Three Mistakes (Story Excerpt)

This is apart of a story I'm working on called "Socrates Was Mortal". It may be the beginning, or I may add in some before it to add some clarification to it, but this is essentially the start of the book. It's about a man in his 60's trying to get revenge on a former colleague through the deadliest way possible, and the reader will piece things together as they read.

An added note to take away some confusion, the narrator is blind.

I walked through the backdoor and instantly sensed something was wrong. The smell of blood was a big giveaway. All the TV’s were also turned off, and I knew that Peter’s favorite programs were on by now. I called his name, but nobody replied. I stepped gingerly across the kitchen floor, my footsteps echoing across the green, dilapidated ceramic walls. “Peter?” I called again, heading for the doorway into the living room. Maybe he was asleep. But then, I don’t recall Peter ever sleeping.

Before I reached the doorway my legs bumped into something which toppled over. The sound it made was wooden. I bent down to feel for what it was, moving along a smooth, glazed wood. It was a chair. I led my hands to where the chair had been and realized it must have been pressed against the door leading into the basement. Somebody had been trying to keep it shut. Fear crept into my system as I threw open the door, and suddenly the smell of blood filled my nostrils and a cool current of air passed through me. “Peter…” I whispered into the darkness. I heard someone mumbling from below. And then another.

“Oh shit, Eli. Get the fuck out of there,” Peter’s voice called from the back of the kitchen. He had just come through the back door, holding what sounded like several plastic bags. “We’ve got guests.”

“… Guests?”

“Yeah, guests. While you were gone I brought in some guests.” Peter said calmly.

“And we keep our guests trapped in the basement?” I murmured, motioning towards the steps leading downstairs.

“And duct taped to washer, actually,” he replied with a smirk. Suddenly I became much more interested.

“What did you do, Pete?”

“I nabbed three of Damien’s servants. He won’t have a clue for a week, he’s gone on some business trip. They’re tied up in the basement waiting for whatever you want to do with them.” I liked this in a kind of eerie way. Peter was starting to sound like a servant of my own.

“Really… Will they even know anything?”

“They should. One of them is his chauffeur, another his tech guy, and the other his cook.” After this Peter took my wrist and began to lead me down the stairs.

“Ah, I’ve always wondered how Damien likes his omelet. “

“Thanks smartass, but I’m sure he’s heard some things over the dinner table. Eating with his associates and all. These three goons were the only people in the joint, it’s deserted now.”

“Interesting…” I said with a slight note of concern, wondering what I’d just been brought into. “What are we going to do with them when we’re done?”

“Your decision, I’m just the delivery boy. I don’t think we should give them back to Damien though, that’s for sure.”

“Right…” I muttered to no one in particular as we reached the bottom of the steps. I was led to the sound of three servants sweating with fear, kicking against the stone floor and washer they were tied to. It was extremely cool down here, almost unnatural to the stagnant heat in the kitchen. Goosebumps formed all along my wrinkled arms.

Peter sat me in a chair. “You’re about four feet from them now, go ahead and converse how you will. I’ll be across the room making sure nothing goes bad. Have fun.” He told me, and at that he padded to the far wall of the basement. I wasn’t quite sure what I was looking at so I focused my eyesight into the middle of the noise being made by our new prisoners.

“The three of you, from left to right, state your names and acquaintance with Mister Delgado. Go.”

There was a short silence of confusion at first, the trio probably trying to figure out the smartest way of going about this interrogation. Eventually the first one began. “My name… My name is Nick Stafford. I’ve known Mr. Delgado for six years now, and I’ve worked as his lead technician for all of them. I set up his computers, security systems, anything like that. Sometimes I do his-“

“He’s lying.” Peter said gruffly from the back of the room. “You stupid fucks, did you think I wouldn’t notice? Eli, they were probably going to try and bullshit you the whole way through. He’s the cook. Don’t try this with me again, I know more then you damn well think. If I catch another lie out of any of you, you’re all going to regret it. Go on, cook.”

Another silence followed this, the shuffling from the three stopped. This was definitely going to be a bit more awkward now, as if it wasn’t already. “You heard the man, Nick. If that’s your name. Go on.”

“It is, just so you know.” Peter said again.

“Alright. Thank you, Peter. Nick?”

The man didn’t hesitate to continue. “Sorry, sir. I am Mr. Delgado’s cook. I simply make his meals and stand by to ensure his satisfaction with the food. Nothing more.”

