Lived Earth

The alarm screamed, dragging him out of his deep slumber. With a groan he reached out to it, fumbling to switch it off, and knocking it to the floor in the process. It lapsed into silence. He closed his eyes.
His head was still pounding from last night's party when he opened his eyes again. The clock showed 10.30. F*ck, he cursed softly. Late again. The light from the tube-light blinded him as he sat up. Something flashed across his computer screen, off to his right. Someone had pinged him on gtalk, U der?. He ignored it, no time for that.
The tv was on in the living room. The words 'Live Earth' flashed across it. S.O.S. Answer the call of the Earth. Conserve water, switch off electrical devices when not in use. A packet of chips lay on the floor. He picked it up, dumped the remaining contents into his mouth and dropped the packet back onto the floor.
He splashed water from the tap in the bathroom onto his face. It was cold but he was used to it. The tap ran as he brushed his teeth and shaved. Pulling a bucket under it, he let it fill and went back into the living room. The Live Earth concert was still running on tv. Solemn music drifted from it, with pictures of animals being slaughtered, and forests being cut down. There was a cow locked up in a cage, and a man outside with a scalding hot brand. The animal screamed in agony at its touch. The scene moved on to show the man assaulting it from behind with large pliers. He cut at its testicles, brutally savaging it, while the animal struggled with debilitating pain inside its confines.
He pulled out a beer can from the fridge and sat down in front of the tv. A joint lay on the table, a lighter conveniently placed next to him. Drugs and beer, and live music. He sat back in peace, eyes closed, letting his head spin. Pale smoke billowed from his mouth. Tossing the beer can and stub aside, when he was done, he went back to the bathroom. Water was flowing from the bucket, large amounts running down the drain. A glance at the clock told him it was already 11. Too late for a bath. He could always come back and have one. He tossed the cold water down the drain and switched the heater on. He went back to his room, sprayed copious amounts of deo on him, pulled a shirt over him and left.
It was cloudy outside. Clouds of vapor filled the sky, and clouds of smoke filled whatever was between the sky and the roads. To his right stood a towering building, a few blocks away. Work, he sighed, damn internship. What work has a kid got in a huge building like that. It seemed a nice day to walk, no sun in the sky, a cool breeze blowing across. He looked at his watch, and then at the car parked near the gate.
Live Earth was running on the radio. He blared his horn and then sat back. A gust of smoke billowing into his car made him wind up the windows and switch on the a/c. The road outside was packed with cars. He saw a man on the side walk. Old and decayed, he lay across it. Flies covered his face and naked body, forming a moving carpet over him. The man rolled over to his side, but the flies hung on, delving into his wrinkled skin, entering his ears and nose. A sharp knock on his window caused him to start. He turned to it with an irritated expression. A woman stood outside, holding a crying child against her. One of her arms ended abruptly in a stump, and the other was held out towards him, the palm cupped, in askance for money. The child had no clothes, and was screaming, clutching its mother. Her eyes widened with expectation as his hand reached into his pocket. With a mocking grin, he pulled out a cigarette from it, lit it and drove off. His hands worked busily at the keyboard. Everytime someone important walked by, he quickly minimized the gtalk windows. He glanced impatiently at the clock every five minutes. Three minutes to one o clock. Two minutes. Aah, screw it. He walked to the office canteen, dumped a bunch of chicken pieces onto his plate and sat down at an empty table. His phone beeped. The message read - Hey man. Chung's. Comin? He replied - sure gimme 5 mins. Dumping the plate in the wastebin, he left the building.
They sat back, completely sated. Bowls of noodles and rice still remained on the table, but their bulging bellies couldn't take more. It was almost 4 by then. He looked around at his friends with an impish grin. They all knew what it meant. They grinned back.
All four windows were open, wind whipping their hair, Live Earth blaring from the stereo, as he sped down the road. An old man was walking slowly on the side, off to his right. He slowed down, just enough for someone to lob an egg from behind, out of the car and onto the man's bald head. He accelerated after that, all of them roaring with laughter.
