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 Posted: Sun Apr 29, 2012 5:56 pm
Quote: gaia_nitemareright [ The Reality: ] You wake up, and are surprised to see you are surrounded by your friends, and family. They are smiling at you, encouraging you. It is peaceful where you are, you are living in a small cot, a small haven, a place where you feel truly at peace. You can smell the warmth of the place, a place built from your happiest memories. You feel secure and at peace. Days pass by, everything seems perfect, every day another beautiful moment. And yet, you feel a strange heaviness in your heart after each day, as if this was not meant to be. As if you should not be here. It tears into you, and unable to bear it much longer, you ask one of your friends or family members where you are. They tell you it doesn't matter, and you should stay. If you stay here, you will be here forever, it doesn't matter where your body really is. Horrified, you try to leave, but as they chase after you and try to cajole you, you realize there is only one exit.... Just before you attempt to take your own life, you truly wake up for real, or is your body still sleeping and rotting somewhere?. Quote: gaia_nitemareright [ The Loop: ] You and one or several friends encounter and incident, and you can only watch in horror as they die before your eyes. You wake up, and relive the day again, understanding immediately what you must do: save them. You manage to avoid the first incident, but because of it, you inadvertently kill off another friend or make the situation worse as your friend simply falls for another incident and dies again. You wake up and relive the day every single time you try to change the timeline and fail, watching your friends die in different sequences. Their deaths get more and more gruesome. At long last you realize what the problem is: yourself. If you had not changed the timeline, things would not have gotten so out of hand. You have a choice either to kill your friends and put them out of their misery or to kill yourself. As you commit to this choice, you finally wake up, for real, perhaps to relive the same timeline again.
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Posted: Sun Apr 29, 2012 5:59 pm
Bang
When Wilson opens his eyes he is met with the familiar pale beige of his bedroom walls. A quiet groan rumbles in his throat as he continues to bury his head in his pillow, which he grips tightly with both arms. He blinks once, twice, letting his vision acclimate to the dim glow of sunshine warming his room. Another groan as he cranes his neck to look at the digital clock perched on his nightstand. The bright red numbers shine as Wilson reads the time. It’s not quite noon yet, but close. With great reluctance, he crawls out of bed and heads for the closet. Wilson leaves his bed unmade; the comforter is sprawled on the mattress.
He slips into his usual jeans and tee, and he shrugs on a hoodie. Wilson can hear his mother’s muffled voice hollering from the kitchen as she urges him to come down for breakfast. “I’m coming!” he answers, running his hand through his hair to undo the bed tangles before rushing down the stairs. When he strides into the kitchen there is the rare sensation of fresh pancakes for breakfast, already dipped in maple syrup that glistens in the kitchen light, but what startles Wilson even more is Emmaline sitting at the table. His grin grows bigger and he walks over to press his lips against hers. She flushes red, pushing him away as she frantically looks toward his mother, her back turned toward the couple as she stands by the stove.
“Not in front of your mother,” she chides in a hushed tone, but Wilson laughs while he seats himself across from her.
“But she’s not even looking.”
“Still. Not in front of others.”
“Okay.” His smile turns soft, filled with love and care. Wilson reaches over to tuck her braid behind her ear before he traces Em’s star clip. His voice turns quiet. “Okay.” He flashes her a toothy smile before he eats his breakfast.
The next day, Wilson’s hands are loosely twined with Em’s as they stroll down the cobblestone pathway. His voice is low and calm as he talks with Em, their interlocked hands swinging back and forth. Something grips his shoulder from behind. His eyes widen and panic seizes him for a split second; he isn’t quite sure why. When Wilson turns around the shock drains from his face. He smiles instead and reaches out a free hand to playfully push the younger boy away.
“Dakota, what are you doing out so late?” He shakes his head, his tongue clicking disapprovingly as he continues to smile.
