Marabou963
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- Posted: Sun, 18 Oct 2009 07:16:56 +0000
Ideas, Characters, and names in The last Mortal are mine, all mine, please don't steal. heart
I'm interested in a critique, either in depth or just something shore like "this is misspelled" or "this is more descriptive"
Summer rain trickled against the window of Phils fathers old blue car. On any other day summer rain would come as a talking point, on September the first however, it was as predictable as the rain over Wimbledon. Rain was a sign of depression, and all the junior rainmakers were depressed today. Summer was over, back to work. Indeed if rainmakers strike you as farfetched then you may take issue with the others as well. In Phil’s world if you weren’t a rainmaker you wouldn’t be out of luck, Chances were you were a strong, or an invulnerable, an untouchable, or a changeling. The list was really endless, well not endless; it ended with Phil.
Six and a half billion people on the planet and Phil was the only one without a power. There was a reasonable explanation for it yes, He’d been told on many occasions he was special, the last of his kind: the worlds only mortal. There weren’t that many to begin with, they seemed to have a habit of breeding once and dying young, always putting their noses where they didn’t belong- or making the mistake of not protecting their vital organs.
For those of you who live in a universe where Mortals are more the norm then perhaps a short history of the world would suffice. The gods created the world, and then they created man on each area of the globe. The God’s loved their creations and they loved Man most of all. It did not take long for Man and God’s blood to become intermingled, making each man godlike. Unfortunately for the Gods, Man could not see the wonderful world the gods created for them. All they saw was a competition, for the honor of their gods. They battled relentlessly, destroying themselves.
Seeing their beloved creation destroying it’s self was more than even the gods could handle. Deeply distraught the divine creators took their own lives to save the lives of the creation they held so dear. Left in the wake of their divine wind were the mortals, who rose from the ashes of destruction. They were immune to god’s power, and in effect powerless. They were the only beings left undisgraced from the fall of the gods.
It was with this in mind that Phil was always able to bring himself out of the brink of depression; he was the last of a noble breed, the only boy on earth untainted and free from sin. But that rubbish only stopped him from feeling disappointed by his lack of powers for mere seconds- it was hard to keep his mind over the matter of his short comings. Worst still, today he was about to end his life time vendetta against socialization. No more could he study at home with his father avoiding the rest of the world, home school was over: High school had begun. Sophomore year at a new school was just a block away, a corner away, and now they were parked.
Phil’s head lolled around his shoulder to stare daggers at his father; Rich Adams. Rich was a tan, stocky, and strong chinned man. He was the likes of men who posed for the covers of romantic novels, and in no way resembled his son. Phil had dirty blond hair, a narrow face with a profile like the moons; he had almond shaped periwinkle blue eyes, and a slim diminutive form. “Don’t look at me like that, what sort of father would I be if I didn’t make you make friends” Rich said leaning back in his chair. All of his body language suggested to Phil that they would both be there for days if Phil didn’t leave the car.
“Well Rich,” Phil replied trying his best to imitate his father’s don’t-give-a-dam stance “You’d be the kind of father that supported my introverted lifestyle.” He answered collectedly. Rich blinked, coming to the realization he had just taught Phil a new trick.
“Alright, you want to play hard ball?” he grabbed the key and ignited the engine cutting straight across the damp parking lot, washing the pedestrian students in up turned puddles, and charging straight into the drop off zone. “Okay, out” he shouted pointing over Phil’s shoulder to the rain streaked door. Behind cars started to honk, students and teachers a like began to shout. Phil recoiled; this was not going to help him make friends. The honking escalated, the shouting became obscene, and Phil dashed out of the door landing in a puddle on the other side. His father drove away, soaking his back in rain water. Laughter poured forth from the knots of divided groups clustered under the overhang. Phil just sloshed away, using his backpack to deflect the rain- and hide his face.
Physical Education, the television maintained that this was a tough class with sadistic teachers willing to make a joke out of you for the whole class to see. At home it was his favorite class. He was forever trying to persuade his father to make it go on for twice as long as it should have. It wasn’t the physical part of P.E. he was afraid of, it was the idea of exercising out of his element- what if powers were part of the sport? Everyone would know then that he was different, defective. He sat in the middle of the humid, dented, rusty locker room and stared down at his P.E. uniform. It was in the school colors, unflattering Marigold shorts that said new but smelt used, and a too short burgundy shirt that wouldn’t cover his stomach when he raised his arms. There was a golden gladiator helmet on the left breast, next to a gold bar over the words “Apple Gate High School” in Greek looking letters.
He was so repulsed by the outfit that he couldn’t look away, and did not notice when the students started to file in and out- snickering at him as they got dressed. He was the first into the locker room and the last to leave, seconds before the bell rang a dark square faced straggler appeared, dashing to a locker and thrusting it open- undressing like a boy skilled in the most efficient way to undress. He was out and into a new set of clothes in less than a minute- and the spectacle made Phil stare. The boy slapped his neck twitchily, as if he felt something was on his neck, then- realizing those things were Phil’s eyes, he turned to see Phil “Take a picture, it’ll last longer” The boy said shuffling out the door with a distinctive slumped shouldered shuffle.
In the court yard Phil came to realize he was wearing a girl’s P.E. Costume. This was the only place in this school that students required uniforms, and yet the groups couldn’t have been easier to sort out. All the students with long sleeved shirts under their uniforms talked in one group, the girls with sweats on talked in another, most girls wore shorts like he did, and all of the boys were wearing the marigold sweats. He was the only free floating student of the bunch, the rest were clumped into perfectly matching clicks. The straggler from the locker room was with a group of Latino students, with sweats and burgundy sweatshirts on, with their PE shirts sticking out underneath. He was whispering to a pale girl with large square sunglasses and golden rims. When Phil approached they silenced their whispers and stared at him, he backed away slowly.
It was ten minutes after the bell that the teacher finally did show up, much to the disappointment of the students. She was a lean thing with carrot colored hair and tan skin, the teacher looked nothing like he assumed her too. Although her attitude seemed spot on, she was leaned to one side; her hip resting on a soccer ball, the expression painted on her face was one of a young college graduate who had better places to be. “Good Morning students, my name is Amy, but you are to call me Ms. Trinder” she informed all of them, in a slow and terrifying voice, the voice of one who needed to vent their frustrations. “Because apparently Familiarity breeds unprofessionalism in this school” she added taking the soccer ball off her hip and squeezing it till it became oblong “not that I don’t appreciate the schools administrative technique.” simpered Ms. Trinder “the reason I got my masters in French literature was to become a high school gym teacher” With a sigh she threw the soccer ball at Phil’s stomach and started to walk away towards the bleachers “So whatever you know, play with that soccer ball or you’ll get fat” she called as she disappeared to take her seat. The students looked at one another, and retreated back to the locker rooms.
The next few classes were just as unpleasant, there was Mr. Weinstein- passionate but unprofessional- compared the Neanderthal’s voice to that of Shirley Henderson’s. Then there was Mr. Oswald, a man with a neck thicker than his pin head, and who spat and sweat at the same time while leering over the class putting Phil, in the first row, in the line of fire. Phil was none the less eager to get lunch over with, the sooner that this day was over the better. The school e-mail he received told him his locker number was five hundred and eighty-one.
Eager to loose the extra weight in his backpack he walked though the halls, keeping his distance between either side of the lockers, he didn’t want to bump into anyone or otherwise make contact. He began to count: five hundred and seventy nine, five hundred and eighty, a two teenagers sucking face, five hundred and eighty two. Phil stood back, trying to plot how to get his books into his locker. He reached his hand out to tap the man on the shoulder, but a loud sucking noise, like the last of the bathwater going down the plug hole, made him draw his hand back and stare in awkward silence.
