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Beckoning Daises- Chapter 1

Short story By: lordjeremiah77
Young adult



Bree Locker grew up in a world with a mystery that has befuddled the entire human race for decades. They cannot look up; if they do, they instantly die. With seemingly no way to figure out the reason as well as the fact that any one who tries to figure it out meets the same terrible fate, humanity goes back to their normal way of living; all the while filled with the sense of indefinite ill-ease at there predicament. Bree, having grown up in this world, is filled with hate for these people who have all but given up hope; Even so, she wants no part in making life any better, feeling more comfortable taking refuge from reality inside of her hate filled mind. Unfortunately for her, fate has other plans.

Rated R for cursing and potentially disturbing thoughts.


Submitted:Nov 18, 2013    Reads: 11    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


Prologue-

There is nothing, "they" destroyed it, they devastated this once flora filled field of fertility. All hope is lost, I am all that is left of centuries worth of productivity; though I have to say, it didn't amount to much in the end. I walk over the ash ridden plains, searching for any sign that I might not be left alone in this desolate world.

Admittedly, if I was being honest with myself, I am hoping against life at the moment. It is so calm now, there is nothing to boggle down my thoughts, nothing to interrupt my solitude. Even the wind is as dead as the world I once knew, as if it knew there was no longer any reason to cool down my species' sweat beaded faces.

"They deserved it" I thought to myself; "they were all idiots, every last one of them; it was there own fault for being so foolish."

If my brother was still alive he'd have said something like, "C'mon sis, it's not their fault, it's human nature to do things that they're told not to." Well, it may be human nature to disobey, but I place myself above the rest of the mind-numbingly obnoxious pieces of evolved monkey feces known as the human race. At least monkeys have the sense to not go and fucking build the god-forsaken corpse field their useless bodies are piled up in. Granted, monkey's weren't "their" target; and also the rotting flesh on the ground served at least some purpose; hey, they keep the flys off me. But you gotta think, how idiotic can you be, the rules of this world are beat into you from the time you're bawling about your entrance into it to the time you're bawling over your exit. It's mind-numbingly easy to remember. If you don't want to die; don't look up. Welp, we sure fucked that up now didn't we?

Before I go on let me warn whoever may be reading this piece of shit story I'm writing out of sheer desperation for anything to keep my mind from going completely insane. You might be an alien, you might be the evolved form of an unholy pairing between a panda bear and a penguin, I don't give a shit; I just thought I'd warn you, at present I'm writing this in a journal full of maggots and other miscellaneous food, so parts of it might be smudged by my maggot crunched saliva. Just thought I'd warn ya before I start to tell you about how this beautiful world came to be and why I'm the only one here to enjoy its many pleasures. You see it all started with my little sister's beloved teddy bear and a bad case of social anxiety in a fish…

Chapter 1-

"Bree Noel Locker, how many times do I have to tell you that your socks go in the hamper young lady?" My mom's tear-inducing shrieks bellow from the pit of the underworld otherwise known as "downstairs".

"None if you had any sense in you, you belligerent siren woman" I respond, knowing full well my well versed vocabulary and knowledge of things unrelated to cooking products would only infuriate the one thing keeping me from the solitude of my room.

"You listen here young lady, I AM YOUR MOTHER, I bust my hump every day trying to-..." her annoyingly piercing voice drowns out into the beautiful sounds of angry men screaming about death and chaos. Just the thing to calm my nerves.

For a moment I am at peace, l let the heavenly serenade slowly come over my body as I let myself relax. God-scratch that-Satan knows I can't take a damn second to myself before some poor soul dares enter my labyrinth of CD's, trash and various tools of death scattered across my "floor"; the floor in quotation marks because you can't actually see it any longer. It's meant to be sort of a moat to impeded any trespassers from coming into my dark castle of a room.

Of course, this preventative measure rarely did much good unfortunately, as my little sister had far too much guts for her own good. I had already made bets with my dad as to when she was going to look up, I figured it couldn't take much longer than one year, but my dad was a little more optimistic, big softy that he was. He thought she would at least make it to her teenage years. At the moment, I was considering winning that bet immediately, by throwing her out to the streets and daring her to look up. My sister will do just about anything if you dare her to. Some people may call that moxie, I call it being drunk whilst in the womb. My father had already confirmed this, my mom was an absolute wreck about bringing a child into this hell of a world; therefore getting fucked out of your mind on alcohol was the only logical option available to her. She was right of course, she shouldn't of let another soul into this bloody hellish mess of a world, but she was too "holy" to do the smart thing and get an abortion.

My mother is heavily religious, more so than any other half-brained sheep people that I happen to know; and that's saying something. Why religion even exists in this world anymore boggles my mind, if there was a deity somewhere out there, he's clearly forgotten about us. Maybe he's out getting hammered like my mom, wondering why he made pieces of shit children like us. That would certainly explain our current predicament. Maybe this is his last ditch effort to clear up his little "mistake."

Sometimes I think we're the product of a one-night stand of some slutty hooker angel and god, he stays upstairs working on his porn documentary and we're left down here to rot. Then when we made too much noise he finally decided to send down his goodie-two shoes son down to shut us the hell up, but ultimately he just made us louder. And instead of spanking his son like a normal parent, god instead used the wood from his "heavenly rod" to make a cross for him to fucking burn to death on. Yeah, my views on god are a little…"skewed", I'll admit. But hey, it's his own fault for bringing me into this hell of a life.

So yeah anyways...got a little side tracked there...let's get back to the little fire-cracker of a sister (when I say fire-cracker I say it cause she's literally going to go up in flames when she finally takes the plunge and look into the sky) little miss Hope Locker. Hope is such an ironic name for someone who has none, I'm aware, but I digress. She came bumbling into my room like the inchworm she was and yelled out at me "HEY SIS, YOU SEEN JIGGLEBELLY??"

Jigglebelly was her decapitated bear pal I mentioned as being one of the two catalysts for the harbingers of the destruction of the planet I mentioned earlier, it was her favorite thing in the world. As to her question, I honestly couldn't say, or rather I wouldn't. My dimwitted younger sister was the one person who could irritate me enough for me to actually lose control; and it was for this very reason her pseudo-mammal friend was at the moment keeping my toes warm in this eternal blizzard hell we found ourselves living in. At the moment I dropped it in my blazing furnace, I finally realized what my sister saw in it; it looked quite cute engulfed in flames.

"C'mon sis, I know you have it. Just tell me where it is."

I thought about how to respond to my sister for a second. For a second I felt a brief feeling of compassion; but then I remembered her shrieking vocal cords and how I hated her more than life itself.

"He's dead, if you wanna follow after him, go jump in the furnace, I wouldn't mind." I responded, waiting for the sweet sound of that gulp she always made before bawling like the baby-child she was. It didn't come. I looked up at her; she might as well be a corpse. Her dead expressionless eyes caught me off guard and I was just about ready to apologize, when my mom came in with a basket full of clean clothing. She looked ready to murder me.

"Sigh...I hate my life" I think to myself as I await the hurricane of nonsensical speech patterns my mother makes when she's angry. "Oh well, at least there's always a quick way out."

I look up at my ceiling and considered my mortality and how much it was actually worth.





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