really rude back there. I owe you an apology.” Leonardo says.

“Oh no, it’s okay.” I reply.

“No really, I do. I’m sorry.”

“Sure, not a problem.”

‘Sure, not a problem.’? What the hell was that? An awkward silence stretches between us. The line to leave the plane is moving as slow as ever possible. We shuffle through along what little space is available. So many people. I wonder how Elizabeth will find me. I search my pocket for the American prepaid phone she sent me. It doesn’t have any phone coverage right now. The line’s getting a little bit lighter. Now, we are actually walking.

We all head to the baggage pick-up section. Fifteen minutes or so and my baggage is already here. What happened to the old man? I undergo the customs process. Nothing out of the ordinary, I suppose. And before I know it, I’m outside the airport. Family members reuniting and hugging, lovers showing public displays of affections—

“Arrival at terminal 5, just like we talked about.” A voice emanates behind me.

Out of the blue, a pair of hands slowly hugs me from my back. I jump. The hands hesitate for a moment, but proceed. I am paralyzed. A body encloses me; warm and oddly soft. I catch a glimpse of the right hand’s ring, an aquamarine stone. It’s hers. A head nuzzles against my neck. I exhale.

“All according to plan, Elizabeth.” I respond while looking at her hands.

It takes me a little while, but I finally decide to grab both her hands with my own. Our fingers twist with each other. I can’t believe I’m here. With her. I turn to face her and kiss her. Our first kiss. It is so sweet and gentle. She stops and smiles while looking down. She is so beautiful. Natural red hair, pale skin sprinkled with freckles, bright green eyes.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

“You are embarrassed, are you?”

“A little.”

“How so?”

“Because my grandfather is here.” She finishes with a smirk and turns.

“Henry, I’d like you to meet Leonardo.”

The old engineer materializes out of nowhere and extends his hand.

“A pleasure to meet you, Henry.” He says.

Image credit: Javier Velazquez-Muriel on flickr

and reproduced under Creative Commons 2.0

No changes were made; the image was maintained as the original.

E. X. A. M.

The emergency alarm has been fired up. Even though its metallic noise is piercing through my ears, I hear far, overlapping, distinct sounds. They are human, and they are not happy. It’s a disgusting mixture, yet mesmerizing, all merged with pitch-black darkness. It continues; seconds, minutes. I’m not sure for how long, but it seems it’s been too much for Captain’s approval. The door swings open and crashes into the adjacent wall, giving away a large thump that resonates through the cabin. Faint orange light fills the small, rusty room.

“Listen, you worthless pieces of shit! That is an emergency alarm.” Says the Second Officer on the ship while pointing to space behind him.

“The captain expects you to wake up. Now get your sorry asses out of your comfortable little pieces of cotton, and wake up!”.

I instinctively get out of bed and prep myself, never relying on my eyes. Everything is a blur of orange movement. Everything, between me and my three other roommates. One of them is a medic—

“Stop daydreaming! Go, go, go!” screams the Second Officer’s hoarse voice.

In a matter of minutes, me and the other three are all prepped with full uniform and head out to the rendezvous point. Outside the cabin, the orange lights dance with white ones. All of them following a pattern of intermittent and alternating steps. It allows a bit more clarity into my field of vision, and surprisingly into my hearing. Yet, it doesn’t provide any help for my sense of surroundings. There are closed doors along the cramped corridor, chunks of wire hanging lose from the ceiling, bulbs of light rotating along their central axis; the smell of salt, water, rust, blood— Bullets starts piercing the walls as we go through. My heart pumps at an alarming rate, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Crackling noises from the outside bloom. More bullets crash towards the ship.

“Agh!” says someone on the front.

A crew member falls to the floor. We all immediately stop and do our best to asses the situation. I’m to far away for me to recognize his face. Blood is pouring from his neck, staining everything that touches. He’s applying pressure to the wound with his hand with so little success. Eyes bloodshot, hyperventilating while spiting blood, sweat sparkling on his forehead. All the others provide space for the medic to work with. As if following protocol, the other crew mates keep running along, and I stay to assist. One large explosion resonates through the ship. Oh no, it can’t be. My mind— A few dozen meters up ahead; we are hit. The medic, the one who’s wounded, and me crash into the shock wave. We are blasted away. All of us loose balance and footing. While stumbling, a strong high-pitched sound dominates my hearing, blocking anything else that threatens to enter. Moments later, I struggle to stand up. It takes a huge amount of my will, but I manage to stand, allowing me to get a sight of what happened.

Up ahead, a whole chunk of the ship has disappeared. No crew mates, no doors, no walls, no ceiling. Sea water’s beginning to seep in. The most primitive sense of survival present on my system kicks in. I see that the medic hasn’t even started treating.

“What are you doing!? Treat that man! We’ve got to get to the lifeboats, now!” I scream.

