Atomic Octopus
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Atomic Octopus
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Atomic Octopus
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Jonathan
A near emaciated man lay in a white room. If not for the slight rise and fall of his chest, he could have passed for a corpse. The heavy dose of medication had done it's job; he was well sedated, halfway between sleep and a bleary wakefullness. His eyes were open slightly, cloudy blue, and he stared at the ceiling, observing the cracks in the plaster. They reminded him of rivers. His eyes felt like they were flowing, swimming down. Everything felt hazy. Where was he again? He wracked his brain, trying to remember where he was. The room around him was so white, it was disconcerting. He finally recalled the brown brick building he'd seen from the car window as he was brought to the hospital. The institution. Right. That's where he was. He had every hope it would be better than the other mental institutions he'd been too. Jonathan promised himself he would try his best to be good.
He blinked and slowly brought himself up to a sitting position. His entire body felt strangely numb and difficult to move. His tongue flicked out, licking his chapped lips. Mother wouldn't be pleased about the trouble he'd gotten himself into...
Jonathan slowly brought his hands up to his face, combing a piece of limp, oily hair away from his eyes. He scratched for a moment at the deep scar that ran from his eyebrow to the edge of his face.
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Jonathan
"Wake up...Wake up..."
A familiar voice probed it's way into the reaches of Jonathan's head, prying him out of his deep, dreamless sleep. He woke slowly, groggily, still clinging to sleep. His eyes opened, sharp blue rimmed with dark, sunken eyelids. He felt disoriented, as if he was wrapped in the indistinctness of a gray haze. They had drugged him, he assumed. He'd felt this way before. He couldn't say he liked it very much. It took him a few moment to realize where he was and then it all started to come back to him. He was in a room, a fairly dull looking white room. Why were the rooms always white? Couldn't they have picked a more interesting color? Anything else would do. Blue was a good color. Nice things were blue, like the sky and the water. Green was nice as well, like trees...soft grass. Anything but white. He was in a mental hospital, he remembered; he had arrived only a short time ago. He had thought he was doing well staying out of trouble in the hospital he had come from but obviously, it hadn't worked. But he was determined that this time, things were going to be better.
"Don't ruin it again."
Jonathan shook his head slowly, resolute.
"No. No, I won't."
The feeling of sedation were melting away, and were replaced with Jonathan's twitching mannerisms, characteristic of long term anti- psychotic use. His bony, spiderlike fingers trembles restlessly and he got up from the plain bed he was resting on to stretch. His body was very thin, near emaciated, and his simple hospital clothes draped loosely over his skeletal frame. He was always thin, but years of homelessness had taken their toll on his body.
"So, what do you plan on doing?"
Jonathan grimaced at the voice, clicking his yellowing teeth together.
"I am going to be a good boy. Yes. Very good," he nodded to himself. This time was going to be different.
"Things always go back to the way they were. Nothing ever changes."
Jonathan scratched anxiously at the deep scar that ran from above his eyebrow to the edge of his jaw. She was wrong. She was just trying to get under his skin, as she always did. But a part of him knew she was right. He sighed, licking his chapped lips as he got to his feet and walked slowly towards the door of his room. He moved strangely, hunched over slightly with uneven steps. He felt brittle, breakable. The uncertainty of being moved from one hospital to another caused him anxiety. What was going to happen to him? How were they going to treat him? "We want to come out," he murmured to himself, moving a piece of limp, disheveled hair from his eyes. "Please."
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Atomic Octopus
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Ed Hughes
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It had been a long week. Ed felt both physically and mentally exhausted. He had purchased a used car at a fairly cheap price. He had saved up enough money. Hopefully he would never have to spend any more time on public transport...at least not for a while. Of course, that meant the chance of running into Geoff again were slim. The man had been rather pleasant, even bought Ed lunch when he had recovered the man's wallet from the thug. Though Geoff seemed a nice guy, Ed didn't really mind the fact that it wasn't probably that he would see much of him anymore. Making connections was not Ed's forte. It was safer for him anyway.
