Realities

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

On a bench within a lonely park, a man wakes up unable to regain his memory and suddenly alone in this world. Realizing that he is alone, he is awaited by his own darkest past in the alleyways of this eerie city.

(Reminder: This has some very dark and controversial themes and contexts in this piece. If you get offended/triggered at this level of content, you know what to do.)

There was a man who once always wore a fedora hat as he walked many places for countless years. This man strange to most sheep, was understood by few for who he was.

The man in the fedora woke up on a bench, in the middle of a cold night. He stood in slight confusion of where he was, a bottle of scotch in a brown bag and a letter in a wooden box across from him.

He walks to the box and grabs the letter as he reads the cursive writing. “Watch out, the gap is a separate reality. I know when you are sleeping and taste the delicious torment inside you—J”.

Shrugging, he takes the bottle to enjoy a large swig. He walks to the nearest street, drinking along the way. The bottle cap falls on the floor, echoing across and down the alley.

 He noticed something odd, something strange at exactly 11:59 pm. There is not a soul roaming amongst the streets. As he moves, a door sign swings back and forth. It is the only hint of sound within this isolated street.

Not a car parked on the street and all shops closed, except for one. A restaurant illuminates under a streetlight, the man walks towards it. He walks to the window and peaks inside, a man and woman dining together sitting within a lonely restaurant.

 He opens the door and walks inside. The door shuts itself to close, the couple quickly turns their heads and stare at him. A brief silence is shared amongst them.

Then, the man wakes up on the bench again. He is on the same street, perhaps intoxicated and eventually passed out. He looks at his watch, it is still 11:59 pm. Feeling strange, he takes a large swig to brush it out of his chemically fused mind.

 Yet, he can’t stop thinking of the letter and who is ‘J’. He sees the same restaurant illuminating in the distance, as it is yet still the only place open within the alienated street.

He notices blood dripping on his face, it is all over his hair. He looks up and sees the number ‘12’ on the wall, he looks at the watch as it is 12am. Wiping the blood off his hair and face, he hears a howl from behind.

He turns around as his eyes are cast to a dark shadowy figure. Tall with dark red eyes glowing as it burns into the man’s mind. He is shunned within its sight as the figure shifts towards him and vanishes.

The man wakes on the bench once again, this time with a broken bottle dripping with blood. “John!”, a deep voice utters.

The figure appears into his eyes, rising many feet above him. He grabs John and slams him to a wall and screams into his face. His vision blackened from the scream, he wipes his eyes and is in front of the restaurant.

‘I am me and me only, yet is you really the only you?’ the voice rings within John’s mind. The phrase pierces inside of him, becoming darker and aggressive every time he moves a step closer to the restaurant. Visions of a distorted unhuman face rapidly shake within his vision, unable to see ahead.

His mind flashes with inhumane and horrifying images. A room with a wooden bed appears, there is a boy and a man inside. The boy backs quickly into a corner as the man undoes his belt and pants. The door slams shut, a terrifying scream echoes underneath the door crack. The screaming becomes louder and louder as the child begs him to stop the pain.

‘WHO IS YOUR DADDY YOU LITTLE SLUT?’, the man yells.

‘PLEASE NO! I AM SORRY!’ the boy screams

The boy cries in severe pain as the man can be heard breathing loudly, the wooden bed inside rocks more and more. John realizes the boy is him.  A vision of his own memory, a time of unfortunate abuse from a kidnapper.

John sees the face of the abuser, a famous face he recognizes. Stanley Wallace, a politician who viciously lusted for boys. The vision distorts itself as he speaks to John.

‘You are nothing but a little fuckdoll you hear me? Who is your daddy you bitch?’

John sees another vision of his younger self, his youthly face bloodied and beaten. His eyes convey pain and a silent cry for help. The eyes begin to glow bright red as it screams within Johns's eyes.

He breaks down to the ground, crying as he is reliving his tragic past. His tears flow through the streets as he slowly breathes his pain. John finally reaches the restaurant once more. He opens the door and enters.

The couple inside the restaurant is Stanley and a girl with him, eating a meal. He is acting inappropriately with her, putting his hand inside her dress as she uncomfortably keeps pushing him away.

John pulls a gun from his pocket and points at Stanley.

‘Go ahead, do it. You know you want to’ said the voice in John’s head.

The lights in the restaurant fade to black for a few seconds as flashes from the gun brighten the dark room.

The lights illuminate again as Stanley and the girl are dead; bullets impaled inside their bleeding corpses. He looks at his gun, smoke flows out of the barrel. Police barge into the door and shoot John to death.

The figure stares into the eyes of John at the corner of the room, aggressively laughing. He transforms into an orb-shaped entity and lunges itself into John’s mind.

He wakes up once more on the same bench. Realizing he is a ghost, trapped within an eternity of punishment. By committing murder, his own revenge from the pain he endured is forever his own burden. Banished into living the same cycle countless times, he wakes up and shoots himself. Yet he goes back to that very bench, the bench of realties.

 

 


Submitted: April 30, 2021

© Copyright 2021 Raoul Perseus. All rights reserved.

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