Burn my shadow away.
folder
Horror/Thriller › General
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
624
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Horror/Thriller › General
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
624
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Burn my shadow away.
“Fate's my destroyer
I was ambushed by the light”
He awoke from his slumber like any other morning, going about his morning ritual as he had every other day of his working life. Only today would be different. His half open eyes peered at the dilapidated coffee percolator with yesterday’s dregs staining the bottom of it, its black liquid slightly viscous as he twirled it around and subconsciously turned on the kettle, the faint humming of the kettle bringing sound to the otherwise silent apartment. His hands brushed against his rough stubble as he pondered to himself when the last time it was he had shaved as he threw a couple of sliced rye into the toaster. With his morning routine set in motion he went on to tackle the next item on his agenda, the bathroom. He had a lot of agendas today, being a highly ranked business exec he found it necessary to have structure in his life as he took great pleasure in keeping himself in control of environment and self. He stretched his back as he felt the vertebrae pop and crackle against the sudden change of position, his robe lay loose on his thin frame as he walked into the bathroom. Roseanne’s piercing voice blared out from the television as the program timer kicked in.
His neatly positioned bathroom lay in front of him as he began to brush his teeth, last nights residue washing away in a minty fresh paste. It was then that he heard the sound, it almost sounded like a can of soda being open but from inside himself. He looked down at his loose robe and felt underneath the velvet satin material. His fingers slid over something odd then. Something cold, hard and flat. He ripped opened his robe to the mirror and was stunned at what he saw. An LCD display shone back at him, its burning red digits burning into his retina as indecipherable characters began to countdown rapidly. He reeled away from the mirror as the blood drained away from his face. His pale fingers desperately scrabbled against his clammy flesh, against the device that was firmly implanted in his chest. Crude wires poked from out his chest, adjacent to the LCD display, their cold plastic looped back in a form of crude stitching, anchoring the device to whatever precious organs lay beneath.
Black dots swam in front of his vision as adrenalin surged through his body, he scrambled backwards out the room of the bathroom, desperately grappling for the cordless phone as his fingers struggled with the simple task of dialling a number.
“911 hello?”
-“HELLO? I need He-help, I have this THIN-THIng in my chest.”
“Police, Fire or Ambulance?”
-“Ambulance, wait, no… fire.. oh fuck I don’t know! Police?!?”
“Do you mind holding?”
-“FUuuuuuuuuuuckkk!”
The man threw the phone against the bathroom mirror, shattering the mirror as shards of glass rained down onto the cold tiled floor. Roseanne continued to blare in the background, she had just had a fight and was crying on the couch as her husband came in.
“Why are you crying?”
The man broke down on the floor and started to wail. His hands shook as he clutched his knees to his chest, the edge of the cold LCD display poking obtrusively against his knee. Anger flared through him then. Anger at the world. Anger at himself. Anger at his ex wife who would now be lying within her recently acquired mansion curtesy of him, Anger at the unfairness of the world. He crawled into the bathroom, ignoring the shards of glass embedding themselves deep into his knees, palms, and any other piece of skin that was unfortunate enough to be in contact with the cold mirror laden floor. He grabbed a piece of glass the size of his palm as the sharp edges sliced through his thin skin like butter. His blood began to drip over the mirrored surface as he reflected it against the LCD display on his chest.
“00.00.00.30.22”
“00.00.00.29.88”
“00.00.00.28.66”
According to the LCD display he had 28 seconds before the display finished. Whatever that meant to his fate. He stood up with a struggle, his limbs feeling heavier than usual, like they were made of lead. He ambled towards the balcony but didn’t open the door. Staring at the city that lay before him, its glistening windows shone against the rising sun giving the buildings the illusion that it was on fire. A red fire engulfed the reflected glass of sky rise towers as he stood. His robe lay open as he stood with arms apart. Embracing the fire of the rising sun as blood began to drip from his palms, knees and feet. Staining the white virgin carpet underneath. His house phone lying amongst the broken glass suddenly began to ring. He ignored it, his mind swimming in its own microcosm of thoughts
“00.00.00.03.22”
“00.00.00.02.11”
“00.00.00.01.54”
*click*
The sound of the toaster resounded from the kitchen as his rye bread popped out from its oven like confines. Startled, the man looked around.
*BOOM*
The explosion was so powerful it blew the window balcony off the little room, bringing with it a rain of concrete, glass and lounge items down to the unsuspecting city folk below. Leaving behind a gaping hole where once an apartment lay.
Below, hundreds of people went about their normal business. Paul, a street vendor was yelling out to passerbys to buy the latest issue of the New York times, his grubby fingers poked out from the makeshift holes in his grey cotton gloves. Inwardly he was cursing the cold weather and dreaming about tropical islands with large breasted tanned women serving shots from between their ample breasts. All of that changed in an instant as a deafening roar resounded as his mobile newspaper carrying unit was disintegrated by a suede brown 4 seater couch. All of a sudden, the busy hustle and bustle of the street became a death trap of faceless, confused, panick stricken bodies as glass and debris began to rain down. A lamp crushed a nearby car windscreen as screams filled the air, the desperate mass of people clampering in every which direction, away from the ensuing scene of carnage. Paul was carried with the mass, clutching his copy of the New York times to protect himself from the constant falling debris as he was carried away to safety...