“And do you ever overhear his conversations with acquaintances? Although I suspect that would be a bit unprofessional, to say the least.”

“It is, sir, which is why I refrain from such activity.”

“For a man in captivity, you sure know how to talk proper. But you should also know that you’re never going to see Mr. Delgado again, and may as well never see fresh air again so you should stop the bullshit and start telling me the truth. I know you listen to his conversations… Who wouldn’t? Hell, I’m blind. Peter may as well watch me in the shower and I wouldn’t care.” I heard Peter chuckle from his corner of the room. “You have nothing else to lose, you’re either going to end up at the bottom of the ocean or in a slave camp in Argentina. I have so many connections I could plan the rest of your fucking life down to the last second. I can make it as terrible as I please, or as quick as you want it to be. So, again, I ask you. Tell me everything I could possibly care about your employer’s dinner conversations. We can start with this business trip that he’s on.”

This got the man talking. I didn’t actually have as many connections as I gave off, but I think he got the point. “Very well, sir. The last meal I made for Mr. Delgado was four days ago, a chicken dish glazed with orange sauce and a side of rice. He had three guests over that night talking about his trip. As I was busy running back and forth between the kitchen, refilling drinks and washing dishes, I only got glimpses of what was going on. Mr. Delgado rarely ever tells us of his business… I admit I’m not even sure if I know who you are.”

“That’s because Mr. Delgado has only recently discovered that I’m on the loose. He probably doesn’t want his servants knowing about how carelessly he handles his own prisoners.”

I heard a voice speak up to the right of Stafford. He sounded British. “I know who you are, sir. I know all about you. I’m the one who watched your room’s surveillance tapes all those years. You’re a boring bloke, but I suppose that’s what happens when you go blind. You get boring. Or maybe, you went blind because you got bored?”

My face twitched as he said this, realizing what he must’ve known. “Who is this?” I asked, turning my head in Peter’s direction.

Peter replied, “It’s the tech guy. Apparently he finds that you’re quite boring when you’re in the same room for thirty years. But his name is also Peter, so he must not be that bad. Peter Parsons.”

The British Peter spoke again. “Your name’s Peter too?”

“Yes.”

I decided to intervene with our talkative delinquent. “Shut up, Mr. Parsons. You’re playing it awfully friendly with a pair that is considering your murder. I would think carefully before friendly turns into being a nuisance to your captors and your fellow captives. You’ll get the spotlight soon enough.”

“Alright, I’m done. You can continue with Nick. I’m done.”

I turned my head down, trying to seem contemplative. Something inside me was beginning to bend. Before I got a chance, Nick began to talk again. “I’m sorry about my coworker, sir. I tried to get him to stop talking.”

“It’s fine.”

“Right. Shall I go on?”

“Please do. Tell me more about this business trip.” I said with a wave of my hand. It always felt strange making an outward gesture like this to someone, because I wasn’t quite sure what it looked like.

“Well that’s the thing, sir. I don’t really know all that much else. I was busy taking dishes back and forth, although I did pick up some details. I know that he travelled to Northern Mongolia, some place way out from civilization. It probably has part in his frequent illegal dealings.”

“What do you mean ‘dealings’? Like drugs?”

“Not quite. I have no idea. He uses code words with his business partners when they’re in the house. I suspect it to be guns or slaves, but I honestly don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t trade at all. I did hear the name ‘Ice Horse’ a lot during his last conversation before the trip. They referred to it as if it were a person, maybe a nickname.” Nick stuttered on his last few words, and sighed. “That’s it. That’s all I know.”

I sat back in my chair, thinking about the little information he’d given me. “What did they say about this Ice Horse?”

Before I could let him answer the whir of the air conditioner suddenly died, and a deadly silence sat amongst the room. Very quickly, the heat seeped in and my body tingled from the change in temperature. “Peter, go check it out. I’d hate for our guests to be even more uncomfortable then they already are.”

“That’s why you’re going to send us to a slave camp in Argentina, I reckon.” British Peter said. As he said this, I heard normal Peter walk behind me and up the stairs to check the air conditioning.

“Mr. Delgado certainly didn’t treat me like shit, besides keeping my imprisoned for thirty years. You have it easy, kid. You haven’t got that long at all… A few days, tops. Guess I’d just like to return the favor.”

“Yeah, he treated you real nicely. Fed you some pretty great food, even,” he agreed in his faint British accent. “In fact, I’m sure Nicholas here was behind some of it. Right, buddy? … Alright, well he nodded. He wasn’t ever the most sociable guy. He makes a mean meal, though. Maybe he could cook something up before you kill us off?”