“Can I... ? May I…?” asked Phil quietly, afraid to raise his voice “…Get to my locker, please?” he whimpered, shrinking back to give the pair ample time to react. It was the girl who reacted first, in no hurry she took several seconds to open her slit like eyes and search with them for Phil, the rest of her body had taken no notice of him, and hadn’t wavered in its task. The eyes locked into Phil and gave him a glare that hit Phil like a cannonball meeting a wall of crepe paper.
“Come on pervert” a senior shouted as he grabbed Phil’s arms and pulled him away from his locker, down the hall the way he had come “Show’s over creep” another senior said taking Phil’s leg’s, assisting the other in the task. Phil never said a word; he was too confused to comment. Where did these seniors come from and why were they committed to carrying him away? In a moment he found himself no less confused, but far more annoyed as he was stuffed head down in the right-after-lunch trash can, in amongst the chocolate milk and half eaten coleslaw.
The long and hellish day continued to suck the life out of Phil. It seemed the entire universe had turned psychotic and he was the object of its aggression. When at last the system pitied him enough to chew him up and spit him back out again his father had forgotten to give him a ride home. Phil wandered into the school library, which was strangely old fashioned by comparison to the rest of the school. It featured many dusty tomes, untouched above the lower rows to comic books and magazines. Aside from last minute crammers and comic book junkies he spotted Mr. Oswald, the art history teacher reading one chapter ahead of his class. Whilst Phil observed quietly he felt eyes on the back of his neck. He turned to see the librarian, a deceivingly well groomed man who’s tattoos told of an earlier life-chapter, eyeing him with the contempt of a man who foresaw troublemaking and knew what it looked like from personal experience.
On the other end of the library Phil noticed a familiar face, it was the pale skinned Latina girl with the sunglasses. Her glasses resting atop her dark and untamable hair, brown eyes skimming a popular gossip magazine translated to Spanish. The girl seemed to have hated him during the class but a familiar face was just that, familiar and he didn’t want to meet yet another student, he was overwhelmed by the ones he already met today. He sat down across from her. “Any celebrities shaved their hair off lately?” he questioned.
The Girl jumped, her glasses falling onto the brim of her nose. She smiled politely and replied “No inglés”
“Perfect” Phil responded with enthusiasm.
“No inglés” she repeated, “eh… no englass” she revised, trying to take a shot at the English translation.
“Perfecto.” Phil replied putting his hands up to signal she could stop trying to understand “Just listen, escuchar!” Phil had little grasp of Spanish, only what the class he took today, and pop culture taught him. He preceded to tell her the events of his day, venting out his frustrations. The girl smiled falsely, trying her best to nod at all the right moments whilst they both knew she had no idea what he was talking about “and now I’ve been abandoned by my own father and I’m stuck here talking nonsense to someone who can’t even speak English…” Phil finished as the boy with the dark boy with the square shaped face wandered up to their table “... and it would be just my luck if he can only understand Swahili!”
The boy’s nostrils flared he scowled down at Phil “What did you just say about me?” The boy boomed, his hand’s gripping the back of Phil’s chair, his knuckles turning white. Phil floundered under the pressure. He didn’t answer “What did you say about me?” The boy asked again, the librarian shushed them from across the room, Phil fled like a coward while the other boy was distracted.
After Rich finally remembered to pick Phil up from the school parking lot Phil had to come home and adjust to doing homework. True all of the schoolwork he had done before this year could have been considered homework, but he always finished that before it even became lunch time, and never did any work past six. With his eyes watering and his brain failing to properly function he was glad when his father interrupted his reading on early human civilization to tell him his friends were waiting at the front door. Naturally this confused him though, because he had no friends. He stood to his feet and walked to the front door- surprised to see the couple from the library fiasco earlier that same day. “We’re here to kidnap you” The boy told him, his shoulders slumped forwards, arms folded protectively over his chest. Phil forced a laugh and waited for the real reason they had come.
“We’re not joking” The girl informed him, in what was perfect English- complementing her Californian accent. That was the last thing Phil remembered, after they put the potato sack over his head.
The sound of a crumpling wrapper is what caused Phil to stir. The more he moved the louder the sound became, and he wondered in his muddled mind if he was a candy bar, trying to escape its wrappings. He didn’t know how long it too him to get reoriented, the lines were blurred between a sleep and awake and he wondered how he had gotten into a sitting position when a second ago he had been flat on his back. Gradually things began to make more sense. He was not a candy bar, much to his immense relief. He was instead sitting on the crumpled butcher paper on top of an ugly turquoise examiners table in what seemed to be a hospital room. He stumbled onto his feet, gripping into the floor with the toes of his shoes. The door across the room was locked.
Phil was not the sort of person who could handle being at the mercy of captors. Stepping back and shaking off the muddled feeling in his head Phil confirmed that the door could not be dismantled by the hinges and by shaking the handle and knocking on the door that it had a hollow core, which made his job much easier. He stepped back and planted a kick under the door handle. The door rattled lie chattering teeth but stood in place. He frowned and looked down at his sore foot, but now he was convinced another kick would bring it down. He let his foot sail under the handle again but at the very moment he was about to make contact the door opened and the momentum forced him to trip up and stumble backwards into the opposite wall.
“Are you trying to kick down the door?” The black teenager with the square head questioned Phil as he stood in the door way where Phil’s foot was meant to be. Phil now wished he had gone through with the kick and sunk his foot into the boy’s stomach.
“Why are you doing this to me?” Phil demanded in what he wished was a more commanding voice. Did the boy have any idea how easy it would have been for him to escape at the moment? He could either plow though the boy as he blocked the door frame, or he could kick the door right out of the boy’s hands. If he was lucky the latter would dislocate the boy’s shoulder. The boy frowned, looked at something on the other side of the door. A second later he turned his head back to Phil “We’re not telling you just now.” He replied and then, with out needing to check with anyone on the other side of the wall he added “I don’t really know how to tell you.” before shutting the door once more. Phil paced in front of the door for another ten minutes before the door opened again.
Square-head walked in again, shortly followed by an older man in scrubs the same ugly shade of turquoise as the examiners table. The both of them hurried in keeping the door as closed as possible, as if Phil was a dog or a cat they were trying to lock in, instead of a human being. Square-head flopped into one of the chairs in the corner whilst the man in scrubs took the half step that brought him into the same vicinity as Phil. The man in question was in his early thirties, he was fairly tall with a pot belly. He was Latino, and like the girl he meet earlier in the day he had pale skin, though his time it had a distinct lines from a bad case of farmers-tan. His brown hair was slicked back and on the sides of his head he was already cultivating streaks of grey hair. To Phil all these details went unnoticed because his attention had been snagged by the mans almost perfectly circular, and blazing amber eyes. The man gave him a jittering grimace that was meant to be a reassuring smile. “Hello, my name is Nardo Ramirez and I’m Bonita’s elder brother” He said softly. Phil closed his eyes to stop himself from getting to distracted by Nardo’s eyes. He took in what Nardo had said and looked at square-head for clarification.
“Bonita’s the chick who kidnapped you” Square-head said, confirming what Phil had assumed. This information meant very little to him how ever, because it did not explain why he was brought to a hospital. He took his eyes of Square-head and looked to Nardo, who was again trying to smile. There was an awkward silence between them before Nardo realized that Phil was not going to introduce himself back to him. Instead it seemed Phil was trying to see if he could kill Nardo just by looking at him. Nardo swallowed nervously and put himself down on a stool by the desk in the corner
“My sister tells me that you have no power, sort of like a mortal.” He added, scooting himself forewords. Phil looked down his ski-jump nose at Nardo and scoffed “More like exactly like a mortal, that’s what I am, obviously.” He added
“Lying for attention” Square-head said suddenly, for him chair in the corner. Phil flushed red
“What would possess me to lie about having no power? If I were to lie wouldn’t I say I had a really cool power no one else had?” Phil spat, flustered. As if he liked the attention he was getting right now, for some reason these people thought being a mortal meant he had to go to the hospital right way. Did they think him diseased?