It was 7 when they stopped by at 'stones'. The pub was playing heavy metal. Drugs filled the air, along with the smell of chicken and beer. They sat down on sofas, taking in the atmosphere and reveling in it. Rounds of drinks came and went, and their mind flew on clouds off smoke and liquor.
It was past midnight when he got back home. The tv was still alive. The light in his room was on, and gtalk messages kept coming in. Head spinning, he dropped onto his bed and drifted off into sleep, lips curled in a smile. Earth was a fun place to be in.

High Hopes

"Are you sure you can ride me back?" he asked.
"Of course, I'm perfectly alright. And the roads are empty. It's 2am now," replied Shriek.
"Well you're obviously feeling something, I mean, how many did you have?" he inquired.
"9 shots or so. I'v done more and gone at 100kmph before."
"It's not only the liquor that has an affect you know. How many-"
"As many as you did," Shriek cut him off. "Why is that so bad?"
"I'm not the one driving."
He sat behind Shriek. It wasn't anything fancy that Shriek rode. He picked up speed quickly on the deserted streets. The engine roared, shouting out louder as Shriek switched gears. Faster and faster they went, and faster yet as he switched. Shriek had a helmet on, but he didn't. The wind whipped through his long hair, and he could see the shadow it threw on the streets, flying back and waving madly. He was feeling it, floating in space. The myriad colours of the street lights blurred and bounced. It was chilly in the night, and the cold wind bit through his t-shirt. That was even more exhilirating. He felt cold fingers reach up under his shirt, trying to lift him off. There were goose bumps on his skin. Slowly he raised his arms on either side, letting himself go. A scream of joy broke through his lips. Was that smoke coming out of his mouth? He screamed again, trying to clear out his lungs, and remove the stuff from them. Drops of liquid formed at the corner of his eyes, as the wind stung them. Bending forward, he looked into the speedometer.
"You're doing 60? It sounds like 120!" he screamed into Shriek's ear.
"Give me a better bike," Shriek yelled back. "Like that!"
A black motorbike pulled up at the signal next to them. Majestic and sleek, it made Shriek's look like a pony. Across it, in huge golden letters were written the words- Royal Enfield. It shot ahead like a bullet as the signal changed.
"Nice pick up," he said grinning.
"It's not just about pick up. It's about control," Shriek said, hot after it's trail.
They drew closer, winding through the occasional truck, just behind the Enfield. Everything was a blurry streak to him, he could see only the Enfield. The speedometer was alive, clocking well past 70.
They touched 80. He could feel his heart beating fast.
90. Blood pumped through his arteries, rushing to his head, carrying copious amounts of alcohol.
100. He tilted his head back, closing his eyes. Colours swirled around inside him.
110...120...He could feel the road beneath, as the wheels flew over tar. Every bump, every depression.
"Why is he stopp- FUCK! That's a speed breaker." Shriek's screech was barely a whisper to him. He felt the brakes being applied, and then the wheels skidding. They tilted to the right. WHAM Pain lanced up his groin...
And then they flew. He opened his eyes then, and the whole world had turned. Open sky was on his left, road on his right. For a moment things seemed content to stay like that. And then gravity took over.
The road sped towards them. Shriek fell off on the bounce, but he was still on. An insane grin broke across his face. The bike landed again, trapping a leg under it. Momentum carried it forwards, tearing across the ground, pulling him with it. The sickening sound of metal screaming filled his head, and sparks shot off from the bike. His body bounced uselessy behind like a rag doll, blood sprouting from various parts. His leg was shredded to bits, chunks of skin torn off by the rough road. Heat seared through him, debilitating. A hysterical laughter took him, even as he coughed up thick blood. A stone rushed towards his face, impaling his eye, and pulling it free. Pain, screaming, piercing pain wracked him. The flesh had been completely peeled off his leg and bone remained under, scraping against road. And then he was free, rolling across tarmac, as the bike kept going. His trapped leg had given, and all that remained was a bloody stump. Raw bone jutted out from it's end, covered in pus and blood. His body was torn everywhere, a hundred bloody smiles painted all over him. And all he could do was laugh and enjoy the experience.