I nodded slowly, losing track of the conversation. “I suppose so, he’d have to make it at gunpoint though. I can’t have him throwing around hot oil at us.”

Peter laughed. “I like you, guy. I do. It’s a shame we have to be associating like this.”

“I wouldn’t say I really like you back but hey, this isn’t first grade. Not all of us can have crushes on each other.”

“Ah, why don’t you like me Mr. Bat?”

“Your cutesy way of dealing with your captors I suppose. You’re just a little too friendly for my taste.” What was this, a social event?

“Well I suppose you never really treated your captor nicely so I can understand that.”

“I don’t think any prisoner should be that nice with their prison guards, I guess.”

“No… I meant why you wouldn’t treat Mr. Delgado that kindly. He didn’t leave that much scenery for you to look at. None that you would appreciate, rather. But here,in this basement, I’ve got-“

I cut him off before he could keep jabbering and picked up my chair. “I suggest you stop talking before I get someone who can see to rip your teeth out, Mr. Parsons.” After this I heaved the chair over my head and brought it down in the middle of the group, hoping I hit the limey shitface. The wooden chair crashed on someone’s head, making a bizarre cracking sound as it shattered into several pieces, and ripped out of my hand. I heard only one of them screaming nonsense, and satisfyingly it sounded British. He was slamming his fist against the washer, the hollow metal sound reverberating all against the concrete basement.

Over the screeching I heard someone laughing, and began to talk. It was British Peter. “You hit the wrong person, you fucker. Jesus Christ, you’d think you had sonar abilities or something. Now I doubt Gabe will want to tell you about him driving around Delgado. Blood’s spurting out of his fucking head, getting all over poor Nick.”

“Shit…” I whispered to myself, hearing the blood dripping onto the floor. My heart sunk, realizing I’d made myself look ridiculous in front of the three. Forgetting this, I tried to retain my posture and pointed a finger to the sound of Peter’s voice. “Listen, Parsons. I don’t want another word from you about my captivity under Mr. Delgado, particularly what you just hinted at. I don’t care if you talk about the food or how boring I was, but leave my wife out of this. Got it?” I shortly realized that my voice was starting to shake, and I felt for my way back to the stairs.

“Peter, get back down here. There’s been an accident.” My words sounded frail as they travelled upwards, and I waited for a response. Eventually I heard someone sprinting down the stairs, and I moved out of the doorway.

“Jesus, Eli. What’d the driver say to you to make you throw a chair at him?” Peter said in astonishment.

“It wasn’t him. I was aiming for the British fellow. Isn’t he in the middle?”

“Well both the driver and Peter are British, but I’m guessing you mean Peter. No, Peter is the one furthest to the right. What did he do?”

My head swiveled down, ashamed. “I thought I heard him trying to escape. That’s all. Can you please pick this up?”

“Sure thing, I’ll be back with some towels and a garbage sack. Just try not to throw any more chairs, got it?” Peter said with a laugh, obviously trying to lighten the mood. I just sulked to the back of the basement, and leaned against one of the walls. The interrogation was getting off to a terrible start.

Everything Has Changed (Story)

Been working on this for the past couple years, originally wrote it for an English class and carried it with me because I liked the concept. I've considered doing more stories in this setting, from different points of view and such, but we'll see. The original version of this is severely different from this current one, most notably in the last fourth of the story, and countless revisions in sentences and punctuation. Enjoy!

Everything Has Changed

Twenty-four hours ago my mind was dormant, set aside in its own private world. It was the first dream I’d had in weeks. Like most dreams everything was vague and I was never in the same spot for very long. Throughout it a girl with brunette hair was standing in the distance looking at me with her hand stretched out, but no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t reach her. I was soft asleep in my room curled up under thin, faded blankets, away from the rest of the world.

Twenty-three hours ago I was still in my dream looking over a sunset on top of a beautifully high mountain peak. The sunlight broke through the snowflakes drifting down in front of my eyes and the cold didn’t bother me at all. Next to me, shivering and looking horridly pale was the brown-haired girl. I tried to reach out and grab hold of her, trying to warm her, but something unseen prevented me from even touching her.

Twenty-two hours ago I had woken up to the sound of glass breaking outside. I went to my window and looked out, where the pale image of a broken down city could be seen in the light of the streetlamps. Looking out, I didn’t see any trouble. I shuffled back to my bed and fell asleep almost immediately. I had dreams of swimming in a pool and relaxing in the daylight cast red by the sun drifting above. I hadn’t seen a pool in three years now, making it all the better of a dream.