“If we were to test some of your blood we would be able to verify you are indeed a mortal“ Nardo said swinging over to the desk excitedly “Oh pardon me, thee mortal” he laughed, high pitched and nervous. “There’s only one right?” He mumbled in the tone of someone who knew what they were saying was of no interest to anyone. He stood up and wrapped the Tourniquet around Phil’s arm, then with another in his hands he began to walk towards Square-head. Square-head shrank back and put his legs on the chair “where are you going with that?” he asked, speaking quickly “You’re testing his blood remember, not mine” He seemed to be trying to make himself smaller and smaller as Nardo got closer, holding his arms close to his chest.
“I have to test some normal blood against his.” Nardo responded pulling Square-head’s arms away from his chest. He tied the Tourniquet fast before Square-head could react, and stayed with his arm on his shoulder to make sure he wouldn’t pull it off. Phil watched with amusement as a few minutes passed and the boy’s teeth started to chatter, he had never met someone so afraid of giving blood. When the syringe actually came into view it went from funny to sad. The boy Screeched like a seagull and flailed his arms. Phil covered his ringing ears and watched Nardo try to catch one of Square-head’s arms. “Dog don’t be a baby” Nardo shouted pinning the boy’s hand down against the arm of the chair and sitting on it to keep it where it was.
“You’re name is Dog?” asked a bemused Phil.
Square-head snorted at Phil “It’s a nickname” He responded snidely, not even noticing when Nardo injected him while he had been looking away. “When did that happen?” Dog asked looking at the syringe full of blood. Nardo rolled his eyes and repeated the process with Phil who, as if to prove a point, didn’t make a peep.
“Good lord” Nardo decreed, turning to show them the vile he had mixed using both bloods. The two liquid’s in the vile were near identical, one was a slightly brighter red. Yet they were easy to tell apart for they were separated. Not like oil on water but instead like two magnets facing the same pole. With a rubber stopper at the top the lighter amount of blood stayed at the bottom while the darker blood floated at the top, despite the laws of gravity. The space between them was large enough for Nardo to peer through. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to meet you” Nardo said dropping the vial and rushing over to Phil’s chair, his eyes looked even madder than usual. “Twenty-five years!” He grabbed Phil’s shoulders and shook them. Phil put his arms between Nardo’s and pushed his arms off
“Hurray, you found me. I’m right here.” Phil grinned slipping off the examiners table and backing off towards the door. He tested the handle behind his back, it was still locked. “I still don’t understand why you needed to find me” He added wandering around the room to avoid Nardo who only seemed to want to touch him, to prove that he was real. The boy named Dog seemed to be of no help, he was enjoying the show. “So what am I to you people, the gate keeper or the key master or what?”
“You’re our savior” Nardo replied with adoration. “The last mortal, you’ve been training for years for you’re birthright but the second phase of training has yet to begin. I must fulfill my divine duty to the spirits and teach you of the dregs in time for the great awakening.”
“I should have known” Phil replied, finally deciding he’d heard enough. He turned on his heal and placed another good kick on the door, this time it cracked under the handle and banged against the wall. Phil hadn’t ran three steps before his feet left the ground and he was moved backwards like seaweed getting churned inside a wave. He felt himself land on his back at Nardo’s feet. So that was Nardo’s power, he was a summoner.
Nardo leaned down above Phil’s head “Why are you leaving, I haven’t told you when the first of your lessons are.” He said, innocently oblivious of how his mad obsession was causing him to act. Phil did not reply but instead grabbed the collar of Nardo’s scrubs and threw him to the ground, rounding the corner before he could recuperate. He took several turns in a row in an attempt to shake them off and didn’t lessen his pace until he was on the bus home.
Rich was very interested in what Phil had gotten up to in the hour or so that he had been gone. He seemed proud that Phil had made any friends at all, even if they were the kidnapping kind. Phil couldn’t bring himself to describe the events that had transpired at that hospital. His father would be sad that he had not gained any friends, and Phil himself wasn’t sure how to explain what he didn’t understand. That night he dreamed about his mother, and the dark shadows in the corners of his room, dreaming that they had dripped down into a pool on the floor and enveloped his body in darkness, sucking away his existence until he wasn’t anything anymore but an empty bed. He woke up the next morning feeling tired and nervous, and guilty because he had neglected his history homework. The idea of spending another day at that hell hole that they called a school was barbaric, not to mention having to bump into those two odd balls who thought that he was their savior.
He didn’t have to wait until Physical education to meet them either. When his father dropped him off in front of the school they were already waiting for him under the overhang. He did his best to steer around them but they closed in and the girl named Bonita grabbed his arm and he knew immediately that she was a Strong, and that there was no use in struggling against her grip, because he was as good as handcuffed to her. “I heard that you had a bad day yesterday” she smiled sweetly “My brother can be over the top sometimes, but you did hurt his back.” She added reproachfully. Phil didn’t like being talked to like this, he wouldn’t be guilt tripped into feeling sorry for someone who wanted to keep him in a hospital and worship him, or whatever they wanted to do. He didn’t reply however, he just kept his mouth shut and waited for the crazy to come out of her mouth.
He didn’t have to wait long. “If you’re the last mortal then you really need to know about the great awakening, and the dregs in time! If you ignore your destiny the repercussions could be apocalyptic.” She said, her eyes wide; Phil thought about Nardo’s mad eyes. Phil had quite finished with this one sided conversation. He pulled his arm away causing Bonita to be pulled towards his drawn back arm, so his stepped forwards and tripped her up by knocking the back of her leg with his foot. She fell to the ground and let go of his wrist in surprise, not sure how she had gotten onto the ground in the first place. Dog, who had been standing a few steps away from the both of them and looking nervous about the whole affair stepped up and helped Bonita to her feet, giving Phil an angry glare as he walked away. Phil heard Bonita call him a coward.
They continued to Harass him for weeks on end, till the weather became blustery and September became October. Phil could not get rid of them, to and from school they always seemed to find him on his way to classes. During Physical Education they no longer kept within their group of friends, but adopted his style of dressing and pestered him whist he tried to lose the weight he was gaining from the horrible school lunches. They even phoned him at home, and he could not always hang up because his father had made the assumption that he, Bonita, and Dog were all friends. His world continued in this style for three weeks until he could take it no more.
He had just gotten to school and was walking from the front of the school under the overhang by the library. With Dog on his left and Bonita on his right, Bonita was spouting nonsense about spirits and dark shadows and Dog was just being here, making sure he didn’t escape to the left. Something in Phil just snapped. “You’re both nut jobs in a cult, which I wish was a suicide cult because then I wouldn’t have to deal with you. I may not have powers, and that’s a little weird, but I can tell you that there are no such things as spirits and demons, they’re all dead! Like the gods, d-e-a-d, dead!” Phil shouted grabbing at his forehead and feeling like he could rip out his hair with frustration “I’m not your savior, you don’t need saving! There’s nothing mystical or magical about this world it’s just boring so get over it and get a life because nothing else is going to happen to you over here!” Phil declared at the top of his lungs, not caring that everyone around was staring at him.
Something seemed off, everyone was staring at him but, just a little higher than the top of his head. Bonita and Dog had fallen silent with twin looks of shock on their faces. The sky had become cloudy, then black like smoke, and green lightning flashed across the skies but the thunder was silent. Phil turned to see what everyone had been looking at. In the center of the school parking lot was the eye of the storm, green lightning spiraled around a point in the middle of the clouds that was lowering itself down like a tornado, and yet the wind was fore sully pushing everything in its path away from the funnel like cloud. The wind was so forceful that even the cars were drifting away from the storm, creating a perfect circle in the middle of the parking lot, closed off by the cars like a fighting ring. Students in the hall were thrown off of their feet and with as little control as they had tried to get inside, or else were forced into piles against the walls.