“Come on bro, why not?” The boy grins before glancing at Em. A gleam enters his eye and Wilson playfully pushes him again before Dakota can utter one of his many horrendous pick-up lines.
“I thought we went over this already. Em’s my girlfriend.”
The look of devastation spreading across Dakota’s face never ceases to amuse the man. “Oh, right.” Dakota’s eyes suddenly widen and reaches for Wilson, pulling the man close to him like a shield as he peers over Wilson’s shoulders. “Crap, it’s Julie.”
Wilson looks at Dakota then in the direction Dakota is looking at. Despite the falling darkness as the sun sets, he can easily see the flashes of rainbow painted all over the brunette’s clothes while she tugs along another poor sap—Marcus?
“Dakota! How do you feel about being one of my live mod—“
Dakota is already dashing down the pathway. Julie yells indignantly and drags Marcus with her as she chases the other boy down. Wilson can still hear her screaming about art and cookies and models despite his loud laughter. Em tugs on his arm. He quiets immediately and leans over so she can wryly note, “You have an interesting taste in friends.”
Wilson squeezes Em’s hand tighter. “I suppose.”
The days pass by slowly and sure, but each day is filled with happy moments and laughter. He laughs every time Ryan throws out Wilson’s pet rock out the window in a fit of fury. Every lunch he tries to convince Ami to smile and sometimes later in the day he hangs out with Feng to laugh at the horrible imitation Chinese food they order. Whenever his computer fails he calls up Deryk and every week he constantly runs away from Allan because he doesn’t want to karaoke songs he doesn’t understand nor know. Once the weekend arrives he always takes out his gun to drive out to the shooting range nearby, but as days begin to turn into weeks there is a nagging feeling in the back of his mind. Something is not quite right even though everything is at it should be.
Wilson bends over his gun to load a new cartridge. He looks up at Gale and Kat as they aim their guns. Wilson tilts his head curiously as he tries to remember something because things don’t seem like they should. He watches the blond boy aim his rifle at the target in the distance. Wilson can hear the displeased sigh once the bullet rings through the air and there is the distinct lack of bullet hitting target. Wilson smirks. “Another off day?” Gale shoots him a scowl before he turns back toward the target.
Wilson stares at the white gun in the boy’s hands. Something is off. His lips move on its own. “Where am I?”
Gale glances at Wilson before he fires off another shot. Another miss. Wilson grins again. The boy is silent for a moment before he answers finally, “Does it matter?”
His eyes widen. “Does it matter? Yes. Very much!” Wilson stands up, tightly clutching his gun with both hands.
Both Kat and Gale stare at him with confused eyes before shaking their heads and aiming their guns at the targets again. “Wilson, just concentrate on your shooting. You’ve been waiting all week for this, haven’t you?” pipes up Kat.
He lets the other two continue shooting, letting himself relax at the familiar sound of guns firing with a loud crack. His grip on the weapon tightens. Wilson repeats himself, “Where am I?”
Gale sighs impatiently. “I told you. It doesn’t matter.”
“You can stay here forever. It doesn’t matter where your body is.” Kat smiles as she utters her words. The gun clicks as she loads another cartridge.
His face pales. Where his body was? Wide eyes slowly stare down at himself. This wasn’t his real body? When his arms begin to tremble, his hands grip the gun even tighter. In the background he can hear Gale utter a triumphant “Yes” and Kat’s laughter as Gale hits the target’s center. Somewhere behind him he can hear Em calling out his name.
“Wil? Are you okay?”
Gun in hand, he takes off. Footsteps rustle the grass as he hears them chasing after him.
“Wil!”
“Come back!”
“Just stay.”
“Just stay here forever.”