Twenty-one hours ago I woke again, almost angrily, to the sound of something bursting in the distance. It had a shaking resonance as if I could feel it happening. I didn’t know what it was, and I couldn’t see any signs in the gray cityscape of an explosion of any kind. Suddenly I saw lights turning on swiftly and other people craning their heads out their windows trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on. I walked down the stairs of my apartment complex and out the front door where I found three of my neighbors in night robes chattering and blowing cigarette smoke out of their nostrils. One of them offered me one but I refused.

Twenty hours ago we still stood outside the tenement, now holding company with a dozen others trying to make sense of what was going on. The noise we’d heard wasn’t that of thunder or of a car crash, though we had all been asleep when it happened so we hadn’t necessarily caught the whole situation. I occasionally spoke up to say what I had been doing when I heard the noise but it was just the same as everyone else’s story. Someone then suggested we all go back inside to the landlord’s room, which was big enough to support all of us, and try to catch what was going on in the news. Some people insisted they stay out there in the night air, but the rest of us retreated up to the landlord’s residence.

Nineteen hours ago we found the landlord was gone and had apparently left in a rush. Things were scattered about the rooms, his mattress thrown on the floor and his closet ransacked. Questions continued to plague each of us as we hastily turned on the TV and waited for some kind of sign to appear. For nearly an hour we watched a screen of static as someone flipped through every channel over and over again. Then suddenly we heard another blast outside and a man dropped to the nearest window to see what was going on. I followed closely behind him but he told me to step away to cover. I asked him why and he told me because he saw gunfire. Out of the corner of what I could see in the window, I saw a flash of something a long ways away. I could just barely hear it, the flashes of light and milliseconds later a slight rat-a-tat but I could not make out who was doing the firing or what they were firing at. And right as I became mesmerized by the flashing, the television screen burst to life causing the people not paying attention to shudder from the sudden change in light. We focused in on a lady with ruffled red hair who none of us recognized as an anchor from any of our local news stations. She looked haggard, her eyes bloodshot and wrinkles creeping along her face. She talked almost in a hush. She mentioned something of being attacked with no warning, being attacked by our own people. A rebellion. The city hall had been taken over by hostiles wearing bandannas and wielding automatic weapons. She said the mayor had been killed as well as several other high officials while everyone else in the building had been taken captive. She began to tear up on the screen and looked around at the news studio she was in, looking for some type of solace. You could hear a man trying to tell her to keep it together. Quietly she gazed down at her desk, lips trembling uncontrollably and eyes squinted as she tried to push back the tears that were already rolling down her cheeks. And then she finally whispered, “Everything has changed.” Immediately the screen went blank.

Eighteen hours ago nearly everyone in the apartment was panicking while the rest were trying to calm people down. I was one of the people panicking. Someone kept shouting about how their brother was a janitor at the town hall, or their daughter was on the same block of the chaos. For the moment I had lost all focus on the situation. I couldn’t take my mind off the newscaster. The gentle yet dreadfully terrified way she said those three words. Everything has changed. It seemed to me she wasn’t supposed to say that line which is why the screen had shut off so suddenly. Soon enough the buzz began to die down as people were now opting to go into a corner and panic by themselves. I continued to sit in the middle of the room, waiting for something to happen on the television. An older woman that I had seen around the building a few times was now sitting by herself in the bathroom continuously splashing cold water on her face. No one went in to tell her things would be all right. At this point we had no idea if that were true or not.

Seventeen hours ago someone saw an explosion outside one of the windows, the light of it reaching the farthest crook of the dilapidated room. The resonance shook everyone in the room, even I took grip of the footrest nearby. Following the explosion were several gunshots and silence. Someone let out a loud sigh after things went quiet again but I didn’t think it was necessarily the time to feel relieved. A man in his fifties tried to make conversation with one of the younger women but she quickly got up and retreated to a different part of the room and began weeping. No one was in the mood for small talk.