"Here you go," announced Shriek.
They had stopped in front of his gate. He tried getting off, but there was a sharp, shooting pain through his leg. Suddenly he felt like he was on fire, and his body felt like it had been sliced in several places.
"Told you i would get you home," Shriek was saying, "safe and sou-" he paused, staring wide eyed. "Is that blood on your face? What's going on? Why are you grinning like that. You're friggin bleeding man!"
"It's nothing. Just enjoying the high!"

Conundrum

Her dress was exquisite, red and silky, cut low around her bosom, leaving very little to the imagination. It was a bare-back, but her long, lustrous, black hair covered it. She sipped her wine as she talked to the host, bringing the glass to her lips slowly, and gently tasting the liquid. He sauntered up to them, looking impeccable in his suit, with his bronze hair combed back neatly. She was sharing a joke with the host as he approached, laughing with her head thrown back. The perfect time to join in the conversation. He laughed too, not knowing what the joke was about.
She whipped her head about, her face still full of mirth, and looked at him. Her beauty struck him hard, and for a moment he forgot what he was supposed to say.
"I'm sorry, i hope I'm not interrupting anything. I just couldn't help but overhear," he said, a sardonic smile playing on his lips.
"Oh, that's alright," she gave him a quick look, and turned back.
"I'm Icarus by the way," he said quickly, holding his hand out. It was her turn to smile now. She took the hand.
"Interesting name. I'm Natalie."
"I should have expected that of someone so pretty as yourself." It was a cheesy line, but at least he had got her attention now. The gambit had played off. They started talking and he couldn't help but regard her. She was so perfect, everything a man could ask for. Pale blue coloured eyes looked back at him, captivating. Her pouty lips danced seductively as she talked. With great difficulty, he managed to pull his eyes off her face, and they wandered downwards. Her dress hugged her, stretched taut around her curves. Around her neck was a chain, with a miniature carving of an obelisk hanging from it, nestled protectively in her breasts.
"I got that in a flea market," she said, her voice snapping him out of his reverie. He berated himself for the slip-up. He looked back up at her face, at those eyes again, eyes that seemed to be looking right into him, studying his reaction.
"It looks like its worth a fortune though," he remarked, his face impassive. Her gaze still held him, and she smirked. A hint of doubt crept into him. Maybe she did know how to harness the power of the obelisk talisman. It was an ancient artifact, capable of imparting to its wielder the ability to predict the future, if used correctly. He should have been more careful, he had let her read too much into him and predict his actions. But he still had a few tricks of his own up his sleeve.
"Let me fill that up for you," he offered, taking her empty wine glass.
She was standing when he came back, tall and slim. As he walked up to her, with a glass of wine in each hand, she drifted forward, slipping her hand around his waist, and pressing her lips to his. He tried to concentrate, and not lose himself in her, but he relented as he felt her tongue probe the inside of his mouth. Setting the glasses down, he slipped his hands around her as well, one hand losing itself in her soft hair, and the other slowly sliding down her back. Their tongues intertwined, dancing around each other. She pulled out of it just as his hand reached the soft mounds down on her backside.
"Let's go inside," she whispered. A smile flickered across his face as he watched pick up her wine and down it in one go. He could indulge himself before relieving her off the talisman. Gulping his wine down too, he followed her into a room.
It hit him like a hailstone. Everything started spinning, and he reached out to grab a wall to stop himself from falling. Sharp pain lanced through his head, as the poison started taking effect. She had switched the glasses. He looked at her, his anger showing on his face. He could see three of her, standing near three beds, with her dress sliding off her and falling to the floor. His manhood pressed against his pants, and adrenaline surged through him, as he beheld her in all her naked beauty. The chain was still around her neck, the talisman placed between smooth, rounded breasts, calling to him. He had to get it off her, he shouldn't let it fall into the wrong hands. He stepped forwards, lurching towards her. Objects floated up in front of him, shooting towards him and then darting away. His legs tangled themselves, and he crashed to the floor, dizzy. Loud piercing laughter filled his head. He looked up at her, growling with anger and trying to focus, trying to fight off the drug. After the hallucinations, it was death. She was sitting on the bed, her head thrown back in laughter, and her legs spread wide. He concentrated on the obelisk, ignoring the shapes floating around him, the spinning room, the laughter and the blinding pain. Slowly he dragged himself forwards towards the bed.