Things had taken an interesting turn to say the least. After paying for the food, Geoff had excused himself, and Ed had gotten off to work as well. The next couple of days were unremarkable. Same mindless routine, nothing out of the ordinary. He made the decision to purchase the used car somewhere in between, a cheap car, but dull and inconspicuous (similar to Ed himself). It was good to have a car. Ed felt a good deal of freedom.
Driving home from work one chilly night, he stopped in the parking lot of a park. His music played softly and he relaxed for the moment, staring up at the night sky. A shriek promptly shattered the calm and Ed glanced to the left, where a someone in a dark hooded sweatshirt seemed to be attempting to mug a young girl. As the light from a streetlamp hit the attacker's face, Ed clenched his teeth. It was the thug that had stolen Geoff's wallet. Obviously the boy hadn't learned his lesson. And Ed wasn't a fan of second chances.
Tires screeching, Ed pulled up beside the two of them, springing out of his car and heading towards them. The thug quickly dropped the girl and took off. "Run," Ed snarled at the girl and she gladly took off running in the other direction. He prayed she hadn't seen much of his face in the dark. He caught up to the boy quickly and dragged him to the ground. "You didn't learn your lesson, did you?" he asked the struggling boy before he delivered a blow to the boy's jaw. A strike to the mandible would damage the cranial nerve, sending a shock to the brain to turn off all autonomic activity. The boy blacked out. Ed breathed deeply and exhaled loudly. He was going to have to move fast. He dragged the boy to his car, keeping a sharp lookout for anyone around while he did so. The park was empty; it was very late anyway, almost early morning. The boy looked as if he could be asleep as Ed dumped him in the passenger seat before he jumped in the car himself and took off. He swore under his breath, cursing the fact he was acting on impulse. It would be the end of him. He just had to get sloppy, to just trip up once meant it was all over. But Ed had told himself a long time ago that if he was ever caught, he would go quietly. Capture was inevitable; Ed wasn't deluded enough to believe he could keep going forever. But perhaps he could prolong his freedom until the time came.
He reached the reservoir while it was still dark. The boy was waking up. Ed kept wire in the glove compartment, just for emergencies like this. The ligature wrapped tightly around the boy's throat as he looked up into Ed's eyes. Weakly, the thug struggled. They always did. The human body is an incredibly resilient thing. They endure and they fight for all they are worth. They will not give up with death staring them in the face. But eventually, their tenacity dies, as everything does. The trappings of their lives fall away. It doesn't matter who there there, how many friends they had, what clothes they wore, what car they owned. All that matters is the moment. As the boy's life slipped away, Ed perceived the sort of connection he made with all of his victims. A silent acknowledgement. "They accept and they understand. They understand that this is the way it has to be, this is the way it will be, and they can't stop it. They understand that I have to do this. It is natural, as natural as one creature killing another for food, for necessity. That is all, a split second of enlightenment and understanding and then...nothing."
The feeling was... indescribable. Ed's head filled with a dizzy sort of elation and then a quiet calmness that spread through his entire body. Though he wanted to take his time, the sun would be up soon; Ed had to hurry. He wrapped the body in a garbage bag, weighted it with rocks, and unceremoniously pushed it over into the still water below the causeway. What a hasty job. Ed was almost disappointed with himself. He sighed deeply, running his hands through his hair before getting back in his car and driving off. "Well, Levi, I'm sure you're dissapointed in me too," Ed mumbled softly to himself on the way back, his expression strange. The pang of guilt he felt had nothing to do with the body that was now lying at the bottom of the lake.
***
The following days slipped by while Ed was absorbed in his thoughts. Everything seemed fairly tense, which was different. Usually, he stayed calm. But there was a bulletin on the news, a mention of a boy's disappearance. The disappearance of those who Ed usually dealt with never made it onto the news. They were never people that anyone would have cared about. But this was different. He would need to be careful.
