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Phang
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Joined: 19 Sep 2004
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Location: Phang's House of Mints
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 Posted: Tue Oct 06, 2009 7:25 am Post subject: Angel Following - Nightmare's Guard Rebirth |
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...Heavy breathing.
“My heart aches.”
...Sounds of restlessness. Breathing has become shallow.
“These people are all disgusting.”
...A figure slumps lower than before, sinking under the water. Limbs hang over the edges of the tub. Pale and near-lifeless. Few bubbles rise to the surface.
~
A school. The field.
Three children sit on a bench at the far end. They appear to be doing nothing, and do not interact with the other children or teachers.
They are, however talking to each other.
“It's disgusting; they're all disgusting. They play near us because they want to taunt me.”
“But they taunt you anyway -”
“They're scum.” The boy on the far right, gaunt-faced and shadow-eyed, surveys his tormentors. They don't meet his eyes; they don't pay him any attention. They're too callous, too sick to pay him any respect.
The girl next to him appears worried. But not sad. Thankfully, he doesn't notice. He spends too much time on his enemies to pay such close attention to his friends. And too much time lingering on the past.
There is one more person on the bench. They are quiet; and so have escaped all attention thus far.
Suddenly, a commotion begins near the trees and spreads throughout the children, reaching everyone except the three on the bench in no time. There is panic. People are running, screaming. Away from the trees, away from the field.
Except, of course, for a brave few who instead gather round the small opening in the mass of plants, from which, supposedly, something has been found...
“What are they doing?” The boy snaps. He was quick and eager to notice the way everyone fled from him.
“Maybe we should go too, Michael...”
“Nonsense. There's no need.”
“Hey! Freak!” Another boy came running up to the bench, waving his arms. Despite the insult, he wasn't exactly popular himself; and as such, spoke to Michael mostly out of a desire to speak to anyone. At least, so Michael observed. “Freak! ...And you two wierdos. Michael's mum is hidin' in the bushes!”
“My mother?” Michael stood. How dare the brat mention his mother! He said as much.
“Or something as ugly!” The boy fled as fast as his stubby legs could carry him, over to the opening where the 'mother' lurked. Michael gave chase, roaring near-inhumanly as he did so; almost taking to all fours in pursuit.
As he reached the edge of the field and dived for the boy's throat, Michael was stopped dead by a voice...calling to him...rustling the bushes with a wind as it spoke.
“Michael...oh Michael...”
The voice was familiar; and repulsive. Michael couldn't quite tell whose voice it was, and didn't want to listen any closer to find out.
“Ignore the boy. I requested he fetch you. My apologies if he was...distasteful in his doing so.”
“He insulted my mother!” Michael turned to the voice's origin, though he dropped the boy in doing so. “No one insults my parents!”
“Discard him. Listen to me.”
The others around the bushes were growing restless. Fearful. The voice chilled them, and though they shoved at the boy and blocked his efforts to flee, they understood his desire. They wished they could do the same, but it was more than childish 'courage' that held them there.
“Michael, you're special, very special...to us. I've been sent here by a...group. We're interested in your involvement.”
Anyone who hid in bushes and spoke like that was not to be trusted. 'Involvement' probably meant they were going to cut his genitals off and hang them on the door frame. Still, it would be better to humour the person... “What sort of involvement?”
“Why ask that, and not 'what sort of group'? Knowing our group would surely give you clues as to our intentions for you.” The crowd – those that could understand, for most were uneducated, moronic – sniggered at this. Michael being outsmarted was a surprising turn of events.
Michael himself growled. As much as it was...'acceptable' for a human to growl. “Then what 'group' is it, that you are part of?” Wretched, maddening scum of the Earth...
“A group...that helps people. A group...” The figure in the bushes stepped forward a little, raising its arms into the light, showing its palms. It remained unseen, but its hands...
One was ordinary enough, save for its fingers; they were thin, blackened twigs, like used matches. This effect was applied all the way down its other arm, which also appeared long enough to reach the ground from a standing position. Something horrible had happened here.
“...You will not have heard of.”
It was not soon after that that the teachers had finally intervened (ignorant, wilfully ignorant, callous and uncaring...); the crowd, those who had not fled at the sight of the being's hands, dispersed with relief. Michael walked away, feeling the unfamiliar shudders of fear down his spine. He looked back for a fleeting second, but the...person had long retreated, back from whence it came.
Michael was left to ponder the meanings of its last words. In silence, despite his friends' protests. It seemed the implication was that this was a secret organisation of some sort...or maybe it was a threat. But a threat meaning what? To join, or suffer some similar injury? Or maybe the messenger they had sent was not as loyal as they thought. Maybe this was a warning to flee, before he, too, was embroiled in some hideous, scarring plot. This surreal event had piqued his curiosity.
Even for him, it was difficult to keep the truths he had to consider separate from the rumours that were spreading throughout the school. The staff dismissed everything as pure fabrication and tricks, while the young children were led to believe a horse-headed demon was stalking the grounds. Very few remembered the raspy voice, burnt hands and cryptic speech. Those were nothing compared to what could have been.
It was as Michael was returning home – no, not 'home', to the house of his grandparents – that he decided his plan of action. As if on cue, there was a letter waiting outside the house, a dirty yellow envelope perched gently on the overgrown hedge. He took it and brushed away a few flecks of ash-like dirt, retrieving the tattered note inside.