"Your a strong one. The poison should have done you in by now. But you can't fight off lust." She pulled his head and pressed it between her legs as he reached the bed. His mouth touched her lower lips, course hair covering his face. His tongue came out, brushing past into her and tasting the wetness inside.
NO, he screamed to himself, pulling away from her. The talisman lay there, just ahead. He snatched it from her neck, and rushed unsteadily to the nearest window. Pushing it open, he propped himself up and dropped onto the ground on the other side. The pain had grown worse, and she was screaming out in rage. There as a road ahead, blurred and shaking. He crawled to it, and a car pulled up in front of him. The door opened and a pair of strong hands pulled him in.
"The antidote," he gasped at the faces looking down on him, blurred beyond recognition. He could feel the life drain out of him, as he fought to hold onto to it. A hand pulled the artifact from his grasp.
"Well done," a voice whispered into his ears. Sadistic laughter followed, echoing in his head.
And then the darkness came.

A Change of Seasons

A brown leaf floated in the wind, gently meandering through the air, before it hit his cheek and stuck on to his tear moistened skin. He brushed it off and rubbed his eyes, all the time looking at the little town in the valley below. He sat at the edge of the forest, a place he had found which commanded an unobstructed view of the town, yet, unless you knew the secret path, directly inaccessible from the town. The orcs were going about their days activities as usual, training in the barracks and rebuilding the ruined parts of the town. The gates and walls on the east had been reinforced completely, and almost all the watch towers had been repaired except for the North Tower. Most of the northern regions of the town were still burnt down. He could see the hamlet where he had lived, its charred remains bringing back painful memories. He shut his eyes hard, and gritted his teeth.
"Why did you bring me here?" he asked, voice quivering.
"Because this is your destiny. And it's about time you faced it. No matter what has passed," came the reply.
He could see it like it happened only yesterday. No one had expected the orcs to strike from the treacherous rocky passes out of the North. They had been quick and brutally efficient. His mother had carried him out as the fire arrows struck their house. His father had stood against them, a handful of men with him against the might of a thousand blooded orcs, while the rest of the defences were still being organized in the barracks towards the south.
More tears flowed out, and he pushed the painful memories away. He breathed hard, shaking his head.
"It still hurts, after all this time."
"And it should," said the old man, standing a few feet behind him, "because that's what separates you from them." He pointed towards the orcs. "That's what makes you human. If it didn't hurt, then why live on. You will have nothing to drive you on, nothing to fight for. It's our love for one another, and the pain of loss that gives us a reason to continue."
"But the pain is too much to bear. And it's going to hurt me for as long as i live."
"Stand up to it, and fight it. You have to be strong. Do not ever shirk away from it."
"But I'm too young," he snapped back. "I'm not meant to bear this much pain."
"Young!" the old man exclaimed. "You're older then your brother was. Do you remember your brother?"
He remembered. His mother had screamed for his brother to come out, while she held him in her arms. And when he did emerge from the house, he was dressed fully in mail, with a bronze shield in one hand, and a sword in the other. "I must stay mother. I have to fight," he had told her. "No Baelor. You are too young, son. You're only thirteen years old," she had pleaded, not needing to add the unspoken thought - i don't want to lose you too. But the look he had given her didn't allow for any reasoning. Baelor had turned to him then, and in his eyes he could see uncertainty. "I want you to take care of mother, do you understand me Balron? You're in charge now little one." Tears were running down Baelor's eyes, and he had stretched out his hand to wipe them off. He didn't understand what was happening, but he knew it wasn't good. "Go now!" Baelor had shouted to Mother, "Run!" And as she had run, he had turned back to watch the thin line of defence that had formed up. In the centre stood Baelor and Father, swords at the ready. As the orcs made their charge, they turned towards each other, and embraced each other fiercely.
