We are...

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a story designed to give a second view. I won't say what on, as that gives away the ending. It was my first short story ever written, and is rather 'abstract'.

Submitted: November 05, 2013

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Submitted: November 05, 2013

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WE ARE...

 

Swirling darkness embraces him. The chilling hug of the shadows tickles his spine. The sound of cars, speeding along, and the blaring of sirens slowly diminishes until only his shallow breathing can be heard. He is calm, not at all scared by the current events. Calmer than he has ever been before.

Gradually, the darkness becomes a charcoal grey; that becomes a dirty white; that curdles together into a ball of dazzling light. The ball of light rises, and reveals an immaculate, pristine staircase. A staircase that seems to sink to the depths of hell, but still continues down. He casually strolls towards the staircase, and starts his descent. Not at all unsettled, not at all uneasy, not at all stressed. His heart rate shows no signs of picking up, nor plummeting down into the reaches of death.

He does not sense us.

A glass banister rises from the staircase. He does not make a move for it, as he is not scared. What has he to fear? It is peaceful here. A place of tranquillity; where death is forgotten, and life is just a distant memory. He had a wife and children. They are not important now, after all, they are just a distant memory.

No sound is made when his foot gently touches the floor. It is so clean, so spotless, it would make a hospital look filthy. He can still see the ball of light, emitting it’s gentle but piercing glow, soothing but painful to stare at. He is uncertain now. He stops. We will not let him stop. No, he must continue, he shall do as we say. We are not asking, we are not demanding, we are instructing. Those who refuse shall be engulfed by their sin, corruption and hatred. Forever freezing in the coldest depths of their heart.

The light is suddenly no longer soothing, but angry, tinted with the colour of blood and rage. The colour of envy and heart ache. The ball of light is no longer inviting and warm, but it is an eye. A bloodshot eye, that stares upon him, willing him to move. Forcing him to move his pale, spindly legs. He is not healthy, he is struggling. Although we are here to help. We guide him. We help him. We steal his trust right from under his nose. We ask him, subtly and politely to keep walking. “Please, could you keep walking? We are here to help,” we lie. “We only have your best interests at heart … honestly.” We are deceitful. We are evil. Yet we are omniscient and omnipresent.

He obeys. Of course he does. He has no choice, no say in the matter. He is alone, isolated and deserted. No one loves him. No one will miss him. We repeat this, louder now. We shout at the very core of his being.  “No one loves you, no one will miss you. You are alone. You are isolated. Everybody has deserted you!”

We go too far. He hears us. He senses us. We are puzzled. He feeds upon our uncertainty, we feel him becoming stronger. He lurches to a stop. He does not look around. But gazes into our souls. We have no souls. How does he do this?

His gaze consumes our power. We must dispose of him. He shall pay for his insolence. He shall regret his actions. He … shall … suffer! It is sad though. We had great things in store for him. He would have been useful. No matter. More victims shall come before us. Some stronger than him. Others braver. People with great intellect. But none as powerful.

He runs. Climbs the staircase in incredible speed. He is making it shorter, but, how can he do that? This is our world! This is our dimension! His mind is ours! His mind is ours!

HIS MIND IS OURS!

He is gone.

Our rage is our downfall. He has made it back to the other world. He has escaped us. No matter. Others shall fall victim to us. Our name is feared among the mortals. We are hated. We are reviled. We are feared.

We are The Coma.

Etien Jasonson


© Copyright 2018 Etien. All rights reserved.

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