Tomorrow would be a very interesting day.
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Phang
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Joined: 19 Sep 2004
Topics: 25
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Location: Phang's House of Mints
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| Posted: Thu Feb 04, 2010 9:55 am Post subject: |
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“What has happened?”
...No answer.
“I do not feel the same. I...I am as I always was. This is no gift!”
...Silence.
“I have become again as I once was. Why? You have deceived me!”
~
It was around 11am that Michael noticed his visitor. He was not known for paying attention in any class (and those wretched failures of educators never suspected he was thinking far more intelligent, worthy things), but today especially he was spending every hour and break staring out a window onto the rain-brightened grass; hoping, wishing for a glimpse of the creature...person. Of course they were a human. Seeing them would prove that.
And thankfully he did see this...this invader, scurrying with an awkward lope across the field. She - it seemed now like a female – was robed entirely in purple; a purple that caught the light strangely and flashed sparks. Her hands clutched the material close to her; at this distance, it was impossible to tell her deformity.
What was noticeable, though, was something Michael would not have seen before. Her face was oddly elongated; almost, at a distance, horse-like. The robes over her head bulged and warped in...sickening ways. Especially at the back, where there was an opening for a vast mass of...something, sprouting from her skull. A...a peculiar manner of hairstyle, that was all.
Michael was glad he had seen her. The sight of this semi-human being was in itself regrettable, but it had been necessary to see her in the light; to keep her grounded in reality. The very nature of their meeting, and the offer and the threat, had been so bizarre, so dreamlike that the evening had plagued him with fearful thoughts. To see the woman stumble over the grass to hide in the bushes was...calming.
Now to wait for the lunch break.
“Michael!”
He carried on walking.
“Michael! Michael!”
Their voices melded together into one low whine.
“Micha – oh, for fu -”
They'd stopped prattling. Fallen away. They knew when he didn't want them. Not to mention, of course, that unlike him, they feared their tormentors. For them, this here where he walked now...this was no man's land.
Well, for them. The area where the woman had made herself known was now abandoned by everyone. As Michael strode, determined against the taunting, towards it, those taunts turned to shouts of...concern? Worry? Ridiculous. They worried only for themselves; they worried he might let loose the beast on them.
“...I am here.”
“As am I.” The horse-like snout pushed out through the leaves and brambles. “But you already knew that. Michael.”
“...I read your letter.”
“As I suspected.”
“- And I...I need more information!”
“I suspected those were your feelings, too.”
The horse woman's manner was doing little for Michael's temper. “You speak in...in riddles! You promise me unrelated, unobtainable things -”
“I promise you the world, boy.” The horse chuckled.
“- unobtainable! Useless! Ridiculous!” His shouting was attracting the attention of the teachers. They had no intention of allowing another panic like yesterday – for their own ends, of course – and soon came running.
This might have been the chance the gypsy was looking for.
“Ask me to stop them.”
“...What?”
“Tell me to stop these intruders! Let us see what is unobtainable.”
Michael frowned. “...Don't be ridiculous. What are you?”
The horse woman smiled. “I am...nothing. But I thought you would be willing to take a risk. After all...” she sank back into the shadows and the brambles and disappeared, leaving only her rasping, haunting voice. “...What have you got to lose?”
“...Michael.” The tall man was behind him. “What is going on?”
“Nothing, sir,” he lied. And yet everything.
What did he have to lose? Surely nothing would have come from humouring a crazy old woman. He was already giving her far too much benefit of the doubt. 'Let us see what is unobtainable'. She seemed convinced she could do something for him. How pathetic.
Hopefully, she would not end up behaving the same as – he.
He was there, pulling his greasy little face against the door's window. The insolent brat! Why, even now, why would he not leave? His chance – they came rarely – to subvert punishment and seek solitude...dashed by that wretch! At least they could not speak.
All the same, there was a knock at the door.
“I am not letting you in, Mort.” The tall man, also known as Mr. Caber, didn’t even look up from his newspaper. Mort let himself in anyway.
“Michael!” Mr. Caber’s eyes glared over the top of the paper, watching the short, hunched little boy run over to Michael and smack his hands repeatedly on the table. “What?”
“...What?” Mort had, since Michael had had the misfortune of knowing him, been incapable of voicing a question as a full sentence. It was up to the listener to ascertain what he asked.
“What the horse thing was. I mean, why?” That slow, demanding tone he took made Michael sick.
“Garbollsi, that horse thing was an unfortunately disfigured woman.” – He hoped. – “She was offering me...something. This is nothing for you to be concerned about.”
Eugene Caber grinned behind his broadsheet. He’d always been somewhat ‘impressed’ by Michael. The boy was so different from any other person he’d met. It was just a shame his attitude was caused by...that event. It was also a shame he would have to step in.
“Mort Garbollsi, Michael is supposed to be alone here. Go outside and play.”
Michael went back to his thoughts.
It seemed sensible, he decided, to confront the woman again and see how far her delusion went. Also if they were founded in reality; though that was doubtful. Very doubtful.
Many thanks to Jesus Lizard for the name ‘Mort Garbollsi’.
_________________
Stuff here
Da Huuuuub
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