Phil himself was stuck like glue to the side of the library, next to Dog and Bonita, who was trying to open the library door and hurry everyone inside; but even with her strength she could not pull the door open against the force of the wind. The storm finally hit the ground and with a blinding green flash the roaring wind had vanished. Students forced against the walls fell to the ground in crumpled heaps. The library door flew open with ease so suddenly that Bonita hit her nose with the door.
Phil noticed none of this; he was the only one who had kept his eyes open, despite the dust. What Phil saw in the parking lot went against everything he thought he knew. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, and there was a behemoth monster, twenty five feet tall and forty feet long, give or take a few feet. It’s skin was lightning green and warty, with a human like head and needle like teeth that stuck out at odd angles like a fish from the depths of the deepest ocean, and beady black eyes. Like a lion it had a mane, and three sets of bear like feet. It’s body was hidden inside a red spiked tortuous shell, which also produced a tail with a mace like club at the end. The Monster opened his mouth and spoke into the open air, in English, and his voice was like thunder. “Phil Adams!” His voice boomed and crackled and Phil felt as if he had been hit by lightning. “Last of the Mortals! Herald of the Gods! I have come to destroy what should have never been born, namely you!”
“Told you so.” Dog said from the ground, he still hadn’t recuperated from falling off of the wall. Bonita was sitting in the corner with the back of her hand to her bleeding nose, but she nodded and gave a satisfied, know-it-all smile.
“He’s not goink to leave till you fight hib” Bonita said suddenly, her voice very nasally. The student’s all looked to Phil, as if he was this so called savior. Phil didn’t know what he was doing, he suddenly found himself walking towards the parking lot, towards the enormous monster with his black empty eyes and his yard long claws that scratched against the ground and ripped up the tar.
“I’m Phil Adams” Phil announced, he neither felt fright not brave, he was more amazed at himself because he didn’t know he had it in him, or what was possessing him to do these crazy things. “I don’t want to be destroyed so I’m going to kill you, or destroy you, or slay you, or vanquish you. I’m not sure what the right term is.” Phil explained sounding embarrassed with himself as he sidled though the maze of cars. The monster waited for him impatiently, scratching his many sharp teeth together and making a grating noise like chalk on a chalk board. Phil finally arrived in the clear circle with the monster and looked up at it in amazement, the first twinges of fear were coming to him now, like little pin pricks. “I-” Phil stuttered but regained his composer quickly “I’ve never killed a monster before, or anything for that matter. I have however beaten Shadow of the Colossus five times, so maybe that will help.” He added.
“I’m not interested in beatings you’ve taken out, I’m confident that I’ve killed a centenum of knights for every one of these colossus’s shadows that you have slain, at the very least” He added, and his human face seemed to show a smug sort of pride. It was hard to be certain because you could hardly see the lower half of his face for teeth. “Enough talk!” the monster shouted abruptly, and stomped his foot down on the space that Phil had seconds ago just occupied. Phil had seen something restless in the monster’s eye and decided to move for that exact reason. He had moved around to the other side of the monster, and with the monster’s serious lack of neck, he had to turn around slowly, moving his six legs independently to look for him. By the time the monster had gone full circle, Phil had moved to where he had been in the first place.
He couldn’t win by running around in circles, so he tried to look for a weakness instead. Phil assumed he had all the time in the world to look, as long as he kept out of the monsters field of vision. That’s why he was nearly impaled on the monster’s clubbed tail as he swung it though the air and pounded it into the ground with all of his might. Without thinking of his actions Phil jumped onto the monster’s clubbed tail and held on for dear life. The Monster roared and shook his tail from side to side wildly, and Phil had no clue how to gain leverage or keep from sliding off like he so obviously was about to. He had his nails dug into the warty flabby skin but his hands were getting sweaty and soon he would be out of luck. A sudden jerky stop caused Phil to lose control and let go with one hand. He grabbed on to whatever he could get his fingers around and suddenly found himself hanging off of the tail.
The monster gave an eerily human like giggle and raised his tail into the air before bringing it down with all of his weight onto the ground. Phil jumped off at the last second and dove out of the way before the clubbed tail hit the ground with an all mighty crunch that turned the tar to gravel. Phil stood beneath the belly of the beast, moving as silently as he could whist the monster turned slowly to see Phil’s remains. He felt caged with six column like legs around him, and hoped he could get out in time of the monster began to rampage; if that was what monsters did. Breaking the deathly silence a rusty pea green ford truck skidded to a stop in front of the main road by the school and Nardo, still wearing his scrubs, jumped out and ran towards the maze of cars.
The monster saw, or rather didn’t see Phil’s squished body inside the crater he had created in the parking lot with his tail. He howled in frustration and began to stomp his feet, the earth began to shake Phil off of his feet. Phil fought to keep his balance, if he didn’t he knew he wouldn’t be spared by those crushing feet. Every time the monster brought a foot up he brought another down, but so fast that it could hardly be seen. Phil took a chance and ran under a raised foot, knowing that he would probably die either way. On the other side of the legs Nardo grabbed onto Phil by the sleeve of his shirt and they both ducked down in and amongst the cars with the monster in the middle calling Phil a coward and ordering him to show himself. “He’s a Tarasque.” Nardo said, in a hushed whisper.
“A what?” Phil replied looking amazed that anyone in the world would know what the hell was going on here, let alone what that thing was. Nardo covered Phil’s mouth and shushed him.
“A Tarasque is a French dragon that eats virgin women.” Phil glanced at the Tarasque with it’s human head, lion mane, tortoise shell, clubbed tail, and six bear legs, he’d never seen anything less like a dragon. He was glad he wasn’t a woman as well. “You can tame it with this.” He said holding up an old dusty bottle. “Holy water, some of the last in the world” Nardo put it in Phil’s hands and then pushed him back into the circle without any further instruction. Phil honestly didn’t want it tame, just out of his life. What was he meant to do with the holy water, make him drink it, or spill it on him? If he wasted the bottle they wouldn’t be able to get another one.
The Tarasque finally found him and began to charge, mouth agape. Phil closed his eyes and though the bottle at the Tarasque’s face. He heard two crashes, one was the bottle breaking on the Tarasque’s bulbous nose, and the other was the Tarasque himself flopping onto one side, with his feet in the air “Can I have a belly rub?” The Tarasque asked politely. Phil slowly opened one eye, and beheld the unusual sight. His heart was still pounding at a mile a minute. He turned where he stood and was surprised to see the entire school standing on the sidelines of the car park, and then he realized that they were cheering him. Nardo grinned and ran towards him, he grabbed his hand and raised it into the air like a referee after a boxing match, and the crowd went wild.
Phil wasn’t sure what to say. The Tarasque was singing “Hurrah Hurrah, you sure showed me master!” a little ditty obviously composed on the spot. Suddenly he was being swarmed by news reporters and police, and doctors. Everyone was screaming questions, or screaming at the people asking questions. The Tarasque disappeared behind a wave of people and Nardo was still by his side shouting answers to the reporters, and helping the E.M.T.s load him into the back of an ambulance. Phil wasn’t sure why he needed to be at the hospital, but it seemed better than the entire world looking at him, so he complied.
Inside of the ambulance Phil felt almost deft, compared to the shouting outside it was peaceful in here, even with the E.M.Ts around him doing things to his right arm, and across from him two men in black suits were asking all sorts of questions. He wasn’t listening to them, he was looking at his arm now. He had come to realize that the radius had broken in two, and the two halves were overlapping. He thought the pain was coming on slowly, but as soon as he thought the word broken it hit him like a ton of bricks. He grit his teeth and tuned the world out altogether.