The usual amount of sleeping pills also strangely didn't seem to be having much of an effect. Ed had needed to up his dose to get any sleep at all. It was...disturbing. But he assumed he was just building up a tolerance. In fact, at the moment, he was walking back from the corner pharmacy, a brown paper bag with the bottle of Eszopiclone clutched in his hand. He had gotten rather good at forging prescriptions.
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Malachi
"Nature, nurture, heaven, and home...sum of all and by them driven..."
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This was it. Judgement day, Armageddon, the rapture. Malachi knew it was coming, but it certainly had happened faster than he had expected. The day had started off normal, like any other day. His alarm had gone off, rousing Malachi from his peculiar dreams. He had been experiencing odd dreams for weeks now, though he had trouble remembering them when he woke up. But the feeling of the dream always lingered afterwards, a slight feeling of uncertainty and foreboding. Shrugging the feelings off, Malachi prepared for the day. His home was fairly small; a cheap house a little ways out of town. But it was certainly better than the crappy apartment he had owned before that had a persistent problem with rats in the walls and a heater that never seemed to work properly. Things would get better for him, he knew they would. He had suffered, and thus he would be rewarded. He was already moving up. He had bought the house and he had a steady job. Granted, it wasn't the best. But the hardware store in town was the only place that seemed to hire ex-cons; it was fortunate he was able to get that. One day, he was determined to have everything back the way it was.
Malachi dressed quickly and grabbed an apple for breakfast, taking a few bites before leaving for work. He enjoyed apples.The forbidden fruit. The fall of man in every bite. He drove into town in his rusty truck. Everything seemed quiet. Strangely quiet. Then again, it was still fairly early, so Malachi was not concerned. He got to work quietly, but it got stranger and stranger that there was no one around. Confused, he stepped out of the store and nearly tripped over something under his feet. Malachi reeled back once he realized that it was a body. It appeared to be a woman. He shook the woman's shoulder and tried for a pulse, but there was nothing. Blinking in disbelief, he turned the corner, finding more bodies strewn everywhere. Rather than a normal reaction of screaming or vomiting, Malachi stood there silently for a moment. It was really happening. Malachi's mind was reeling over what this meant. Was it really what he thought it meant? Was what he had preached for all his life finally coming true? He stumbled back towards his truck and sped off back towards home. Getting on the road turned out to be a poor decision, as it was littered with the dead, as well as cars abandoned or with their owners still inside. He finally reached his home and he let himself in, feeling almost shaky on his feet. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. His time had finally come.
Malachi quickly gathered his meager belongings in a bag he slung over his shoulder. He had no use for material items, he took only some food and a bible. Was he the only one left alive? He always knew that he would be the one that was chosen. Malachi smiled to himself as he walked out the door, deciding not to take his truck. He would go on foot from now on. He heard something off in the distance and decided to follow, eventually encountering the smell of smoke as well. What was going on? As he reached the top of a small hill, he spotted the source of the smoke and music. A car was blasting music in front of the church, while someone had set a bonfire on the side. Well, it seemed he wasn't the only survivor after all. "And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him." Malachi spoke softly to himself as he headed towards the church.
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"...To conquer every mountain shown, but I've never crossed the river."
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Malachi
"Nature, nurture, heaven, and home...sum of all and by them driven..."
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Finally. Malachi stood outside the church doors, clenching his teeth in anticipation. He hadn't been inside church walls for quite a while, the townspeople made it clear that he wasn't welcome. As if everything he came into contact with twisted and changed into something corrupt. Of course, that was exactly the opposite of the truth. Malachi didn't look for approval in the sinners that surrounded him. He envisioned himself as Saint Sebastian, suffering the slings and arrows of those who would persecute him. In the end, Malachi's standing in the world of men didn't matter. The bonfire was still burning intently and the music was still blaring Beethoven into the air; there had to be survivors in the church. It's was time to start anew. But Malachi paused for another moment. He wasn't the man he had been before. Could he even fulfill his purpose anymore? Malachi shook the doubts from his head as he heard a few shouts coming from inside the building. Hesitating no longer, he pushed the doors open and stepped inside.