Sixteen hours ago I looked up at the clock set up on the landlord’s wall to see it was seven o’clock, the time I usually wake up every morning. I squinted my eyes trying to gain perception of how tired I really was, and decided to try closing them for a few minutes. By this time various gunshots in the distance were common, and no one even flinched anymore. Of course we were all wondering what exactly was going on but none of us wanted to know, really. I think we all would have been fine with sitting there in silence forever. I began to doze off as I leaned against a sofa, not caring who saw me. Four others had even lain out across the floor using a pillow or blanket to rest on, but the same man who had been posted at the window still sat there straining his eyes into the bleakness. I thought about warning him of keeping his face out in the open like that but decided against it and let myself drift. I was half asleep, dreaming of myself standing alone atop a high balcony looking over a desert that stretched for miles. I tried to look behind me to see what else was in the dream but I couldn’t. I began to get frantic and the desire to see what exactly I was standing on began to claw at the back of my mind. Suddenly I heard a gunshot behind me and a bullet blew through the front of my forehead as I toppled over the railing and fell into the sand below.

Fifteen hours ago I realized the gunfire I had heard wasn’t just a dream. It was happening on the floor right below us. All the inhabitants of the apartment jumped at the same moment, hands scrambling to pull themselves up. Someone else shouted at the man who had kept watch at the window and asked why he hadn’t noticed anything. He said something about how they must have come in through the side, and went quickly out the door leading to the stairwell and looked over to see what was going on. He said they were here and told us to go down the stairwell and make for the front door. Obviously none of us wanted to go in the direction of the intruders, but he told us they had gone off to a different side of the building and that this was our only chance to make a run for it. He didn’t wait for any more arguments but instead led the way down the stairs as I followed along with a pack of others, leaving the rest to be cornered in the dwelling. As we reached the last few steps I looked greedily at the doorway wanting to get out, but in shock saw what the rebels had been shooting at. Lying on the mat of the entrance was the landlord, mouth agape and arms strung out as if he had been making a snow angel before he died. Blood was sprayed all over the doorway as we hurried out. The leader of our group, who was the man at the window, ran ahead of us to see what was beyond our block and said there was a clearing to move through. I fell back in place to let a few other people pass me as I stopped to look back at the apartment, looking for some sign of the living. Inside the room we had just been in was a large man wearing a gas mask. He was holding a hose that was connected to a canister on his back, and I could see him rushing towards someone cowering against a wall. I turned around in fear of seeing what was about to happen, or even in making eye contact with the black eyes of the mask. I ran after a man that had waited for me to catch up, and we headed further into the city.

Fourteen hours ago we ventured to the nearby park where we saw a pack of terrified citizens cowering behind the trees and slides. It looked like none of the area had been touched yet, so we stayed there for the meantime. No one in our group looked back at our former home. We were afraid that we wouldn’t be able to take our eyes away from the horror of what was happening. I still couldn’t take my mind off of why this was happening. In this time of confusion and fear I didn’t bother worrying about my survival. I could only ponder over how mankind could stoop so low as to tear apart the life of a living, breathing city and twist it into some kind of nightmare. Just over ten hours ago I had been dreaming of my own paradise, and now I was here, vacantly standing under a tree waiting for something to happen, looking into the depths of the city. I was staring at the sign of a slowly rising sun, signaling a new day. Staring at the glint of fire in people’s eyes as they tried to understand what was going on. Staring at the blaze of what used to be my city.

Thirteen hours ago we had begun to get on the move again seeing that violence was only being escalated as the morning progressed. It was ten o’clock, and bullets flying through the air were becoming more common. Our leader, elected only by his sudden show in courage and guidance, asked me to come to the front with him to talk. He informed me of an underground bomb shelter that he had heard about from a friend, and he was sure we could all hide inside it. I had never met this man before, though apparently we had shared the same apartment complex for five years. In the front as we walked east through the city, keeping under cover as often as we could by means of alleys and abandoned buildings, he talked to me. We talked about how he was an office worker at a company I had never heard of. During the summer he would go up to his cousin’s farm and help him herd cows, though he was never very good at it. I told him about how I was an office worker at a company he had never heard of, and how I was hoping to submit a screenplay I’d been working on one day. None of what we talked about really seemed important to the matter at hand. I don’t even remember his name. What I do remember though, is that for the next two hours this man kept me distracted from the ugliness of what was about to happen.