I'm interested in a critique, either in depth or just something shore like "this is misspelled" or "this is more descriptive"
Chapter One
The Grand Debut
The Grand Debut
Summer rain trickled against the window of Phils fathers old blue car. On any other day summer rain would come as a talking point, on September the first however, it was as predictable as the rain over Wimbledon. Rain was a sign of depression, and all the junior rainmakers were depressed today. Summer was over, back to work. Indeed if rainmakers strike you as farfetched then you may take issue with the others as well. In Phil’s world if you weren’t a rainmaker you wouldn’t be out of luck, Chances were you were a strong, or an invulnerable, an untouchable, or a changeling. The list was really endless, well not endless; it ended with Phil.
Six and a half billion people on the planet and Phil was the only one without a power. There was a reasonable explanation for it yes, He’d been told on many occasions he was special, the last of his kind: the worlds only mortal. There weren’t that many to begin with, they seemed to have a habit of breeding once and dying young, always putting their noses where they didn’t belong- or making the mistake of not protecting their vital organs.
For those of you who live in a universe where Mortals are more the norm then perhaps a short history of the world would suffice. The gods created the world, and then they created man on each area of the globe. The God’s loved their creations and they loved Man most of all. It did not take long for Man and God’s blood to become intermingled, making each man godlike. Unfortunately for the Gods, Man could not see the wonderful world the gods created for them. All they saw was a competition, for the honor of their gods. They battled relentlessly, destroying themselves.
Seeing their beloved creation destroying it’s self was more than even the gods could handle. Deeply distraught the divine creators took their own lives to save the lives of the creation they held so dear. Left in the wake of their divine wind were the mortals, who rose from the ashes of destruction. They were immune to god’s power, and in effect powerless. They were the only beings left undisgraced from the fall of the gods.
It was with this in mind that Phil was always able to bring himself out of the brink of depression; he was the last of a noble breed, the only boy on earth untainted and free from sin. But that rubbish only stopped him from feeling disappointed by his lack of powers for mere seconds- it was hard to keep his mind over the matter of his short comings. Worst still, today he was about to end his life time vendetta against socialization. No more could he study at home with his father avoiding the rest of the world, home school was over: High school had begun. Sophomore year at a new school was just a block away, a corner away, and now they were parked.
Phil’s head lolled around his shoulder to stare daggers at his father; Rich Adams. Rich was a tan, stocky, and strong chinned man. He was the likes of men who posed for the covers of romantic novels, and in no way resembled his son. Phil had dirty blond hair, a narrow face with a profile like the moons; he had almond shaped periwinkle blue eyes, and a slim diminutive form. “Don’t look at me like that, what sort of father would I be if I didn’t make you make friends” Rich said leaning back in his chair. All of his body language suggested to Phil that they would both be there for days if Phil didn’t leave the car.
“Well Rich,” Phil replied trying his best to imitate his father’s don’t-give-a-dam stance “You’d be the kind of father that supported my introverted lifestyle.” He answered collectedly. Rich blinked, coming to the realization he had just taught Phil a new trick.
“Alright, you want to play hard ball?” he grabbed the key and ignited the engine cutting straight across the damp parking lot, washing the pedestrian students in up turned puddles, and charging straight into the drop off zone. “Okay, out” he shouted pointing over Phil’s shoulder to the rain streaked door. Behind cars started to honk, students and teachers a like began to shout. Phil recoiled; this was not going to help him make friends. The honking escalated, the shouting became obscene, and Phil dashed out of the door landing in a puddle on the other side. His father drove away, soaking his back in rain water. Laughter poured forth from the knots of divided groups clustered under the overhang. Phil just sloshed away, using his backpack to deflect the rain- and hide his face.
Physical Education, the television maintained that this was a tough class with sadistic teachers willing to make a joke out of you for the whole class to see. At home it was his favorite class. He was forever trying to persuade his father to make it go on for twice as long as it should have. It wasn’t the physical part of P.E. he was afraid of, it was the idea of exercising out of his element- what if powers were part of the sport? Everyone would know then that he was different, defective. He sat in the middle of the humid, dented, rusty locker room and stared down at his P.E. uniform. It was in the school colors, unflattering Marigold shorts that said new but smelt used, and a too short burgundy shirt that wouldn’t cover his stomach when he raised his arms. There was a golden gladiator helmet on the left breast, next to a gold bar over the words “Apple Gate High School” in Greek looking letters.
He was so repulsed by the outfit that he couldn’t look away, and did not notice when the students started to file in and out- snickering at him as they got dressed. He was the first into the locker room and the last to leave, seconds before the bell rang a dark square faced straggler appeared, dashing to a locker and thrusting it open- undressing like a boy skilled in the most efficient way to undress. He was out and into a new set of clothes in less than a minute- and the spectacle made Phil stare. The boy slapped his neck twitchily, as if he felt something was on his neck, then- realizing those things were Phil’s eyes, he turned to see Phil “Take a picture, it’ll last longer” The boy said shuffling out the door with a distinctive slumped shouldered shuffle.
In the court yard Phil came to realize he was wearing a girl’s P.E. Costume. This was the only place in this school that students required uniforms, and yet the groups couldn’t have been easier to sort out. All the students with long sleeved shirts under their uniforms talked in one group, the girls with sweats on talked in another, most girls wore shorts like he did, and all of the boys were wearing the marigold sweats. He was the only free floating student of the bunch, the rest were clumped into perfectly matching clicks. The straggler from the locker room was with a group of Latino students, with sweats and burgundy sweatshirts on, with their PE shirts sticking out underneath. He was whispering to a pale girl with large square sunglasses and golden rims. When Phil approached they silenced their whispers and stared at him, he backed away slowly.
It was ten minutes after the bell that the teacher finally did show up, much to the disappointment of the students. She was a lean thing with carrot colored hair and tan skin, the teacher looked nothing like he assumed her too. Although her attitude seemed spot on, she was leaned to one side; her hip resting on a soccer ball, the expression painted on her face was one of a young college graduate who had better places to be. “Good Morning students, my name is Amy, but you are to call me Ms. Trinder” she informed all of them, in a slow and terrifying voice, the voice of one who needed to vent their frustrations. “Because apparently Familiarity breeds unprofessionalism in this school” she added taking the soccer ball off her hip and squeezing it till it became oblong “not that I don’t appreciate the schools administrative technique.” simpered Ms. Trinder “the reason I got my masters in French literature was to become a high school gym teacher” With a sigh she threw the soccer ball at Phil’s stomach and started to walk away towards the bleachers “So whatever you know, play with that soccer ball or you’ll get fat” she called as she disappeared to take her seat. The students looked at one another, and retreated back to the locker rooms.
The next few classes were just as unpleasant, there was Mr. Weinstein- passionate but unprofessional- compared the Neanderthal’s voice to that of Shirley Henderson’s. Then there was Mr. Oswald, a man with a neck thicker than his pin head, and who spat and sweat at the same time while leering over the class putting Phil, in the first row, in the line of fire. Phil was none the less eager to get lunch over with, the sooner that this day was over the better. The school e-mail he received told him his locker number was five hundred and eighty-one.
Eager to loose the extra weight in his backpack he walked though the halls, keeping his distance between either side of the lockers, he didn’t want to bump into anyone or otherwise make contact. He began to count: five hundred and seventy nine, five hundred and eighty, a two teenagers sucking face, five hundred and eighty two. Phil stood back, trying to plot how to get his books into his locker. He reached his hand out to tap the man on the shoulder, but a loud sucking noise, like the last of the bathwater going down the plug hole, made him draw his hand back and stare in awkward silence.
