The Wall
folder
Paranormal/Supernatural › General
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
779
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Paranormal/Supernatural › General
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
779
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
Wall and moss
Wall and moss
He woke up with the certainty that once AGAIN, he was going to be late. Blinking against the light blinding him he managed to get out of bed on his left side. Against the light.
It was when it hit his head, almost causing him to see stars. A solid grey wall scattered with colorful graffiti.
He posed, letting the pain fade away and the knowledge sink in, that he was not at home. He muttered few curses. The thought going through his head being just how much he hated touring.
Road shows were the best way to promote their small but growing software solutions company and since he was so good at talking, he was always the one pointed out to lead the 'madness'. he called it madness because it's what it was to him. In five days throught out the contry's biggest cities, explaining the same thing over and over again to different faces. Usually after the second day, he was counting the minutes untill he could sleep again in his comfy bed at home instead of cheap motel and bus seats.
For his second try to get out of bed, he made sure to look at where his limbs where carrying him.
Apart from the wall he just bumped in, all the others were inexistent. He was in the middle of an unknown street, his bed under a street light. the houses around him were shabby and seemed devoid of any life sign. But that was the less of his worries. The main one being his nakedness and since it was pretty cold, the flimsy greyish sheet still around his hips did very little to block out the cold’s claws lashing his skin, racking his whole being with waves of shudders.
He did not wonder how he got there. He didn’t even care. He was Peer Killswood and if there was something he has learnt over the last thirty years, then it was not to search for reasons why shit like this happened to him.
Wrapping the blanket tightly around his skinny frame, he headed to the first house.
All six windows to the front side were knocked off. There was no dirty curtains to hide the inside. If there has been anything in this house, he could no longer tell for everything was hidden under a tick moss cloak. A nauseating smell hung in the air, tickling every so small part of his nose.
The more he looked at it, the more its color changed. From bright green to deep red, then black to white all colors. here and there few sparkles. It was moving and each of it's move was sending frosty spears at his exposed body.
From far he could tell, there was a hum. the sound was a mix of choked cries and something else so pierced,that it left him chilled to the bone and heart about to explode with despair.
He felt like falling in a hole so deep and dark that he was sure he will die and there came the moss cloak, with it's roten arms streched to him, ready to break the fall, to wrapp him in it's asphyxiant embrace.
In the split of seconds where both deadly traps met, He started to run down the street never looking back, towards the next house. It was the stench that made him change the boder and not risk a glance at the house. Somehow deep in him, he knew it wasn't much different from the first one. He sprinted down the damned wall but he met no soul, and there seemed to be no end to all this so he slowed his rythm. It's when he heard the murmur and noticed it was coming from the wall, more precisely from the different pictures. It was exactely this sound created when too many people are trying to talk at the same time and you can't hear a single word but a thunder of voice.
He stopped and shouted to them to quit it but he realised he was talking to just a wall, he wasn't heard. So he started running again. At some point he stepped back a little to contemplate the scenery carved on this beton stone, but then he was looking at a pristine white wall.
Very slowly he admitted to himself, he might be the only human being in this desolated street. Since it felt so real, he assumed it was not a dream.
The wall was too high to jump over, too flat to climb on it. But he did not gave up his small race along the talkative graffiti plagued wall and murderous stinking moss garden. All things have an end he thought, either he will die on this road or the road will end, eventually.
He woke up with the certainty that once AGAIN, he was going to be late. Blinking against the light blinding him he managed to get out of bed on his left side. Against the light.
It was when it hit his head, almost causing him to see stars. A solid grey wall scattered with colorful graffiti.
He posed, letting the pain fade away and the knowledge sink in, that he was not at home. He muttered few curses. The thought going through his head being just how much he hated touring.
Road shows were the best way to promote their small but growing software solutions company and since he was so good at talking, he was always the one pointed out to lead the 'madness'. he called it madness because it's what it was to him. In five days throught out the contry's biggest cities, explaining the same thing over and over again to different faces. Usually after the second day, he was counting the minutes untill he could sleep again in his comfy bed at home instead of cheap motel and bus seats.
For his second try to get out of bed, he made sure to look at where his limbs where carrying him.
Apart from the wall he just bumped in, all the others were inexistent. He was in the middle of an unknown street, his bed under a street light. the houses around him were shabby and seemed devoid of any life sign. But that was the less of his worries. The main one being his nakedness and since it was pretty cold, the flimsy greyish sheet still around his hips did very little to block out the cold’s claws lashing his skin, racking his whole being with waves of shudders.
He did not wonder how he got there. He didn’t even care. He was Peer Killswood and if there was something he has learnt over the last thirty years, then it was not to search for reasons why shit like this happened to him.
Wrapping the blanket tightly around his skinny frame, he headed to the first house.
All six windows to the front side were knocked off. There was no dirty curtains to hide the inside. If there has been anything in this house, he could no longer tell for everything was hidden under a tick moss cloak. A nauseating smell hung in the air, tickling every so small part of his nose.
The more he looked at it, the more its color changed. From bright green to deep red, then black to white all colors. here and there few sparkles. It was moving and each of it's move was sending frosty spears at his exposed body.
From far he could tell, there was a hum. the sound was a mix of choked cries and something else so pierced,that it left him chilled to the bone and heart about to explode with despair.
He felt like falling in a hole so deep and dark that he was sure he will die and there came the moss cloak, with it's roten arms streched to him, ready to break the fall, to wrapp him in it's asphyxiant embrace.
In the split of seconds where both deadly traps met, He started to run down the street never looking back, towards the next house. It was the stench that made him change the boder and not risk a glance at the house. Somehow deep in him, he knew it wasn't much different from the first one. He sprinted down the damned wall but he met no soul, and there seemed to be no end to all this so he slowed his rythm. It's when he heard the murmur and noticed it was coming from the wall, more precisely from the different pictures. It was exactely this sound created when too many people are trying to talk at the same time and you can't hear a single word but a thunder of voice.
He stopped and shouted to them to quit it but he realised he was talking to just a wall, he wasn't heard. So he started running again. At some point he stepped back a little to contemplate the scenery carved on this beton stone, but then he was looking at a pristine white wall.
Very slowly he admitted to himself, he might be the only human being in this desolated street. Since it felt so real, he assumed it was not a dream.
The wall was too high to jump over, too flat to climb on it. But he did not gave up his small race along the talkative graffiti plagued wall and murderous stinking moss garden. All things have an end he thought, either he will die on this road or the road will end, eventually.