Blurred Reality
13 Jun 2004Draft #2 – 1728 words (target: 1000)
Assessment Task 1: Imaginative Composition
The fall into darkness, it is said, was inevitable. For a cause lost in the depths of time past, this dark being came to hate the world and all within it. Seeking only destruction of life, he embarked on a mission of desolation; it was perhaps better for those on whom he was dependent for his un-life, that they were stripped of all consciousness and will as they fell under the curse of his ineluctable hunger.
Those who became subject to this desolate ruler became bound under him, enacting their retribution upon others — and so the cycle continued, hundreds drawn under this curse. Fear of this decimation of any sense of self identity or existence, substituted with a perpetual, mindless repetition of the motions instigated by the first to fall was rational, although, it must be said, immortality as nothing is worse than frail existence within which life may exist. This fear is not the conventional one of pain, or other suffering — but of nothing. Not of the unknown, simply emptiness.
Fear did nothing — the haunting sound of approaching inevitability remained. For most, the world was slowly falling to the grasp of this lifeless dictator, however there was one, it was said, possessing the qualities to overpower and destroy this being, releasing the world from an age of bondage under an empty master.
—-
Karl Riley drifted in alternating states of consciousness. An alarm sounded loudly next to him, and he jerked upright, slamming a closed fist down on the keypad of his mobile. Begrudgingly, he rolled, bringing himself upright. It was two in the morning, and apparently he was needed immediately at work. Muttering something about overtime, he dressed, left his apartment, and started driving to the support-centre, stopping only for a coffee from an all-night convenience store.
As he turned to return to his car, the lights of the convenience store flickered, before failing. Hearing the sales assistant swearing, Karl walked in darkness to his car. A cloaked figure moved along the street, towards him, making no attempt at concealment. He reached Karl’s car first, and stood, waiting at the driver side door.
“Hello?” said Karl, somewhat hesitantly.
The figure stood, silent and motionless, his face in darkness.
“Sorry, that’s my car. I need to go. It’s two-twenty on a Thursday morning, and I have ten minutes to get to work. What are you doing?”
Without speech, he moved aside, and continued to walk along the street. Glancing cautiously, Karl unlocked his car, sat down, and again locked the doors from the inside. He turned to pull his seatbelt, and again turned back to fasten it. As he looked up from his task, his eyes locked with two perspicacious, penetrating eyes, of the figure he had seen moments before, fixated to the window of his car.
Tearing his gaze from this apparition, Karl turned the keys, gunned the engine, and tore off down an otherwise-deserted street. Breathing heavily, he reached shakily for his coffee.
“Wake up Karl, wake up,” he repeated over to himself. “Wake up Karl, wake up, WAKE UP!”, he found himself shouting. Except it wasn’t his voice he heard shouting. It had come from behind him.
He leant his weight on the cars brake, and it shuddered to a halt in the middle of the street. His seatbelt caught him, and he turned to the back seat of the car, where the man sat. Indifferent to Karl’s driving, speaking now in mocking tones — “Wake up, Karl. Wake up.” He ceased speaking, reaching a hand forwards to firmly grasp Karl’s shoulder.
His rancid breath permeated the car, and Karl shuddered at his touch.
“Am I awake?” asked Karl, now uncertain of anything. The grip tightened, and Karl winced from the pain of it.
“Yes.”
“What is happening?”
“You are to be freed from awareness.”
With that, he loosened his grip on Karl’s shoulder, instead reaching for his neck. He moved his face closer, the breath becoming stronger, more repulsive. His mouth almost upon Karl’s throat, he saw the cross strung around his neck. Violently, he pulled away, breaking through the back window of the car, and vanishing into the night.
Skeptically, Karl glanced out the back window, still wondering if he really was awake.
“He broke my window.”
—-
Arriving thirty minutes late, covered in spilt coffee and broken glass, his supervisor, Lara, looked dubiously at Karl, but didn’t ask questions. “There’s a package on your desk” was the extent of conversation that morning. A package? Delivered between when he had left work at 5:30 the previous night and now?
Somewhat intrigued, he opened it. A potent aroma filled the room as three pieces of garlic rolled from the package and onto his desk. A dagger followed. Staring at his workspace as though offended by the presence of these things, they stoically remained through his many blinks of disbelief.
A person passed in the corridor, sniffing cautiously. Apparently satisfied that the smell was garlic, they continued on their way.
Karl peered into the FedEx bag, finding a letter enclosed.