“Can I... ? May I…?” asked Phil quietly, afraid to raise his voice “…Get to my locker, please?” he whimpered, shrinking back to give the pair ample time to react. It was the girl who reacted first, in no hurry she took several seconds to open her slit like eyes and search with them for Phil, the rest of her body had taken no notice of him, and hadn’t wavered in its task. The eyes locked into Phil and gave him a glare that hit Phil like a cannonball meeting a wall of crepe paper.
“Come on pervert” a senior shouted as he grabbed Phil’s arms and pulled him away from his locker, down the hall the way he had come “Show’s over creep” another senior said taking Phil’s leg’s, assisting the other in the task. Phil never said a word; he was too confused to comment. Where did these seniors come from and why were they committed to carrying him away? In a moment he found himself no less confused, but far more annoyed as he was stuffed head down in the right-after-lunch trash can, in amongst the chocolate milk and half eaten coleslaw.
The long and hellish day continued to suck the life out of Phil. It seemed the entire universe had turned psychotic and he was the object of its aggression. When at last the system pitied him enough to chew him up and spit him back out again his father had forgotten to give him a ride home. Phil wandered into the school library, which was strangely old fashioned by comparison to the rest of the school. It featured many dusty tomes, untouched above the lower rows to comic books and magazines. Aside from last minute crammers and comic book junkies he spotted Mr. Oswald, the art history teacher reading one chapter ahead of his class. Whilst Phil observed quietly he felt eyes on the back of his neck. He turned to see the librarian, a deceivingly well groomed man who’s tattoos told of an earlier life-chapter, eyeing him with the contempt of a man who foresaw troublemaking and knew what it looked like from personal experience.
On the other end of the library Phil noticed a familiar face, it was the pale skinned Latina girl with the sunglasses. Her glasses resting atop her dark and untamable hair, brown eyes skimming a popular gossip magazine translated to Spanish. The girl seemed to have hated him during the class but a familiar face was just that, familiar and he didn’t want to meet yet another student, he was overwhelmed by the ones he already met today. He sat down across from her. “Any celebrities shaved their hair off lately?” he questioned.
The Girl jumped, her glasses falling onto the brim of her nose. She smiled politely and replied “No inglés”
“Perfect” Phil responded with enthusiasm.
“No inglés” she repeated, “eh… no englass” she revised, trying to take a shot at the English translation.
“Perfecto.” Phil replied putting his hands up to signal she could stop trying to understand “Just listen, escuchar!” Phil had little grasp of Spanish, only what the class he took today, and pop culture taught him. He preceded to tell her the events of his day, venting out his frustrations. The girl smiled falsely, trying her best to nod at all the right moments whilst they both knew she had no idea what he was talking about “and now I’ve been abandoned by my own father and I’m stuck here talking nonsense to someone who can’t even speak English…” Phil finished as the boy with the dark boy with the square shaped face wandered up to their table “... and it would be just my luck if he can only understand Swahili!”
The boy’s nostrils flared he scowled down at Phil “What did you just say about me?” The boy boomed, his hand’s gripping the back of Phil’s chair, his knuckles turning white. Phil floundered under the pressure. He didn’t answer “What did you say about me?” The boy asked again, the librarian shushed them from across the room, Phil fled like a coward while the other boy was distracted.
After Rich finally remembered to pick Phil up from the school parking lot Phil had to come home and adjust to doing homework. True all of the schoolwork he had done before this year could have been considered homework, but he always finished that before it even became lunch time, and never did any work past six. With his eyes watering and his brain failing to properly function he was glad when his father interrupted his reading on early human civilization to tell him his friends were waiting at the front door. Naturally this confused him though, because he had no friends. He stood to his feet and walked to the front door- surprised to see the couple from the library fiasco earlier that same day. “We’re here to kidnap you” The boy told him, his shoulders slumped forwards, arms folded protectively over his chest. Phil forced a laugh and waited for the real reason they had come.
“We’re not joking” The girl informed him, in what was perfect English- complementing her Californian accent. That was the last thing Phil remembered, after they put the potato sack over his head.
Chapter Two
The Hospital Twice
The Hospital Twice
The sound of a crumpling wrapper is what caused Phil to stir. The more he moved the louder the sound became, and he wondered in his muddled mind if he was a candy bar, trying to escape its wrappings. He didn’t know how long it too him to get reoriented, the lines were blurred between a sleep and awake and he wondered how he had gotten into a sitting position when a second ago he had been flat on his back. Gradually things began to make more sense. He was not a candy bar, much to his immense relief. He was instead sitting on the crumpled butcher paper on top of an ugly turquoise examiners table in what seemed to be a hospital room. He stumbled onto his feet, gripping into the floor with the toes of his shoes. The door across the room was locked.
Phil was not the sort of person who could handle being at the mercy of captors. Stepping back and shaking off the muddled feeling in his head Phil confirmed that the door could not be dismantled by the hinges and by shaking the handle and knocking on the door that it had a hollow core, which made his job much easier. He stepped back and planted a kick under the door handle. The door rattled lie chattering teeth but stood in place. He frowned and looked down at his sore foot, but now he was convinced another kick would bring it down. He let his foot sail under the handle again but at the very moment he was about to make contact the door opened and the momentum forced him to trip up and stumble backwards into the opposite wall.
“Are you trying to kick down the door?” The black teenager with the square head questioned Phil as he stood in the door way where Phil’s foot was meant to be. Phil now wished he had gone through with the kick and sunk his foot into the boy’s stomach.
“Why are you doing this to me?” Phil demanded in what he wished was a more commanding voice. Did the boy have any idea how easy it would have been for him to escape at the moment? He could either plow though the boy as he blocked the door frame, or he could kick the door right out of the boy’s hands. If he was lucky the latter would dislocate the boy’s shoulder. The boy frowned, looked at something on the other side of the door. A second later he turned his head back to Phil “We’re not telling you just now.” He replied and then, with out needing to check with anyone on the other side of the wall he added “I don’t really know how to tell you.” before shutting the door once more. Phil paced in front of the door for another ten minutes before the door opened again.
Square-head walked in again, shortly followed by an older man in scrubs the same ugly shade of turquoise as the examiners table. The both of them hurried in keeping the door as closed as possible, as if Phil was a dog or a cat they were trying to lock in, instead of a human being. Square-head flopped into one of the chairs in the corner whilst the man in scrubs took the half step that brought him into the same vicinity as Phil. The man in question was in his early thirties, he was fairly tall with a pot belly. He was Latino, and like the girl he meet earlier in the day he had pale skin, though his time it had a distinct lines from a bad case of farmers-tan. His brown hair was slicked back and on the sides of his head he was already cultivating streaks of grey hair. To Phil all these details went unnoticed because his attention had been snagged by the mans almost perfectly circular, and blazing amber eyes. The man gave him a jittering grimace that was meant to be a reassuring smile. “Hello, my name is Nardo Ramirez and I’m Bonita’s elder brother” He said softly. Phil closed his eyes to stop himself from getting to distracted by Nardo’s eyes. He took in what Nardo had said and looked at square-head for clarification.
“Bonita’s the chick who kidnapped you” Square-head said, confirming what Phil had assumed. This information meant very little to him how ever, because it did not explain why he was brought to a hospital. He took his eyes of Square-head and looked to Nardo, who was again trying to smile. There was an awkward silence between them before Nardo realized that Phil was not going to introduce himself back to him. Instead it seemed Phil was trying to see if he could kill Nardo just by looking at him. Nardo swallowed nervously and put himself down on a stool by the desk in the corner
“My sister tells me that you have no power, sort of like a mortal.” He added, scooting himself forewords. Phil looked down his ski-jump nose at Nardo and scoffed “More like exactly like a mortal, that’s what I am, obviously.” He added
“Lying for attention” Square-head said suddenly, for him chair in the corner. Phil flushed red
“What would possess me to lie about having no power? If I were to lie wouldn’t I say I had a really cool power no one else had?” Phil spat, flustered. As if he liked the attention he was getting right now, for some reason these people thought being a mortal meant he had to go to the hospital right way. Did they think him diseased?