He wants to look back, but he forces himself to keep looking ahead. His legs propel him forward and Wilson keeps running until his lungs burn and gasp for air. He drops to his knees; the gun clatters a few feet away from him. Breathe. Breathe. He has to keep breathing or he’ll di—
His breath hitches. Wilson forces his breathing to slow as he gradually turns toward his handgun. He stares, but then a hand tentatively reaches out for it. His fingers wrap around the smooth handle. He can feel his hand trembling as he brings it to the side of his head. A bead of sweat runs down his neck. He had always loved guns. He had always used them, but never for something like this.
Wilson’s eyes squeeze shut and he sucks in air, holding in his breath while his finger gently pulls the trigger, slowly, slowly—
He wakes up before he can hear the bang.
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Posted: Sun Apr 29, 2012 6:01 pm
Heat Haze
On August 15th, 12:30 in the afternoon,
The weather was incredibly nice
And amidst the sickening rays of the dazzling sun
I spoke with you, for I had nothing else to do
“Well, y’know, I kind of hate summer,”
You boldly murmured while petting a cat
When he steps through the portal it’s humid, but Wilson bears with it anyways. His hands reach out to swipe a barrier dagger and FEAR packet. He clasps both items tightly. They’ll be useful he’s sure, but a nagging voice in his head—it’s not Gramps—tells him he won’t be using either of them. He slips it into his pockets anyways. For reasons he’s not quite sure, the labyrinth feels just as warm as the Amazon. His cannons scrape against the stone walls as he stumbles around in the darkness for what seems like an eternity, but even when he escapes the isle feels strangely just as hot.
Wilson dares to pull down his mask just a bit to admire the oozing lava dripping above him in thick streams of bright orange. The heat doesn’t surprise him. The area is covered with volcanoes and lava. Underneath his jacket he’s sweating and the heat nearly prevents him from hearing Caelius’ instructions before the older man walks away. The trainee sways for a moment before he manages to place down a tile. He steps back to let the others take care of the rest. Wilson hopes he can afford a few moments of idle standing. He pulls at the collar of his shirt. Why is it so hot? Nearby is Aleister, and Wilson calls out to him. “Hey, is it me or is this place really ho—“
Something sweeps him off his feet.
Ah, you pursued that cat as it ran away from you
And what jumped out was the traffic light that changed to a glaring red
Suddenly, a truck came out of nowhere and struck you as you screamed
Your scent, now mingled with sprayed blood, choked me
In the haze of lies, the haze of heat laughed, “This is all real!”
With that, like a cricket’s sound being disturbed, the light blue of summer darkened away
The corners of the pack on his back jab into his shoulders. Wilson hisses, squeezes his eyes shut as he bears with the minor pain and scrambles back to his feet. His world turns a familiar shade of bright green; he takes a deep breath. If he has his weapon with him he’ll be okay. He can hide behind the mask. No one can tell what goes on behind the mask, save for the hints of worry or cheer or confusion that seeps through his words. Wilson grips the cannons, his eyes honing in on the students filling the room. As long as he doesn’t say anything he’ll be fine. If he can keep his tone neutral they won’t see weakness. They won’t get him.
He can see the silhouettes of his fellow trainees flitting at the corners of his vision. The sight relaxes his muscles before he tenses up again and lunges forward. Everywhere he looks is green, but Wilson can still see the pale glow on the student’s chains. The links jingle together as he lifts them to lash out. It stings, but he grits his teeth and counters with a tiny cloud of gas. The reaper hits back. Wilson returns the blow. He finds himself engrossed in their fight, tuning out the rest of the room as he piles all of his attention onto the student. But a different glow catches his eye and he realizes it’s Eva. He smiles even when he knows she can’t see it. When he twists his body to face her fully he cries out.
Her uniform is splattered with red. There is a surprising lack of a smile dancing on her lips and the blank gleam in her eyes worries him.
“Eva! What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” She shakes her head slowly. Her free hand reaches to grasp her staff so she can raise it above her head and bring the blade down upon the reaper while Wilson looks away.
There is destruction everywhere.