Twelve hours ago we encountered another group traveling through the city despite the warfare that was surrounding us from three sides now. No words or looks were exchanged. I think it was more out of fear then hostility, we had adapted a “save yourself” mentality at this point. At that moment I didn’t really care what was going on in the rest of the city. I just didn’t want to be caught up in it. Going deeper into the streets had become a serious concern among some, but we all trusted in the man leading us through it. I had especially started to like him as he distracted me with his anecdotes of herding cattle and jokes about his office. After walking for what I presumed to be a mile further into the city we stood across the street from a looming skyscraper that had been untouched. The man in charge, with a worried tone in his orders, suddenly directed us around the building and told us not to look at it. I didn’t listen to him as I heard a girl behind us let out a quiet gasp. When I looked upwards I could see why he had told us not to. Standing near the edge of a window that had been blown out were two men. One was on his knees facing us. He had a tattered business suit on that was speckled with blood and debris. I’m sure even the rest of the group that had chosen not to look could hear him weeping as it echoed across the streets. The other wore a black bandanna covering his mouth and nose that left his wretched looking eyes out in the open. They glowered down at the suited man with intensity that struck me numb. What truly scared me though was the fact that the bandanna man was shoving a pistol into the back of the other’s neck, dragging it back and forth along his skin. He was shouting something in words I couldn’t understand that made him sound nearly animal to me. And right as I was about to change my mind and turn around and pretend like I had seen nothing, it happened. Without a single word the monster drew the gun back, thrust it against the business man’s head and pulled the trigger. The entire front of the man’s face was demolished as the gun cracked, spraying down blood and gray matter like a garden hose. His now lifeless body proceeded to slowly teeter frontwards and made a long drop to the asphalt below. By then I had learned my lesson and turned around to catch up with the group that had rushed away.

Eleven hours ago we finally came to the man’s bomb shelter. It was behind an old, lonely looking house that had been abandoned years ago. A single tree stood in the yard casting a broad shadow across a lawn of dead grass. Without a word we were led towards a metal dome placed into the ground with a heavy handle inset into it. The leader told everyone to stay there as he took me to the side of the house where no one could hear us talk. At that instant I knew something wasn’t going as he had promised. He told me to wait outside the hatch as everyone else descended. He told me that after everyone was inside I was to run and never look back. He mentioned something about how I didn’t deserve any of this. I didn’t ask questions. Before going back he pulled out a cigarette pack and offered me one. I denied. As I looked out into the city streets, he puffed at his cigarette. He was gazing into the yellow grass below us, trying to find some meaning in what was happening but soon gave up. Afterwards he walked me back and cracked the entrance open, eventually having to ask for someone to help heave it up. He then told the person nearest to step into the vault which was only illuminated by the sunlight. Still in silence the group obeyed and slowly entered the dark room in a line until the last one was climbing down the ladder and I was alone with the man once again. I asked him if he was going to follow them. He mumbled something I couldn’t quite hear and stepped leisurely to the opening. Inside the hatch a light was turned on, and I could hear several of the people in our group gasp. To my horror, from the insides of the bomb shelter I heard a gruff voice I had never heard before shout an order to ‘get the cages ready’. The man with the cigarette gripped the handle and slammed the entry shut. My eyes burst open and asked him what he was doing. He said nothing. The window man who had guided us out of the bowels of hell and set my mind at rest for the past nine hours then looked me straight in the eyes. His gaze broke through my inner wall and a sick fear began to creep into me. He repeated those three words of the news lady when this had all begun. Maybe he said them to remind me, or to let me in on the reality of things. Quietly in the midst of the unknown, he spoke almost with a smirk. “Everything has changed.” He then pulled a gun from his back pocket and with no hesitation fired a single shot into his forehead. Screams from inside the shelter could be heard now. His body hit the ground with a hard thump, and blood began to collect around his face. Without knowing what had just happened I took a step over the man’s dead body, and did just as he had told me. I ran.

Ten hours ago everything in the world was a mess. Everything I had thought I’d known was now utter nonsense and I had no idea what was happening and why it was happening to me. My mind was spiraling into a deep chasm, and I wasn’t sure how I could fix it. How could I fix myself while the city I had lived in all my life was falling apart? How could I find a way out when I had just witnessed the only source of salvation horrifically deceive a group of innocent people? As I began to slow down, I took several deep breaths to take hold of the new situation that had been placed in front of me. The increasingly frequent bullet showers had now started to fade away, but it only made me more fearful. With less gunfire, did that mean the rebels had been annihilated or had they gotten the upper hand and were now completing their takeover? I didn’t know what to think, so I stopped running for the moment and sat down on a street curb. I tried to get my mind off the situation by thinking about the dreams I had had earlier, but it didn’t help. Not too long after I had sat down I saw a pair of bandanna men sprinting through the roads, tossing Molotov cocktails into the windows of store buildings. I quickly got up and decided I needed a plan. To the east was the bomb shelter, where God-knows-what was happening to the people inside. But to the west was the closest chance at reaching the city limits, where I knew I needed to go. I’m not sure what I was expecting to do once I got there, but I knew what I wanted to do. I was going to get out.