He was greeted by light streaming through the stained glass on either side of the building, as well a familiar, aged smell. It was good to be back. The church was almost empty, save for an old man with a woman in the pews, along with a younger man standing a little ways away from them. The voice that had called out sounded like a woman's. "Is everyone alright?" he called out, his voice firm and his Arkansas accent evident. He tried to sound concerned. He didn't want his lack of surprise at today's events to be too obvious. He walked towards to the survivors, the sound of his footsteps echoing on the floor. He gave the old man and the woman on the pew a small smile that parted his chapped lips. "I can't tell you how glad I am to find you all." The woman looked particularly distressed. He cast a glance towards Andrew, wondering why he was apart from the others. You would think that in a desperate situation such as this, people would be coming together, not angering each other, as he assumed there had been some disagreement.
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"...To conquer every mountain shown, but I've never crossed the river."
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Jonathan
Jonathan nodded slowly at her. It was difficult to discuss what bothered him. There was always the chance that he would be ignored, or simply dismissed. But the doctor seemed as if she genuinely was willing to listen. It was a relief that she didn't seem as if she was going to make him talk what he didn't want to talk about. He was lucky to be talking to someone who seemed so understanding. Jonathan kept his arms clasped around his thin body but turned, facing the doctor a bit more. "I'm not sure what I want to talk about," he told her. "I...I like games," he added, hesitantly, with a childish smile. Jonathan was practically a child in how he acted and emoted. His face was expressive; he could be easily read. He was also like a child in how he approached things. He couldn't deal with the world, he couldn't rationalize the way the world worked. It confused him. It was complicated. He liked like simple things. He liked the sensory world, the dirt under his feet, the smells carrying on the wind, the sound of birds in the trees. He had none of that now. Just the stale smell of sickness and the cold hospital floor under his feet.
"But, I'm too old for games," he sighed," his brow furrowing. "Mother says I'm too old for games," he mumbled under his breath, almost inaudibly as he didn't want to get in trouble for mentioning her again. "I like...sweet foods," he mentioned with a small giggle. He ate anything he could get his spidery fingers on but sweets were his favorite. He ignored the doctor's mention of childhood. That wasn't something to talk about. "What do you like, Doctor?" he asked her, tilting his head quizzically to the side. He wanted to know what she liked to. He wondered how many people asked about her; he assumed she would get awfully tired of listening to others and never being asked what she was feeling.
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Malachi
"Nature, nurture, heaven, and home...sum of all and by them driven..."
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Everyone seemed to be isolated; absorbed in their own thoughts. It was understandable. Their entire worlds had come crashing down, after all. It was enough to make anyone recede into themselves. Everyone coped in a different way. Malachi arched his brow slightly as the man walked towards him. Of course, everything wasn't fine. It was funny how automatic that phrase had become. The man was awfully foul mouthed, Malachi observed. Swearing wasn't going to bring everyone back to life. With a slightly bemused look on his face, Malachi watched the man walk off.
"I saw the bonfire. I thought I was the only one left alive," he said, wiping his face with his hand and directing his voice towards the older man and the woman in the pews. He stepped towards them, the light from the stained glass windows behind casting a halo of colored light around the edges of his body. "I heard some yelling..." he trailed off, casting his sunken eyes toward the woman. "Was that man giving you a hard time?" Malachi asked, giving a gesture towards where Andrew had headed off. "Almost forgot to introduce myself; I'm Malachi. Malachi Harper," he added with an amiable expression, extending his hand towards them. His accent was thick, pure Arkansas. His demeanor was usually friendly and affable, but he could be forceful and domineering when the need presented itself. Someone needed to take control of the situation. And Malachi had plans to fulfill even though at the current time he didn't know exactly what those plans were.
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"...To conquer every mountain shown, but I've never crossed the river."
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