Everything is hot hot hot and burning, but he doesn’t know why. He can see flashes of white against the darkness and glow of runes—hunter jackets. He can also see the familiar insignia of two scythes crossing each other. Wilson can see glimpses of familiar faces of his comrades before they begin to fall like dominos. First is Gale. The boy is the most experienced out of them all, but perhaps it is his diminutive size and young age compared to the others that draw the monsters to him like moth to a flame. The gun in his hands is white and glowing. He draws it over his shoulders—though he isn’t sure why, do sniper rifles work like that?—and fires a first shot, then a second. But one hunter can only do so much against a group of creatures. He disappears under a flurry of claws and feathers and manic screeches.
In his peripheral version he can see the others succumb to similar fates and he looks away. Wilson looks back to Eva. “Eva—“
She’s covered in red. The tiny spots of scarlet have grown, spreading across her body like a ravenous disease. It keeps spreading and pervading her body as her staff clashes with the reaper’s chains. Wilson reaches out a hand toward her, stepping forward so he can throw himself between the two, but it’s too late. He can see the satisfied sneer on the boy’s face as he ropes Eva in with his chains, he tugs tightly on them and she yelps. She tumbles to the ground and Wilson races toward her, but the boy is faster. He’s already there and flipping her onto her stomach, kicking her away and away until he decides to go for her neck.
Her neck snaps with a resounding crack.
I woke up upon my bed to the sound of a ticking clock
What time is it now?
On August 14th, sometime past 12 in the morning
I recalled the sound of an awfully annoying cricket
But, y’know, it’s a little strange.
Yesterday, in a dream, I saw us walking in this same exact park
Wilson finds himself back in the Amazon, his runic daggers and charge packet still in his hands. He quizzically eyes the items in his grasp. These look familiar, but he shrugs and pockets them before he is on his merry way to the Labyrinth. When he exits, everything feels hot and humid and feels like he’s been here before. Wilson peers behind his mask at the flowing lava and Greek architecture of the buildings. There is a curious expression behind the gas mask as he eyes the circle of glowing ruins. Hasn’t he seen these before? He’s so sure he’s seen them once upon a time. Maybe he had done some studying on runes before. Wilson pulls on the collar of his shirt as he calls out to Aleister. “Hey, is it me or is this place really ho—“
He falls down.
When he sways back to his feet, there is chaos everywhere. The entire room has transformed into a makeshift battleground, hunter against monster as weapons clash and people fall. He blinks. This is familiar. Wilson has seen this scene before.
“Why don’t we go home now?” The second you stepped off the pathway,
Everyone surrounding us turned their heads up to the sky and opened their mouths
From the sky, down dropped an iron pole that pierced your body straight through
The sound of windchimes and your ripping screams filled the spaces between the park trees
In this unnatural scene, the shimmering heat laughed, “This is the real thing!”
As my vision blurred away, I glanced at your profile, and thought I saw you smiling
When his gaze sweeps across the room, he recognizes each moment as the other trainees are plucked off one by one. Eyes widen. He lunges forward, toward the first hunter he sees—Gale. The boy is still alive, but Wilson isn’t sure for how long. Something in the back of his mind screams for the intermediate trainee to intervene somehow, even though the blond appears to be doing fine on his own. It’s when the dark figures begin to draw closure to Gale that Wilson begins to understand. He begins to panic as a yell rises in his throat. “Gale!” Wilson pushes past others, human and monster alike as he struggles to reach the boy.
A cannon-covered hand stretches out toward the blond, swinging out at a frost demon when she begins to stray too close. The mob is closer and closer, and there is only a flash of yellow. Wilson desperately plunges his arms into the crowd until he pulls out the other hunter. There is something reassuring about the soft “thanks” he receives from the British boy, who yells out. “Eva!”
His stomach twists as he turns around to watch Eva, wrapped in chains. The truth finally clicks in his mind when he watches with horror the reaper slam his foot down on her neck.
He can still hear the bones snap with a clear ring.