I was ambushed by the light”
He awoke from his slumber like any other morning, going about his morning ritual as he had every other day of his working life. Only today would be different. His half open eyes peered at the dilapidated coffee percolator with yesterday’s dregs staining the bottom of it, its black liquid slightly viscous as he twirled it around and subconsciously turned on the kettle, the faint humming of the kettle bringing sound to the otherwise silent apartment. His hands brushed against his rough stubble as he pondered to himself when the last time it was he had shaved as he threw a couple of sliced rye into the toaster. With his morning routine set in motion he went on to tackle the next item on his agenda, the bathroom. He had a lot of agendas today, being a highly ranked business exec he found it necessary to have structure in his life as he took great pleasure in keeping himself in control of environment and self. He stretched his back as he felt the vertebrae pop and crackle against the sudden change of position, his robe lay loose on his thin frame as he walked into the bathroom. Roseanne’s piercing voice blared out from the television as the program timer kicked in.
His neatly positioned bathroom lay in front of him as he began to brush his teeth, last nights residue washing away in a minty fresh paste. It was then that he heard the sound, it almost sounded like a can of soda being open but from inside himself. He looked down at his loose robe and felt underneath the velvet satin material. His fingers slid over something odd then. Something cold, hard and flat. He ripped opened his robe to the mirror and was stunned at what he saw. An LCD display shone back at him, its burning red digits burning into his retina as indecipherable characters began to countdown rapidly. He reeled away from the mirror as the blood drained away from his face. His pale fingers desperately scrabbled against his clammy flesh, against the device that was firmly implanted in his chest. Crude wires poked from out his chest, adjacent to the LCD display, their cold plastic looped back in a form of crude stitching, anchoring the device to whatever precious organs lay beneath.
Black dots swam in front of his vision as adrenalin surged through his body, he scrambled backwards out the room of the bathroom, desperately grappling for the cordless phone as his fingers struggled with the simple task of dialling a number.
“911 hello?”
-“HELLO? I need He-help, I have this THIN-THIng in my chest.”
“Police, Fire or Ambulance?”
-“Ambulance, wait, no… fire.. oh fuck I don’t know! Police?!?”
“Do you mind holding?”
-“FUuuuuuuuuuuckkk!”
The man threw the phone against the bathroom mirror, shattering the mirror as shards of glass rained down onto the cold tiled floor. Roseanne continued to blare in the background, she had just had a fight and was crying on the couch as her husband came in.
“Why are you crying?”
The man broke down on the floor and started to wail. His hands shook as he clutched his knees to his chest, the edge of the cold LCD display poking obtrusively against his knee. Anger flared through him then. Anger at the world. Anger at himself. Anger at his ex wife who would now be lying within her recently acquired mansion curtesy of him, Anger at the unfairness of the world. He crawled into the bathroom, ignoring the shards of glass embedding themselves deep into his knees, palms, and any other piece of skin that was unfortunate enough to be in contact with the cold mirror laden floor. He grabbed a piece of glass the size of his palm as the sharp edges sliced through his thin skin like butter. His blood began to drip over the mirrored surface as he reflected it against the LCD display on his chest.
“00.00.00.30.22”
“00.00.00.29.88”
“00.00.00.28.66”
According to the LCD display he had 28 seconds before the display finished. Whatever that meant to his fate. He stood up with a struggle, his limbs feeling heavier than usual, like they were made of lead. He ambled towards the balcony but didn’t open the door. Staring at the city that lay before him, its glistening windows shone against the rising sun giving the buildings the illusion that it was on fire. A red fire engulfed the reflected glass of sky rise towers as he stood. His robe lay open as he stood with arms apart. Embracing the fire of the rising sun as blood began to drip from his palms, knees and feet. Staining the white virgin carpet underneath. His house phone lying amongst the broken glass suddenly began to ring. He ignored it, his mind swimming in its own microcosm of thoughts
“00.00.00.03.22”
“00.00.00.02.11”
“00.00.00.01.54”
*click*
The sound of the toaster resounded from the kitchen as his rye bread popped out from its oven like confines. Startled, the man looked around.
*BOOM*
The explosion was so powerful it blew the window balcony off the little room, bringing with it a rain of concrete, glass and lounge items down to the unsuspecting city folk below. Leaving behind a gaping hole where once an apartment lay.
Below, hundreds of people went about their normal business. Paul, a street vendor was yelling out to passerbys to buy the latest issue of the New York times, his grubby fingers poked out from the makeshift holes in his grey cotton gloves. Inwardly he was cursing the cold weather and dreaming about tropical islands with large breasted tanned women serving shots from between their ample breasts. All of that changed in an instant as a deafening roar resounded as his mobile newspaper carrying unit was disintegrated by a suede brown 4 seater couch. All of a sudden, the busy hustle and bustle of the street became a death trap of faceless, confused, panick stricken bodies as glass and debris began to rain down. A lamp crushed a nearby car windscreen as screams filled the air, the desperate mass of people clampering in every which direction, away from the ensuing scene of carnage. Paul was carried with the mass, clutching his copy of the New York times to protect himself from the constant falling debris as he was carried away to safety...