You are being watched. This package carries garlic that it may arrive unheeded. Tonight you have learnt of the forces of evil which remain hidden from society at large; these forces would not have you read this, would not permit you to learn of them. You are the conclusion to a thousand years lechery at the hands of these… creatures. They are the un-dead, an accursed people, fallen under the grasp of the evil one. It is said that there would be one who could crush this master, freeing thousands from his grasp, and saving humanity. This one is you. Enclosed with this letter is a dagger, forged from silver — this is the weapon with which you must destroy him, by piercing his heart. The attack on you tonight was not imagined; your attacker must be destroyed.
“So, I’m to go around wielding a silver dagger which arrived in an anonymous bag, stabbing anyone who looks shady and wears black?”
The phone rang.
“Karl Riley” he answered.
“No.”
“Pardon?”
“No, you are not to go around stabbing anyone. The man who attacked you. He is the one you must destroy.”
“How…” Karl looked at the display on his phone. Caller ID resolved the number to an internal extension — 107. “How do…”
“Never mind. I can assure you, extension 107 does not exist,” the voice said, apparently getting louder, “but I do.”
Those last words were heard not on the phone, but from behind Karl, coming from Lara. She wasn’t holding a phone.
“Hello.”
“Umm… hi. How do you know all this?”
“There are many who know of this evil, but few which are empowered to act. Lara, whose body I now occupy, knows nothing of this. She, like most of humanity, will never be aware of the darkness amongst them. You are elected to serve, burdened with this knowledge. It is for you to act.”
With that, the figure of Lara flickered and disappeared into the air, leaving Karl sitting, at a loss.
—-
He returned to his apartment, with no word as to why he had been called into work. He assumed it was associated with the other events of the night, although how, he didn’t know.
The new messages indicator flashed on his phone.
“You have… seven new messages.”
“Seven?!” he exclaimed, unbelieving.
The messages began to play.
“Hey Karl, what’s up? Phil here. You coming into work today? Gimme a buzz sometime, okay?”
“Hi Karl, Chris calling… missed you at work today, everything okay?”
“Hey, it’s Steph. Where you been the past few days?”
“Karl, Lara here. Pick up the phone. Are you there? Karl? Where have you been the last week?”
There were another three to play, but Karl slammed a fist down on the machine, and it stopped.
Cautiously, he checked the date on his watch.
“What…?” he began to speak. The phone rang. He answered, and a voice began speaking. “I am coming to destroy you. I am the undead one, whom you encountered one week ago. Do not wonder about time, for soon you shall exist immortal and outside of such petty constraints.”
Karl listened as the line went dead. He placed down the phone, and collapsed on the floor, his vision obscured by tears of confusion and desperation. A bird-like silhouette flickered past his window, casting a shadow illuminated by moonlight over the figure of Karl. He heard a voice, with no physical origin — it chanted softly, enveloping, surrounding him. No comprehensible words were spoken, but this was of no consequence. A second voice could be heard, at first quiet, but gaining, growing louder. This voice was violent, harsh. Formed words came in its’ speech, although Karl could not know their meaning.
The first voice began to speak in his thoughts — he did not recognise the words, but understood. It was telling him to stand, to walk. He could not see. Shapes moved in his vision, as the two voices raged and fought. He felt himself being directed, moving towards the table where he had left the FedEx envelope. Reaching, perfectly directed, he lifted the knife from the envelope.
He felt the second voice shift within his head; his visions became darker, reddening, as though maddened by the touch of silver. The sounds were tortuous, a resonant scream penetrating his being, feeling as though the presence of the knife was burning him from the inside.
A strangled voice rasped at him, “RELEASE THE KNIFE”, commanding forcefully even whilst in its agony. Karl remained still by the desire of the soft, yet powerful first voice. Remaining with it seemed unbearable, but releasing it? Karl grasped it feverishly, unable to bring himself to let it fall, trapped between pain and he did not know what else. The words of the letter drifted in his mind, as though in a thick fog.
…there would be one who could crush this master… you must destroy him, by piercing his heart…
His purpose clear, his arm pulled the knife away from his body, only to bring it towards him, plunging it deep into his chest.
The voices stopped. He was alone on the floor of his kitchen, fist tightly grasping cold metal, dying.
I’m uncertain as to whether I shall count this as an edit or not. It addresses issues of clarity and performs surgery where required, but content-liposuction didn’t happen here.
Blurred Reality is the working title for the story at this point. Again, comments are welcomed, and ripping me/the story to shreds is far better than just saying “it’s good/it’s not so good”.