"You owe it to them at least," said the old man.
He nodded his head, slowly. "And to Mother."
It hadn't taken them long to cut through the meagre resistance. They caught up with mother and yanked her hair back as she ran. He had fallen from her hands, and amidst all the chaos managed to escape the burning town. But he had seen what they had done to her. The way they gutted her, it was too horrific for a child so young.
His blue eyes stared into space, imagining. "Why did this have to happen? Things would have been so much simpler if everything was the way it had been."
"Then where would the fun be? If nothing changed there would be no excitement in life. Variance and change are essential. It keeps us on our toes, it gives us our urgency with which we do things. Everything is changing constantly, and we need to keep up with that change and adapt to it. It could be good or bad depending on how you look at it, but no matter what, there will always be change, wherever you look. You say that things would have been better without change, and you may be right. But do you expect that your family would have lived on forever, immortal and unchanging. They died, and now things aren't the same, and that is something you will have to accept. People keep changing too. One day you think you know someone, and the next day, that very same person, who you have done so much for turns a cold eye towards you, and acts like you're a complete stranger. You would give your life to a person, and maybe that person would to you too, but then before you know, there is a change in that person, and they take your life away as readily as you would have given it to them. Attach some importance to people, feel for them, but don't get too close to anyone. Because someday your closest friend will change over to another side, and that can hurt more than any sword. You'll change too, for better or for worse."
"Never," hissed Balron.
"That's not a choice for you to make."

A brown leaf floated in the wind, gently meandering through the air, before it was grabbed by a mailed fist. Blue eyes regarded it, through a plumed helmet, and then looked at the town below. Everything had changed, and the orcs seemed to have grown in number. The town was totally different. Yet he could see the fires burning, as if it was real. He could hear the cries of his mother, the determination in his brother, and the clash of steel on steel when the orcs collided with his father. He raised his clenched fist high, and then swung it downwards towards the town. Horses rushed past him on either side, down into the valley, waves upon waves of them with armed riders on their backs.
"It's time to change things back." Drawing out his sword from its scabbard, he kicked his horse into motion.

Tears of the Dragon

An alien nation awaited him. A new start, almost. Excitement coursed through his veins. Picking his bags up, and with a large grin across his face, he started towards the gates. Just as he reached them, he stopped. A sudden emptiness filled him, and he realized there was no one by his side. Slowly, he turned around. His parents stood there, some distance away, with smiling countenances. But there were tears, little drops of transparent liquid, making rivulets down their faces. Suddenly he felt lonely. Suddenly, contrary to what he had always been thinking, he knew he didn't belong in that place. Everyone around him was alien, and the only faces he could recognize, the only ones he could ever live with, were those of his parents, but they were going away. He wondered what he was doing there. This was the path he had chosen, and he had been supported by everyone. They said he would be in a great place. They said he would enjoy it. It was something he had come to believe, but now those beliefs seemed to be unstable. Now, he just wanted things to be the way they were. He wanted to go back. He looked at his parents again, but they seemed to be drifting away.
"Wait, don't go. Not just yet. Please," he cried out. He took a step towards them, and then another.
"We can't son. You'll be alright. Don't worry, we will wait for you. We will see you soon." They were still smiling, but the tears came down in torrents.
But how long was 'soon'? When would he see those familiar faces again? When would he see his home? Emotions welled up in him. He fought them, just like always, and suppressed them.
His parents had gone. With stoic resolve, he turned around and walked through the gates, plunging into the alien land.
Decrepit buildings rose around him, decayed over the years by the harsh weather. Home was so much more beautiful than this. He navigated the unknown streets, guided only by a map. There were groups of people everywhere, talking, joking and laughing with each other. He couldn't understand what they were saying. Their speech was totally different from his. For some reason, he felt they were talking about him, and laughing at him. He hurried on, blocking out the sounds of mirth that filled the air.
