literature

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    He stepped out onto the mounds of rubble; reflections of some mysterious fire in the million splinters of glass cast an eerie light. He knelt down and brushed his thumb across one of the pieces. He examined his hand with a sigh and wiped it on the leg of his jeans. Fresh blood. Again. "Impossible." He scrubbed his hands through his hair in frustration. "Seriously man, this isn't funny," He shouted up at who he hoped to be his brother. With no response he grumbled to himself instead,"This has got to be the billionth piece I've looked at! There's no possible way all this blood was held in one figure." He closed his eyes and tried to pull back into reality, to wake up.
    However, the same problem wormed its way onto a new platter. It was like turning around to pull on the rope that had brought you down here, only to realize that it had vanished. "That's the real problem." He muttered. "For as much as I've seen I haven't felt anything. No smells or sounds or...anything." Pressing the glass hard into his palm drew out a thin stream of blood. Nothing. No pain, no pinch, just the same hollow numbness he had felt ever since entering this place. 'What happened to him...what's wrong with my brother?' The thought was one that had presented itself often in his train of thought. The question itself was frightening, but it was the answer that worried him the most.
Out of options, he continued walking farther into the ruble, but after what seemed like days of walking it all  ended, and a long stretch of glass took its place. Trying to find some optimistic spirit was proving extremely difficult, which served as further proof that his brothers true presence was missing.  "Maybe I'll find something convenient for once in this big ol' melon of his- like say, a door." He grumbled his complaints to no one, considering there was no way for his brother to actually hear him.
    He stepped onto the glass and an eruption of sounds unlike anything he had ever heard pierced the ongoing silence. The floor beneath his feet burst into feelings of pain and agony he had never been able to imagine. It cracked beneath his feet and every new splinter of glass ran fresh with thick streams of blood. He stumbled back into the ruble, clutching his bleeding ears, he doubled over in shocks of white hot agony. The ruble itself remained unchanged, and as he drug himself fully onto it the pain was sloshed away like water thrown from a bucket.
     He laid there gasping in spasms, unable to pull himself together.
It was the sudden lack of torturous sounds that urged him to open his eyes. What had been a field of fiery terror and bloodied screams was now painfully empty. The floor had become flooded up to his knees in spiritless water that rested over the thorns of shattered glass. He thought sarcastically to himself 'more glass- fantastic.' But as quickly as it had come, the thought was gone. He felt as if the very space in his brain was being pulled out from his ears and fed to the empty walls.  The blood drifted through the water in ribbon like strings, refusing to dissolve.  
    The place he looked out at was painful, but in a new way. It was so empty. He gazed out into the hazy grey, overwhelmed by the cold that drifted around him. The only way he could begin to come to terms with what he was seeing was to guess that this was what happened after a long term round of what he had first experienced only moments ago. After so much-something breaks, something is missing, stolen, and it leaves a shell that becomes a cage, littered with the remains of what once sheltered hope and humanity. He had never imagined that anything could be worse than the torture of what he had seen moments ago, but now he knew without a doubt. This was what should be feared.
'I can't wake up.'
He stumbled back in surprise at the sound of a voice. It seemed like so long since he had heard one that wasn't screaming. Not that this brought much comfort. He'd take the screams that bloodied his ears-all the screams in the world- over the dead cold that echoed around him now.
The figure that spoke was wiped clear of any real detail, it appeared like the tattered remains of a sheet-or perhaps, the defeat of something that had once been so pure.
He heard his voice inch out, "What do you mean?"
The spirit itself was too incomplete to cry but the feeling it gave off sent him down onto his knees in grief.
'Without a soul, it seems I've been sleeping a thousand years. This is worse than nothing, and far worse then something.'
  "I don't understand." He gasped out, "how can I help you-"
  'I can't wake up.'
  "Please-."
  `Save me, wake me up.'
  "But-how" He fought his way up from the ground and began inching his way forward.    "...Who are you?"
  ' Before I'm not whole enough.'
    Panic found its way into his voice, "W-what do you mean- what will happen to you?" He reached out to the spirit but it drifted back, kneeling over the water and staring into the tears it could no longer make. It bundled up on the floor like a pile of old scraps and asked a favor.
  'Don't let me die here. Not here.'

With a jolt, he focused in on a familiar room, and the distorted appearance of someone he knew all too well. Locked into the disturbingly dark eyes that had once looked just like his own, fear hatched him a new idea. Something he had never thought of. What if this was all that was left of his brother? What if he had already endured all he could and now...was gone for good.
The shell of his brother's body looked up at him through hair the color of dead coals. His brother's hair, when he was alive, had always been ridiculously gold, with a tint of what could only be described as copper. 'This is not my brother...This is not Will....'
A sharp sting snapped up his arm from the palm of his hand. Looking down he could see where he had pressed in the piece of glass. The cut swelled crimson and began throbbing madly. He was awake.
"Quint?"
The voice that drifted from that empty box broke a shutter down his spine. He gripped his hand tight, causing the pain to escalate.
"I'm sorry."
He couldn't find it in himself to respond to his brother's inhabitant, not even to rebuke him with an insult. His whole body ached with the panic and guilt that began to swarm in his throat and leak down into his stomach. One thought threw itself round, and around in his mind until he found himself fleeing from the room. He broke through the door and stalked down the hall into the kitchen.
  "Quint...?
  Ignoring his family's concern, he shoved the door aside, letting the icy air and thick darkness swirl around him. His hand pulsed, his heart throbbed, and his head swam- drowning in unspeakable doubt. Gripping his hand tighter he broke into a run, his feet beating just as loud as his heart, his head, his hand...
His breath stained the air in a white haze, like the haze that now stained his brother's mind.
He thought of the creature he had seen, folded into itself. He could hear its ragged voice, begging him to promise.
'Don't let me die here.
             not here.' .....
It had to be Will. Quint sucked in his breath and changed directions. He flew down the road, his mind leading him to the only place left to look for help...
All the while a single voice in his head repeated, over and over, what he had never wanted to hear.
'What if you can't get his soul back...'
Introducing Quinton and William Tepen~ the asyian twins...
This is...
completely random and shabby....
But I needed to save it from the vile thieving hands of my bugged up computer, and this is the only safe place....
:iconotlplz:
© 2012 - 2024 juliette-de-lamour
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Eremitik's avatar
This is a start of a short story?