Nine hours ago as I shambled through the broken streets of a wrecked empire, I saw a woman hiding in the display window of a clothing store. I approached her with hesitation, but she could see I wasn’t one of the rebels and welcomed me in. I decided to hide out with her for the mean time. She took me into the store where she had set up a place to sleep and eat. We never exchanged personal information back then, I’m not sure why. Maybe because we were too out of our heads at the moment, too bothered to care what each other’s names were or where we were when the rebellion had started. She proceeded to tell me all the events of what had happened in the past ten hours or so, which she had learned about through witnesses and other survivors. She told me about how rebels had taken over city hall and all the officials inside hostage, they sent out several crews of the bandanna men to destroy the city by using bombs and fire. Later the military finally arrived and put up a fight, but the rebel numbers and combat strategies slowly deteriorated any hope the city once had. Tanks and other heavy weaponry were sent in, but several entry points into town had been rigged with mines and snipers. As the hours passed, all support slowly trickled to an end. Fear was struck into the hearts of the hundreds of people that were still alive, trapped in this warzone. Rumors were also spreading wide among the traveling flocks of people trying to find refuge. Some said that the government was going to drop a bomb on the area to exterminate the trouble. Others said they were simply waiting to make one final attack from all sides on the rebels. Eventually she got to the most horrific rumor of all. She told me about how dozens of rebels had been assigned as a ‘herder’, who would go to areas with large groups of people before the rebellion had started and pose as civilians. They would then lead the groups in any way possible to what they said would be a safe place, only to have more rebels waiting to ambush them and take them into slavery. I didn’t comment on this rumor, but only nodded my head in shock. I didn’t want to dwell on the past when the future was my main worry.

Eight hours ago I sat on the floor of the fashion store talking to my new friend every now and then. For the most part we remained in silence, contemplating our plans to get out of here. When we did talk we only continued to talk about the situation, trying to decide what we were going to do or how we thought this would all end. All electricity had been cut out by now so we sat in the cool confines of the place in comfort as the world outside was crashing. For now I was plenty happy with not being out in the open. Sleep snaked into my mind causing me to nod off every few minutes. Talk had ceased for the time being as the woman could see I was dead tired. Images of last night’s dream, the first explosion, the apartment being gassed, the dead landlord, the wrecked buildings, the shattered face of the business man, and the look in the herder’s eyes when he whispered those three words all flashed through my head. The sound of a siren going off outside then rocked me awake. It was reverberating around all sides of the building. In a daze I dragged myself up and we both walked out to see what was going on.

Seven hours ago we walked outside of our temporary haven, carefully glancing around for any signs of a trap. The city’s siren system was being used which was only utilized for emergencies or major announcements. Across the streets various alarms had been installed along with an intercom to state the status of the signal’s purpose. Warily we stood alone in the doorway of the store and patiently waited for something to happen. Bullet shells littered the ground before us as well as various dead bodies. We tried not to look. After listening to several minutes of the blaring siren it finally stopped, and nothing happened. We looked at each other trying to discern what to do, but hopelessly sat down and waited. I was seated just ten feet away from a carcass that had started to bloat into some disgusting shape throughout the hot day, forcing my empty stomach to turn over on itself as flies crawled in and out of its crevices. I turned away to hide further in the shade of the entrance, worried that this was some sort of trap to draw out the remaining survivors. We sat there hiding for nearly half an hour, hearing something crackle over the speakers periodically until eventually we heard the faint sound of voices emit from them. We got up onto our feet in suspense, straining to hear something. Even the corpses on the ground seemed to be listening. Finally a frightening man’s voice began to boom across the city streets, sending chills up my neck. His message was very brief, and it seemed like it was over as soon as it began. He told us that he was the person responsible for all of this and that he was the leader of a group he called The Pestilence. He seemed to have an uninterested tone in his voice, as if he were reading off announcements from a paper. He told us about how he had also heard the rumors about the government bombing the area and that he didn’t care if they did or not because he had already sent his message to the public. He then finished in saying that all hope for the city was now eradicated, and that soon everyone left would be dragged down with it.