It was growing steadily darker, and he could feel unfriendly eyes watching him go by, all alone. Every sound seemed to be magnified by the emptiness. Clutching his bags close to him, he closed his eyes, trying to remember the good times, the days of old. Tears welled up inside again, and again he held them back. He wanted to scream out, hoping against hope that things would return to normal if he screamed loud enough. With his emotions still locked up, all that came out was a growl through gritted teeth. His eyes were wide open, and red. He quickened his steps, until he broke into a run. He sprinted as fast as his legs would allow, trying to outrun the loneliness.
Finally, at long last, he reached his destination. A worn down shack, large enough for two people. A lantern burned inside, its flickering light casting eerie shadows on the windows. Stepping up to the door, he pushed it open. He was greeted by the sight of another person, with his two parents. They started talking to him, in a guttural tongue he could not comprehend, and then they stopped when they saw the confused look on his face. He paid them no attention, as he looked around the room. It was dull, with meagre possessions. A dusty cot lay by the corner, old and disused. Dropping his bags, he sat down on it. The other occupants of the room were having a meal, talking and laughing as they ate it. There were fruits and fowl, sweets and juices, all laid out neatly on a cloth. One of them offered him a leg of chicken, and he realised he was very hungry. He declined though, taking out a sandwich from one of his bags, something that his mother had made for him. The noises of happiness from the others played in his head. But he couldn't see anyone. The blank walls glared at him. Everything was so empty. He closed is eyes and bit into the sandwich. When he opened them again, there was no light. The candles had been snuffed out. Two of them slept on the floor, and the third slept on the other cot in the room. Everything was shrouded in darkness. He reached out to hold some one's hand, hoping against hope that someone would be there, someone to reassure him, but there was just emptiness. The sandwich fell from his fingers, and he lay back down on the cot.
Their smiling faces flashed before him, his parents watching him run around when he was a child. The good times came rushing back, the nights of wonder.
And this time he let the tears flow.

Bring your daughter to the slaughter house

In a world torn apart by communal differences and blatant mistrust, wars are commonplace. Tyrants and dictators order their men into battle, yet do not directly take active part in it. A soldier may kill five people from the enemy camp, before he himself gets gunned down, yet the men he kills are armed and are looking to kill him as well. Still, to start a war is unpardonable. But somethings are more unpardonable than others. To slaughter and mutilate the bodies of dozens of unarmed, innocent children is an act so unforgivable that its very occurrence heralds an era darker than any.
And yet, in the face of adversity, in the midst of the most darkest hour, there is always a little pinprick of light, a wick bursting into flames, a hero rising. But for what cost?
A story based on a true incident.

Iledan enjoyed spending the evening under the trees at the edge of the forest, relaxing, and watching the bustling activities of the people of the village below wane away with the sun. The peace and quiet comforted him, and the soft wind that ruffled through his dark hair, and caressed his fair skin clouded his mind with thoughts of a short repose. Slowly, his eye-lids started to droop, and he let out a yawn. Then suddenly, a rap on his head made him start.
"Tag, you're it!" shouted Leyenna, as she ran into the woods, laughing loudly. She glanced back to see if Iledan was giving chase.
Muttering under his breath, Iledan brushed the dust off his black leggings, and ran after Leyenna. Her diminutive frame darted around trees and through bushes, always well ahead of him. She kept glancing back, and when she did, her long red-gold hair whipped across her laughing face, and he had a reason to catch up with her, and hold her. Her screams of joy filled the air, and he shouted out too, and put on a burst of speed. They went on, shouting, laughing, zig-zagging through trees, and jumping over bushes. The sun had almost set, and the forest took on a deep red hue.
They entered the deeper regions of the forest, and Iledan realized that it was steadily becoming darker. He stopped to catch his breath, and looked about to assess his surroundings. He had never been this deep into the forest before, and he knew it was a mistake to be there. The trees were closer here, and looked demonic in the fading light. Massive, gnarled shapes stood sentinel all around him, terrifying and intimidating. But there was something else that was more worrying.
There was absolute silence.
