Ian And 'It'

Ian And 'It'

Status: In Progress

Genre: Science Fiction

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Status: In Progress

Genre: Science Fiction

Houses:

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Summary

Ian has been dealing with 'it' for the longest time. Painful visions every week, ones he has to go through with. All pain for him, others seem to feel nothing. But what is 'it'? A blessing or a curse? Telepathy or something else?
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Summary

Ian has been dealing with 'it' for the longest time. Painful visions every week, ones he has to go through with. All pain for him, others seem to feel nothing. But what is 'it'? A blessing or a curse? Telepathy or something else?

Chapter1 (v.1) - I

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: February 22, 2017

Reads: 54

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: February 22, 2017

A A A

A A A

Trembling, I force myself to look up, to meet my own gaze. I know what happens to me; I know I can't run away or ignore it, but I don't know why. Why does it happen to me? Why can't I stop it? Why didn't it happen to someone who knows what to do with or about it? Why? Why? Why?

I only see a glance of my green eyes before it happens. No harm is ever done to others when I do it to them, so why does it give off excruciating pain when I do it to myself? I am probably one of the only ones it happens to, considering the fact that I don't really know what it is.

Everything goes white, and I let out a scream. A scream of terror. A scream of pain. But I know... I know from many previous experiences that nobody can help, even if they tried. And I can't run away from it- it is a part of me. I can't run away from myself; I've tried so many times, and I've learned that it isn't worth the effort.

The blinding white turns into a nightmare. Well, not yet, but I know it will. It always does for me. I can't control it on myself, but on anyone else I have full control. I can make them do or think whatever I want. But even when I use it to brighten someone's day, or make the local baker have a heart and give so pastries to the homeless; it always makes sure I get my share. But my share is always horrendous.

What will go wrong this time? I can't ever tell. I'm in a small village; the huts mad of wood with straw roofs. A good ten homes, I conclude. Villages ususally got plagued in this time period, I'm sure of it. But it will be something else, I'm pretty positive- no, certain of it.

Coughing, a young maiden walks up to me, holding a small child. But the people - in this case, the villagers - never interact with me when I am sucked into these alternate universes (I assume that'ss what they are).

"Please....take my sister... I.. i just want her to be... safe," she says, as if there's a frog in her throat, it's ribbets escaping in coughs. The little girl, blonde and tanned, doesn't seem to be infected with whatever virus her sister, and the rest of the village, have. But she is crying her eyes out, like she knows exactly what's going on. And why. Holding out my arms, I have a sad smile, and she hands me the child. "Thank you," she croaks, and trudges away.

"Shh... It's okay," I whisper, calmly. Being an older brother myself, I know how to calm babies. I gently lay her head against my chest, craddling it. Next thing I know, she's on the ground, still. Dreadfully still. But that is the point, really. She is no longer that beautiful child. No longer helpless. She doesn't even seem to be a thing anymore.

Crying out, I try to stop the blood cascading down my arm. I never get hurt while it is used. Emotionally, sure, but not physically. The purple-scaled thing.. a monster in disguise, it used to be; but I brought out its true form. I sink to my knees, feeling the poison from its yellow fangs course through my body. Everything burns, my throat and shoulder the most. Coughing, I start to sweat, and it's as if I'm being turned inside-out. How did that poor lady walk? 

Just before I feel like I will definately die from the demon's venom, everything goes black... the end. As always, in the darkness, something appears in my hand; glowing a flourecent green, but a blur. So I know it's there, but I don't know what it is.. yet. But the whole experiance this time was different. Something else is bound to be different.

"Ian," a disembodied voice said suddenly. "As you may have noticed, these visions of yours are getting more realistic... more deadly."

"Who are you? Why are you here? what is this all about?" The voice lets out a deep laugh, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Ian... Ian... Ian..." it says slowly. What is up with his, or its, manner? "Those aren't the questions you should be asking me. you shouldn't be asking me anything, actually."

"But-" Why does he keep cutting me off?

"You should be asking yourself," it continued, "'Why am I here? Who am I? What is this all about?' Think about it." He gives another ominous laugh.

"But one of the questions are easy," I complain, "I am Ian. The others you need to answer."

"If 'Ian' is really the only thing you can say to answer that, then you obviously don't know who you are. As for the others, you'll have to figure it out.... I could easily tell you, sure, but then you won't know your full story. And without knowing your full story, it will literally kill you."

"And if this is true, how long do you suppose I have before it kills me?" My voice shakes, but I really don't care. "What happens if I succeed?"

"NOw, didn't we just discuss the questions? Ah, fine... I will tell you this; you have a bout two months, and you'll see what happens if you succeed."

Two months is a lot of tiem. This should be easy. Next thing I know, the darkness is gone., I'm back to my bathroom, back to sensical things, and away from terror for the next week. Gripping the sides of the sink, I let the tears fall.  It's all I can do to keep from screamin aat the top of my lungs,to keep from worrying my mother, to keep from scaring Izzy. To not have dad come breaking the door down and attacking me. My head is down, light red hair covering my face. 