Wilson blinks as he stares down at the daggers and charge packet in his hands.
No. No. No.
Countless times have had me black out in the laughing heat like this
This cycle has repeated for decades. I’d realized that a long time ago.
In this kind of clichéd story, there must only be one ending.
Beyond this repeating summer day, it has to exist.
Wilson can’t remember how many times he’s gone through this loop because it feels like an eternity. There are so many things he wishes he could have done. He wishes he could have saved Aleister before a Valkyrie spears him through the art. There is a dark smile on the woman’s face as she drives the pole arm through the body. She flicks her wrist and tosses the trainee’s corpse like it’s nothing and it slams against a wall. Wilson looks away before he can see an elemental claw at the remains of Deryk. He doesn’t even bother to look for Otto or Jude or Ariane or Madison because he knows they’re already dead. How many times has he lived through this loop, vainly trying to save everyone when he knows he can’t?
But there is still a Gale and an Eva, he remembers this well. His body is heavy like lead when he rushes toward Gale, but this time he is too slow and tired. The students have already grabbed him, one creature for each limb. Wilson can see the veiled fear in Gale’s eyes, but the boy remains silent, his lips pursed together as he still aims his rifle at one of them. Wilson keeps running because in his heart he vainly hopes he can still make it.
They pull at Gale in all directions and still he doesn’t scream, he doesn’t give in, but then the heir comes in, scythe brandished and—
Wilson turns his head and he tries to cover his ears to block out their wild shrieks of laughter. When he looks down there is a puddle of crimson. His insides squirm and he turns around. Where’s Eva?
He’s still looking down but he bumps into a figure. Wilson looks up.
The reaper smiles as he offers Eva’s head in his hands.
When Wilson stares down at the daggers and packet in his hands he screams.
Suddenly, I pushed you aside and jumped into the street; at that moment, the truck slammed into me
Your eyes and my twisted body were like hazy reflections of the blood that sprayed everywhere
If that praiseful heat haze laughed, “Serves you right!” again
Then this would be what you’d call a normal summer day.
But all of that ended today.
This will be the last loop, Wilson decides as he treks through the Labyrinth and enters the hot and humid isle of death. After what felt like an eternity he realizes the problem is his self. He shouldn’t have messed with the timeline. Hasn’t he learned this from television shows? When you try to fiddle with it, things only become worse.
How do you fix a loop when you’ve twisted it up too much?
He says nothing as he ponders it, watching the others assemble the runes together until he inevitably falls again. Realization slowly dawns to him and Wilson slowly reaches up to pull of his mask. It is a weird sensation, to see creatures of FEAR for what they really are—not behind a green filter. They are real, but he’s not afraid.
Wilson finds the reaper before Eva can. He doesn’t know where Eva or Gale is, but that doesn’t matter anymore. He holds up both of his cannons so he can release two consecutive shots at him. The reaper grunts, bringing up his arms before he realizes he’s covered in gas. They’re both hidden in a cloud of poisonous green.
The hunter can’t hear the reaper over the sound of his own wracked coughing, but he fires another shot anyways to let the mist spread and intensify. Wilson lets his weapon clatter to the floor so he can reach for his throat. He bites the inside of his cheek before he gulps in even more of the poison. His blood is burning and everything is so hot and humid and everything is on fire.
But the loop finally ends.
On August 14th, a girl awoke upon her bed
And she said,
“I failed this time, too…” as she cradled a single cat
There is a sharp intake of breath when Wilson wakes up at last. The room is dark and he notices he’s in a bunk bed. He turns his head to the side to see the other bunk beds lined up in a neat row. He’s back in the underground base. A hand creeps up toward his throat as he still remembers the echoes of boiling blood and humidity and green. Wilson tries to sit up, but then collapses back into bed. He covers his eyes with his hands. He’s awake now. Everything is okay. He won’t be stuck in an endless loop anymore.
Right?
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