And suddenly Iledan felt scared and alone. He couldn't see Leyenna anywhere. He tried calling out to her, but fear had tied a rope around his neck, and her name came out like a whisper. The image of her face sprang up in his mind, red-gold hair streaking across it. He couldn't turn back, not without her. Slowly and warily, he moved forward, the thought of her keeping him company. Every deliberate step he took sounded as if it would wake up all the shapes around him, and he thought that at any moment they would pounce on him, and consume him alive. Then, after what seemed an eternity, he saw lights up ahead. A large shack came into view, old and antiquated. Flickering pale light emanated from its windows, giving it a ghostly appearance. He edged closer, wondering if the residents of the shack could help him. The dirty walls were scarred and a decayed wooden door, barely hanging on to its hinges, barred the way in. There were cracks in the door, and through them, he could see the room inside. Candles were laid in a circle on the floor, their flames flickering weakly. He couldn't see much in the dim light, but he could discern the silhouette of a large man. Across the room were doors leading off to other rooms. As he laid his hand on the door, to push it open, a shriek of absolute terror filled the air and Iledan recoiled in horror. More cries followed, all coming from within the shack. Cries of pain and fear, and Iledan stood rooted to the spot.
He knew that voice.
He wanted to run back and get help, but he also knew that it would take too long. The cries kept coming, louder and louder. And then, suddenly, the fear within him melted away. He wouldn't stand and wait, nor would he run away. Crouching low, he moved ahead, going around the side of the shack, towards the back. There was a window on the side, dirty and fogged up, and he couldn't see anything through it, but he could see the shadows that played across it, a large one moving back and forth across it, vigorously. And the screams still went on incessantly. Shutting it out of his mind, he ducked under it, and reached the other end of the shack.
The fetid stench hit him hard, almost overpowering. Everything seemed to be spinning, and bile rose to Iledan's mouth. Steadying himself against the wall, he vomited onto the hard earth. He looked around for the source of the foul smell, but all he could see were bags strewn all over the place, small irregular shapes. There was a door leading into the house, and he moved towards it silently.
Crack
Iledan started. He bent down to pick up the hard object he had stepped on. In the pale moonlight, he could clearly see the object, and his eyes opened wide as disgusting realization dawned on him. Sticky crimson marks stained the corroded bone, and violet arteries wove webs around it, embedded in its rough white surface. Quickly he dropped it, his heart beating faster, and then it seemed as if his surroundings had grown brighter. Again he looked around him, and this time he saw what he hadn't seen before. Hideously mangled bodies lay everywhere, the tiny limbs twisted at abnormal angles. They were mutilated beyond recognition, but he knew that they were the children who had gone missing from the surrounding villages, children of his age. Strangely immune, and emotionless, he took in the horrific scenes around him. It was like he was in hell, and the desecrated bodies were the souls of the inhabitants of hell. Only that these were innocent when they were still alive. In some of the bodies, there were gaping holes in the chest and stomach. Intestines leaked out of the dark emptiness inside, long and slimy tendrils. Huge, black rats scurried around in and out of the bodies, gnawing at the dead and dried skin, making abhorrent squishy noises. Some of the bodies had been completely scavenged, and all that was left was the skeleton, dark because of the thin crimson film smeared over it. The empty sockets in the skulls, where the eyes should have been, stared back at him, and white maggots emerged from them. Remnants of the brain could be seen through the sockets, a mass of purple flesh plastered against the inside of the skull. Hands and legs decorated the earth, looking as if they had been forcefully ripped of their respective bodies, and torn muscles and tissues stuck out from the joints. Ants crawled everywhere, boring holes into the flesh of the bodies that still had it, giving them a terrifying cratered look. The screaming in the background added to the horror, and he thought that the bodies would suddenly come back to life, the devil's minions in the flesh, and take him with them into the blood-soaked earth. Leaning against the wall and breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and shut out the scenes, leaving him in darkness with only the screams.
Then he opened them wide.
The screams had stopped.