Knock! Knock! "Ian!" I hear the worried voie of my mother. REally, one of the last voices I want to hear right now. "Is everything alright?"

"Uh, yeah mom. Why?" I reply,as if everything actually is. 

"You've been in the bathroom for so long. I was getting worried." These are times that I'm glad I can totally disguise my voice. My mother just cares way too much. She wouldn't understand what I'm going through; and she might go to scientists if I tell her. 

"No mom. I'm fine. I swear."

"Okay then, Ian. You do know you can tell me if anything is wrong, right?"

"Yeah, I do. If something was off, I'd tell you. I promise." Well, promise already broken, but what can one do about it? Wiping the tears from my face, I once again look up at my eyes, careful not to use it again. 

"....Alright, if you say so," mom says doubtfully. I hear her footsteps fade away; finally alone again. But why did I have to cry? I can't go out there looking like this! My puffy, red eyes will betray my reassuring manner. Mom will think I'm depressed for crying with no obvious reason behind it. I don't need help, I am totally sane. As of right now. Maybe I can dart to my room. The problem is, my room is upstairs, I am downstairs. Even if I walk with my head at the ground, it will still seem like something is wrong. 

Suddenly, I'm on the floor, my head pounding from its collision with the bathtub. The door lays on my chest, and I'm panting. 

A tall man, slim yet strong, glares at me. His bald head shines as the light hits it. Crying can be heard in the distance, and he and I both know it is caused by him. The black-bearded drunk man. My father. 

"Ian!" he screams, louder than a helicopter's propellers. I'm serious, is he trying to break my eardrums?

"No need to yell," I spit, "I'm right bellow you!" M cheek tingles from his hand, and I'm pretty sure there is a red mark. Now, you would think, why not call the cops? Simply put... I don't know why. Why does mom stay with him? Why is it me he always goes at? Don't get me wrong, I'll kill him is he so much as yells at mom or Izzy, but I'm not his punching bag. 

"Don't talk back to me, young man. Keep it up and I swear I'll-"

"You'll what? Kill me when I can only blink and barely speak? When I'm cornered? Honestly, what kind of sick junkie are you? No wonder why your ex-wife and kids left you. I can't believe mom is-" he gives me a slap on the oposite cheek. Harder this time. So much more force and effort. 

That's it. I'm done with him. How can a father be so.. so abusive towards his son?  Locking eyes with him, his cold blue eyes seem like a blade peircing through my skull. 

The process is different with others. No lightness before horror, no darkness before normality. It all happens, in a flash, really. Just stare,summon it, and manipulate. That's how it seems to me, but it's probably much more complex. 

Keeping a staring contest, I start to mumble exactly what I want him to do, except in first person. "I will take the door off of Ian, then carry him to his room with no harm. Then I'll go to Tracey, and tell her about what I did to my son. I'll say 'goodbye' to Izzy, then go get some help."

As usual, his eyes turn yellow, one sign I know he's in a trance. Lifting up the door, easily, he apoplogizes. That was not part of it. I have a feeling I need to undo it, something else could be added, or possibly taken away. But he already had his back towards me, walking away.

* * *

I can't believe Ian doesn't know, Jason thinks, smirking. Honestly, where did his son think he got it? There was only one reason Jason apologized; to show Ian that it doesn't work on him. Looking at hs son. Jason has a deadly stare, and knows that Ian is trying to use it. Being older, his father knows exactly how it works, all of the tricks and secrets. Jason's is way stronger.

"I'll punch myself as hard as I can in the face until I pass out. When I wake up, I will apologize to my father, then forgive him for harming me," he murmurs.

Ian does just that. One punch after another, eyes swolen and lips busted open, blood pooring from his nose, until he is relieved from the pain. Jason, being a better father than he acts, picks up Ian. "I love you, Ian," he hoarsely whispers into his son's ear. It is so quiet that Jason himsels is unsure of if he actually said it. 

I don't want him to suffer, Jason thinks. He has had enough of that, and I must try to stop it.Jason hurridly, yet carefully, carries his son up to his room. One step,two step, don't drop him, he thinks all the way up.

Layin his son on his bed, Jason sighs. "Ian," he whispers, running a hand through his son's hair. "I will teach you. I will save you. I will be a better father." All Ian had really done when he used it on his father was stop him from being drunk. It has always worked like that. Tricks his brain into functioning properly. 

WIth his index fingers, Jason opens his son's injured eyelids, purple and dark blue, and used it on him.

"I will be healed when I wake up," Jason says. Slowly, Ian's face starts to heal, and his father walks out the door. Shutting the door behind him, Jason makes his way to his wife, to apologize, to swear he is sober - and will be from now on. 


© Copyright 2017 Emroni Masepp. All rights reserved.

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