It seems that the medic grasps hold of the situation. He nods at me, and turns his attention towards the wounded, whom seems about to pass out. As the medic leans in to get a closer look, he pauses. The wounded member’s eyes widen in a split of a second, and pushes the medic aside towards the wall and directs his gaze towards me.

“Kill me!” he pleads.

He knows he doesn’t have a chance. The bullet has pierced a vital part. Yet, he’s not dead yet; not to mention, speaking. The medic is on his side, gasping for air; he’s hurt by the crash against the wall.

“Kill me!” he repeats.

His eyes widen even more. I’m paralyzed, unable to process what to do next, unable to think and decide. The comrade reaches for his gun strapped to his belt. He struggles to get a grip, there’s too much blood on his hand. More blood gushes out of his neck. I can’t. My subconscious finally accepts it. He manages to place the gun on his mouth—

“I can’t!” I say.

Everything stops. The shouts, the smells, the movement, everything just stops. I stand there, dumbfounded. What? The walls begin to deform. Their surface gently moves, almost as waves. Suddenly, it bursts into ripples and dissolves, falling into the ground. It leaves white space on it’s behalf. The same process is repeated on other walls, on the floors, and on the ceiling, all along the corridor. Some sort of a white limbo is consuming the ship entirely. What the fuck is going on? My mind questions. A gentle but constant pain appears on my forehead. I close my eyes and instinctively place my hand in the area. After a few moments, the pain is gone. I find myself gasping for air. This doesn’t make any sense. I turn, and see my remaining crew mates start to fall apart. Chunks of flesh just separate and fall to the white floor. Blood protrudes from the pieces and from the body themselves, through their eyes, through their mouths, their ears, their nails. I start hyperventilating. Oh God. What is going on!? I start panicking. There are no longer bodies, but huge lumps of mass lying around, leaving a mess of ooze and blood and skin. The pain returns to my forehead, this time much more intense.

“Agh!” I scream.

It intensifies by the second, spreading to my head, my neck, torso, arms, legs, feet.

“Stop! Please!”

The ability to develop rational thought is diminishing on my head. I can’t withstand it. I can’t understand. I don’t understand. All is going on a blur. Dizziness, invades, my, conscious. I think, I’m, going, to faint. I think—

 

I wake up. My vision blurred. My body feels… Numb. No pain. I place my hand on my head, searching for something unusual. I realize I’m lying on the floor. I sit up. Panic swells up inside me at the thought of my crew falling apart. I hastily revise my body, panting as I do so. Nothing. Where are they? And the first thing that my mind register is a camera. Where am I? I look around and see nothing. Just white fluffy walls with a pattern of buttons. The ceiling and the floor are the same. It’s unnerving, yet strangely comfortable. Also, I’m alone. Alone inside a white cuddly box. Charming.

The numbness around my body surprisingly eases off while walking around the box. Just a couple of minutes of more walking, and it vanishes. Well, it looks like a couple of minutes. My subconscious reacts. Time is hard to follow in here. For some reason, there’s still some numbness on my head— A subtle but existent bulb of noise pops inside my mind. It produces a low humming tone, strangely soft, mechanical and monotonous. It’s gone.

I realize I’m static. What was that? I keep on walking. I can’t quite think nor analyze as I did. I wonder what’s the ship’s status. Ship? What ship? There’s no ship around for miles, not to mention the ocean. Wait, how come I know that? I don’t remember nothing. I can’t remember anything! Panic urges on my body with a slow but constant rhythm. The cushion feel around doesn’t help at all. I pace around on straight lines. Sweat emerges on my forehead. Who am I? What’s my name? How in the world I got here?.

A painful high pitched buzz rings through the whole box, assaulting my ears. I instinctively place my hands on both of my ears. The noise creeps inside it, deep into my skull, into my brain. I can’t stand it. It’s acting like multiple drills piercing through me.

“Agh! Stop it!” I scream.

It seems to continue forever.

“Please! Stop! AH!”

The noise stops. I’m left panting. I don’t know for how long that lasted. Seconds, minutes, hours? It’s impossible to keep a sense of time in here— All my memories start flooding my brain. The ship, my crew mates, the Captain, the mission, the attack, The EXAM. It hurts. It hurts a lot. I fall into the floor, unable to stand such infernal pain.

“AH! For God’s sake, stop! Stop this torture!” I say.

A door opens to my side. I frantically watch as it opens. I’m full of sweat, gasping for air. Yet, it leaves me astounded. I never saw a door there. A man in a white lab coat enters the box. He has light brown hair combed to one side. Tall, slim, glasses, and might be on his mid forties. He approaches me casually, though a familiar feel ring around this man. He stops, assess me carefully, and finally, scowls.

“Damn it, Bryan! You failed the Pre-Trials, again!” he says.

 

Image credit: Adrian Kingsley-Hughes on flickr

and reproduced under Creative Commons 2.0

No changes were made; the image was maintained as the original.