With grim determination, he hurried to the door and yanked it open. He didn't think there could be anything worse than what he had just witnessed, but when he walked into the room, he knew he was wrong. Dull flickering light from candles cast eerie shadows everywhere. Long chains hung from the ceiling, wicked hooks at it's end glowing red in the dim light. Some of the hooks had bodies impaled on them, drops of semi-coagulated blood dropping from where the hooks had violated the body. On one of them, the torso had separated itself from the neck, possibly due to its weight, and the head remained spiked on the hook. The defiled torso lay below in a pool of viscous blood, part of the spinal cord jutting out of the severed neck. Numerous organs decorated the red floor, livers with green bile oozing out, and stomachs with acid dripping from the holes in them. Deflated lungs lay amongst the decaying organs, and crimson hearts that looked like they were still beating in the inconsistent light. Across the room was the door that he had seen from the front of the shack. He made his way to it, trying hard to avoid the organs that littered the floor.
The door banged open, and a huge figure emerged from the room beyond. It stopped abruptly, and Iledan froze in his tracks, staring at the massive man. Low, rumbling laughter from the man sent shivers own Iledan's spine.
"What a lovely surprise," the man said, his hideous face breaking into a smile, revealing bloody teeth. "Unfortunately, i am done for the day. I will have to save you for later." He put on an apologetic look.
Iledan's eyes darted around the room, searching for a weapon. All emotions had died away, and now he was filled with a desire to extract revenge. He wanted to kill the savage standing before him, and he wanted to see the look in his eyes when he did. He wanted the man to scream, for all the screams he had extracted from his numerous victims. He wanted to hear the man pleading for the life that he did not deserve, an he wanted to stand there in front of the man, and laugh as the man died.
In one of the corners of the room, he saw a bloodied axe, old and blunt. He sprinted across to it, before the man could react. But the axe was too heavy for him, and as he struggled to lift it, the large shadow of the man loomed over him.
"Tsk, tsk. Such disobedience. Didn't your mother ever teach you how to behave nicely?" Massive hands caught hold of the axe and yanked it from Iledan's frail grip. He backed into the corner, suddenly afraid again. The man raised the axe high above his head, and Iledan closed his eyes and covered his face with his arms. The scenes outside flashed before him, and he knew that he would join those dead bodies. He waited for the end, for the axe to crash down on his skull, and kill him. But he wouldn't plead for life, he wouldn't give the man that satisfaction. He wouldn't make a sound.
And then painful screams filled the air.
But they weren't coming from him.
Fire erupted from his hands, dark blue flames striking the man in the chest, and burning a hole right through it. Skin, liquefied by the heat, dropped to the floor, sizzling. Flames sprang up over the man, reaching his face. He continued screaming, clawing at his face, and desperately trying to cover the hole in his chest with his hands. The axe dropped to the floor and he fell down with it.
Iledan stepped back from the flames, staring at his hands with horror. The fear came back, debilitating. Everything he had just witnessed, the blood, the pain, the screams and the deaths, was just too much for him, a thirteen year old. Faces flashed up before him, blood-stained expressions, brutally damaged. He saw a child walk towards him, innocent and untouched. And then suddenly the child started falling apart, pieces of flesh falling off, and blood gushing out of perforations in the child's body. The torso burst open, throwing out ruddy organs, an the face disintegrated. And all the while, there was frightening laughter in the background, and a huge shape overshadowed everything. Then flames sprang up everywhere, and the laughter turned into hideous shrieking. and through the flames a face came into view again, red hair whipping across it.
The man was completely incinerated, and the walls were starting to catch fire. Blinded by tears, Iledan stumbled through the room towards the door. Everything was spinning, and smoke filled the air. He couldn't see clearly, everything was blurred and red. The visions kept playing in front of him, over and over again, and every time, it ended with the red hair.
And then he saw Leyenna on the floor. Her clothes were torn and bloodied. Dropping to the floor beside her, he picked her head up. It was covered in blood, and her eyes stared back at him expressionlessly. The tears were flowing freely now, and he lay down on the ground. Flames crept up all around them, and the heat was intolerable, yet her body was so cold, so lifeless. The visions came back to Iledan again, but this time, the child walking to him was Leyenna. Painfully, he witnessed her destruction.
The room was almost completely burned up.
And then everything went white.