“If we were to test some of your blood we would be able to verify you are indeed a mortal“ Nardo said swinging over to the desk excitedly “Oh pardon me, thee mortal” he laughed, high pitched and nervous. “There’s only one right?” He mumbled in the tone of someone who knew what they were saying was of no interest to anyone. He stood up and wrapped the Tourniquet around Phil’s arm, then with another in his hands he began to walk towards Square-head. Square-head shrank back and put his legs on the chair “where are you going with that?” he asked, speaking quickly “You’re testing his blood remember, not mine” He seemed to be trying to make himself smaller and smaller as Nardo got closer, holding his arms close to his chest.
“I have to test some normal blood against his.” Nardo responded pulling Square-head’s arms away from his chest. He tied the Tourniquet fast before Square-head could react, and stayed with his arm on his shoulder to make sure he wouldn’t pull it off. Phil watched with amusement as a few minutes passed and the boy’s teeth started to chatter, he had never met someone so afraid of giving blood. When the syringe actually came into view it went from funny to sad. The boy Screeched like a seagull and flailed his arms. Phil covered his ringing ears and watched Nardo try to catch one of Square-head’s arms. “Dog don’t be a baby” Nardo shouted pinning the boy’s hand down against the arm of the chair and sitting on it to keep it where it was.
“You’re name is Dog?” asked a bemused Phil.
Square-head snorted at Phil “It’s a nickname” He responded snidely, not even noticing when Nardo injected him while he had been looking away. “When did that happen?” Dog asked looking at the syringe full of blood. Nardo rolled his eyes and repeated the process with Phil who, as if to prove a point, didn’t make a peep.
“Good lord” Nardo decreed, turning to show them the vile he had mixed using both bloods. The two liquid’s in the vile were near identical, one was a slightly brighter red. Yet they were easy to tell apart for they were separated. Not like oil on water but instead like two magnets facing the same pole. With a rubber stopper at the top the lighter amount of blood stayed at the bottom while the darker blood floated at the top, despite the laws of gravity. The space between them was large enough for Nardo to peer through. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to meet you” Nardo said dropping the vial and rushing over to Phil’s chair, his eyes looked even madder than usual. “Twenty-five years!” He grabbed Phil’s shoulders and shook them. Phil put his arms between Nardo’s and pushed his arms off
“Hurray, you found me. I’m right here.” Phil grinned slipping off the examiners table and backing off towards the door. He tested the handle behind his back, it was still locked. “I still don’t understand why you needed to find me” He added wandering around the room to avoid Nardo who only seemed to want to touch him, to prove that he was real. The boy named Dog seemed to be of no help, he was enjoying the show. “So what am I to you people, the gate keeper or the key master or what?”
“You’re our savior” Nardo replied with adoration. “The last mortal, you’ve been training for years for you’re birthright but the second phase of training has yet to begin. I must fulfill my divine duty to the spirits and teach you of the dregs in time for the great awakening.”
“I should have known” Phil replied, finally deciding he’d heard enough. He turned on his heal and placed another good kick on the door, this time it cracked under the handle and banged against the wall. Phil hadn’t ran three steps before his feet left the ground and he was moved backwards like seaweed getting churned inside a wave. He felt himself land on his back at Nardo’s feet. So that was Nardo’s power, he was a summoner.
Nardo leaned down above Phil’s head “Why are you leaving, I haven’t told you when the first of your lessons are.” He said, innocently oblivious of how his mad obsession was causing him to act. Phil did not reply but instead grabbed the collar of Nardo’s scrubs and threw him to the ground, rounding the corner before he could recuperate. He took several turns in a row in an attempt to shake them off and didn’t lessen his pace until he was on the bus home.
Rich was very interested in what Phil had gotten up to in the hour or so that he had been gone. He seemed proud that Phil had made any friends at all, even if they were the kidnapping kind. Phil couldn’t bring himself to describe the events that had transpired at that hospital. His father would be sad that he had not gained any friends, and Phil himself wasn’t sure how to explain what he didn’t understand. That night he dreamed about his mother, and the dark shadows in the corners of his room, dreaming that they had dripped down into a pool on the floor and enveloped his body in darkness, sucking away his existence until he wasn’t anything anymore but an empty bed. He woke up the next morning feeling tired and nervous, and guilty because he had neglected his history homework. The idea of spending another day at that hell hole that they called a school was barbaric, not to mention having to bump into those two odd balls who thought that he was their savior.
He didn’t have to wait until Physical education to meet them either. When his father dropped him off in front of the school they were already waiting for him under the overhang. He did his best to steer around them but they closed in and the girl named Bonita grabbed his arm and he knew immediately that she was a Strong, and that there was no use in struggling against her grip, because he was as good as handcuffed to her. “I heard that you had a bad day yesterday” she smiled sweetly “My brother can be over the top sometimes, but you did hurt his back.” She added reproachfully. Phil didn’t like being talked to like this, he wouldn’t be guilt tripped into feeling sorry for someone who wanted to keep him in a hospital and worship him, or whatever they wanted to do. He didn’t reply however, he just kept his mouth shut and waited for the crazy to come out of her mouth.
He didn’t have to wait long. “If you’re the last mortal then you really need to know about the great awakening, and the dregs in time! If you ignore your destiny the repercussions could be apocalyptic.” She said, her eyes wide; Phil thought about Nardo’s mad eyes. Phil had quite finished with this one sided conversation. He pulled his arm away causing Bonita to be pulled towards his drawn back arm, so his stepped forwards and tripped her up by knocking the back of her leg with his foot. She fell to the ground and let go of his wrist in surprise, not sure how she had gotten onto the ground in the first place. Dog, who had been standing a few steps away from the both of them and looking nervous about the whole affair stepped up and helped Bonita to her feet, giving Phil an angry glare as he walked away. Phil heard Bonita call him a coward.
They continued to Harass him for weeks on end, till the weather became blustery and September became October. Phil could not get rid of them, to and from school they always seemed to find him on his way to classes. During Physical Education they no longer kept within their group of friends, but adopted his style of dressing and pestered him whist he tried to lose the weight he was gaining from the horrible school lunches. They even phoned him at home, and he could not always hang up because his father had made the assumption that he, Bonita, and Dog were all friends. His world continued in this style for three weeks until he could take it no more.
He had just gotten to school and was walking from the front of the school under the overhang by the library. With Dog on his left and Bonita on his right, Bonita was spouting nonsense about spirits and dark shadows and Dog was just being here, making sure he didn’t escape to the left. Something in Phil just snapped. “You’re both nut jobs in a cult, which I wish was a suicide cult because then I wouldn’t have to deal with you. I may not have powers, and that’s a little weird, but I can tell you that there are no such things as spirits and demons, they’re all dead! Like the gods, d-e-a-d, dead!” Phil shouted grabbing at his forehead and feeling like he could rip out his hair with frustration “I’m not your savior, you don’t need saving! There’s nothing mystical or magical about this world it’s just boring so get over it and get a life because nothing else is going to happen to you over here!” Phil declared at the top of his lungs, not caring that everyone around was staring at him.
Something seemed off, everyone was staring at him but, just a little higher than the top of his head. Bonita and Dog had fallen silent with twin looks of shock on their faces. The sky had become cloudy, then black like smoke, and green lightning flashed across the skies but the thunder was silent. Phil turned to see what everyone had been looking at. In the center of the school parking lot was the eye of the storm, green lightning spiraled around a point in the middle of the clouds that was lowering itself down like a tornado, and yet the wind was fore sully pushing everything in its path away from the funnel like cloud. The wind was so forceful that even the cars were drifting away from the storm, creating a perfect circle in the middle of the parking lot, closed off by the cars like a fighting ring. Students in the hall were thrown off of their feet and with as little control as they had tried to get inside, or else were forced into piles against the walls.
Phil himself was stuck like glue to the side of the library, next to Dog and Bonita, who was trying to open the library door and hurry everyone inside; but even with her strength she could not pull the door open against the force of the wind. The storm finally hit the ground and with a blinding green flash the roaring wind had vanished. Students forced against the walls fell to the ground in crumpled heaps. The library door flew open with ease so suddenly that Bonita hit her nose with the door.
Phil noticed none of this; he was the only one who had kept his eyes open, despite the dust. What Phil saw in the parking lot went against everything he thought he knew. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, and there was a behemoth monster, twenty five feet tall and forty feet long, give or take a few feet. It’s skin was lightning green and warty, with a human like head and needle like teeth that stuck out at odd angles like a fish from the depths of the deepest ocean, and beady black eyes. Like a lion it had a mane, and three sets of bear like feet. It’s body was hidden inside a red spiked tortuous shell, which also produced a tail with a mace like club at the end. The Monster opened his mouth and spoke into the open air, in English, and his voice was like thunder. “Phil Adams!” His voice boomed and crackled and Phil felt as if he had been hit by lightning. “Last of the Mortals! Herald of the Gods! I have come to destroy what should have never been born, namely you!”
“Told you so.” Dog said from the ground, he still hadn’t recuperated from falling off of the wall. Bonita was sitting in the corner with the back of her hand to her bleeding nose, but she nodded and gave a satisfied, know-it-all smile.
“He’s not goink to leave till you fight hib” Bonita said suddenly, her voice very nasally. The student’s all looked to Phil, as if he was this so called savior. Phil didn’t know what he was doing, he suddenly found himself walking towards the parking lot, towards the enormous monster with his black empty eyes and his yard long claws that scratched against the ground and ripped up the tar.
“I’m Phil Adams” Phil announced, he neither felt fright not brave, he was more amazed at himself because he didn’t know he had it in him, or what was possessing him to do these crazy things. “I don’t want to be destroyed so I’m going to kill you, or destroy you, or slay you, or vanquish you. I’m not sure what the right term is.” Phil explained sounding embarrassed with himself as he sidled though the maze of cars. The monster waited for him impatiently, scratching his many sharp teeth together and making a grating noise like chalk on a chalk board. Phil finally arrived in the clear circle with the monster and looked up at it in amazement, the first twinges of fear were coming to him now, like little pin pricks. “I-” Phil stuttered but regained his composer quickly “I’ve never killed a monster before, or anything for that matter. I have however beaten Shadow of the Colossus five times, so maybe that will help.” He added.
“I’m not interested in beatings you’ve taken out, I’m confident that I’ve killed a centenum of knights for every one of these colossus’s shadows that you have slain, at the very least” He added, and his human face seemed to show a smug sort of pride. It was hard to be certain because you could hardly see the lower half of his face for teeth. “Enough talk!” the monster shouted abruptly, and stomped his foot down on the space that Phil had seconds ago just occupied. Phil had seen something restless in the monster’s eye and decided to move for that exact reason. He had moved around to the other side of the monster, and with the monster’s serious lack of neck, he had to turn around slowly, moving his six legs independently to look for him. By the time the monster had gone full circle, Phil had moved to where he had been in the first place.
He couldn’t win by running around in circles, so he tried to look for a weakness instead. Phil assumed he had all the time in the world to look, as long as he kept out of the monsters field of vision. That’s why he was nearly impaled on the monster’s clubbed tail as he swung it though the air and pounded it into the ground with all of his might. Without thinking of his actions Phil jumped onto the monster’s clubbed tail and held on for dear life. The Monster roared and shook his tail from side to side wildly, and Phil had no clue how to gain leverage or keep from sliding off like he so obviously was about to. He had his nails dug into the warty flabby skin but his hands were getting sweaty and soon he would be out of luck. A sudden jerky stop caused Phil to lose control and let go with one hand. He grabbed on to whatever he could get his fingers around and suddenly found himself hanging off of the tail.
The monster gave an eerily human like giggle and raised his tail into the air before bringing it down with all of his weight onto the ground. Phil jumped off at the last second and dove out of the way before the clubbed tail hit the ground with an all mighty crunch that turned the tar to gravel. Phil stood beneath the belly of the beast, moving as silently as he could whist the monster turned slowly to see Phil’s remains. He felt caged with six column like legs around him, and hoped he could get out in time of the monster began to rampage; if that was what monsters did. Breaking the deathly silence a rusty pea green ford truck skidded to a stop in front of the main road by the school and Nardo, still wearing his scrubs, jumped out and ran towards the maze of cars.
The monster saw, or rather didn’t see Phil’s squished body inside the crater he had created in the parking lot with his tail. He howled in frustration and began to stomp his feet, the earth began to shake Phil off of his feet. Phil fought to keep his balance, if he didn’t he knew he wouldn’t be spared by those crushing feet. Every time the monster brought a foot up he brought another down, but so fast that it could hardly be seen. Phil took a chance and ran under a raised foot, knowing that he would probably die either way. On the other side of the legs Nardo grabbed onto Phil by the sleeve of his shirt and they both ducked down in and amongst the cars with the monster in the middle calling Phil a coward and ordering him to show himself. “He’s a Tarasque.” Nardo said, in a hushed whisper.
“A what?” Phil replied looking amazed that anyone in the world would know what the hell was going on here, let alone what that thing was. Nardo covered Phil’s mouth and shushed him.
“A Tarasque is a French dragon that eats virgin women.” Phil glanced at the Tarasque with it’s human head, lion mane, tortoise shell, clubbed tail, and six bear legs, he’d never seen anything less like a dragon. He was glad he wasn’t a woman as well. “You can tame it with this.” He said holding up an old dusty bottle. “Holy water, some of the last in the world” Nardo put it in Phil’s hands and then pushed him back into the circle without any further instruction. Phil honestly didn’t want it tame, just out of his life. What was he meant to do with the holy water, make him drink it, or spill it on him? If he wasted the bottle they wouldn’t be able to get another one.
The Tarasque finally found him and began to charge, mouth agape. Phil closed his eyes and though the bottle at the Tarasque’s face. He heard two crashes, one was the bottle breaking on the Tarasque’s bulbous nose, and the other was the Tarasque himself flopping onto one side, with his feet in the air “Can I have a belly rub?” The Tarasque asked politely. Phil slowly opened one eye, and beheld the unusual sight. His heart was still pounding at a mile a minute. He turned where he stood and was surprised to see the entire school standing on the sidelines of the car park, and then he realized that they were cheering him. Nardo grinned and ran towards him, he grabbed his hand and raised it into the air like a referee after a boxing match, and the crowd went wild.
Phil wasn’t sure what to say. The Tarasque was singing “Hurrah Hurrah, you sure showed me master!” a little ditty obviously composed on the spot. Suddenly he was being swarmed by news reporters and police, and doctors. Everyone was screaming questions, or screaming at the people asking questions. The Tarasque disappeared behind a wave of people and Nardo was still by his side shouting answers to the reporters, and helping the E.M.T.s load him into the back of an ambulance. Phil wasn’t sure why he needed to be at the hospital, but it seemed better than the entire world looking at him, so he complied.
Inside of the ambulance Phil felt almost deft, compared to the shouting outside it was peaceful in here, even with the E.M.Ts around him doing things to his right arm, and across from him two men in black suits were asking all sorts of questions. He wasn’t listening to them, he was looking at his arm now. He had come to realize that the radius had broken in two, and the two halves were overlapping. He thought the pain was coming on slowly, but as soon as he thought the word broken it hit him like a ton of bricks. He grit his teeth and tuned the world out altogether.
) 