Six hours ago I parted with the woman. She said that from now on it was better for people to travel alone. There was less chance of getting spotted. I departed from my friend sadly and traveled west to the edge of the city, trying to escape from this hell I had woken up to. I hadn’t asked for this. I would’ve much rather woken up to my mundane life than go through any of this. As I trudged along, I noticed that every street I walked along had turned ugly in some way. Bodies were strung across the gutters, buildings had caved in, bullets and the black remains of explosives coated numerous walls. Hope began to spiral downwards as the words of the man on the intercom sunk into me. I kept struggling forward along those broken streets, fearing that a bullet would crack through my skull at any moment. I continued towards the one hope that was left for me. But now as I look back, I wish I had stayed with that woman. I wish I had let a little of my hope stay lit. I wish I had gone the other way.

Five hours ago the sun began to set as I slunk along the skeleton of a once thriving community. Shadows now cast long silhouettes of the shattered towers that had been a shining metropolis less than 24 hours ago. Sadness sunk into my memory as I recalled what it used to be like, and what it would never be like again. This graveyard was forever cursed to be a crumbled heap of stone and iron. A splintered domain wrought by the hands of The Pestilence. I shook my head as I picked up a tattered pack of cigarettes on the sidewalk. Two were left. I tucked them away into my pocket as a keepsake and continued on to my destination. After I reached the border I wasn’t sure what to expect. Would I run as far as I could to forget about the people left in the ruins, or be deemed a hero by the media’s standards? I then noticed that the sun was beginning to set, and it would get dark soon. As the daylight began to crawl away, so did the gunfire and violence. I noticed as minutes ticked away the echoes of shots throughout the streets were dying off. Maybe The Pestilence was running out of people to shoot. I still continued to creep my way along the shadows, and took my time to be sure not a soul saw me. More than once I saw patrols of the rebels breaking into boarded up houses, met by screams and a short struggle. I tried to zone out to these sounds, but it never worked.

Four hours ago I came upon the ruins of what was once a daycare. Piles of rubble were accompanied by dead bodies littered here and there. Smoke lazily climbed towards the darkening sky, leaving behind the charred remains of the place. I didn’t see anyone in sight so I walked over to what was once a doorway and peered inside, only to see a dead child with its right arm blown off. I turned right around, but couldn’t help that tears had started to roll down my cheeks. I sat down against the doorway to let some oxygen get to my head to try and forget what I had seen. My sobs began to get louder as they echoed across the barren street in front of me. Everything had turned ugly. It was so strange, how my wonderful dreams of golden evenings and clear pools had all gotten so muddled. All those dreams had dissipated. Everything had changed. And everyone was right. The news lady, the man who’d betrayed all of us, and the man who crushed my hopes over the intercom. And I couldn’t do anything about it.

Three hours ago my chest began to hurt from crying, and I stopped. My eyes were throbbing, trying to squeeze back the tears that were creeping out. I had gotten tired of sitting for so long, even though I had spent the whole day walking. I knew that I had to get on the move again, but the realization that I had been up for nearly 48 hours struck me. My eyes began to droop and I almost considered dropping back down to get some rest. A rifle crack in the distance refrained me from that decision. I got up and decided to walk across the street to see what was there. As I approached a building I realized that it was a house and that there might be a survivor hiding inside. No windows or doors were boarded up. The handle on the door easily turned, and I stepped in to see a friendly setting that hadn’t been touched by The Pestilence. I didn’t see any signs of human life, no sounds of people scuffling around in the shadows. The house had a warm feeling to it that invited me in, wrapping around my body until all I wanted to do was lay down. Hesitantly I lurked through every room looking for the first soft thing I could find. Eventually I saw a large couch in what used to be a family room, and I walked over to sit. As I slipped onto it my eyelids began to sink again, and this time I didn’t want to get back up. Almost instantly, I felt myself falling into sleep. The last thing I remember before drifting off was a painting that was placed high above a fireplace. It was a strange picture of several Hispanic men gazing angrily at a different man standing high above on a pulpit. One of the men held a torch in his hand, another the bloody head of a child. Near the bottom of the painting in heavy, ancient looking letters, read ‘¡A rebelião está aqui!’ At that moment, I dozed off into a heavy sleep.

Two hours ago I had only been asleep a few minutes before hearing a crash in the house. It was brief, but was soon followed by shouting and a woman screaming. I got up as quietly as I could and looked around the doorway carefully to see four bandanna men dragging away a man and a woman, the ones that had probably owned the house, at the end of the hallway,. The severity of their shouting blared throughout the corridors of the house as things began to fall off their shelves. If I hadn’t been so sleepy, I probably would have realized that peering my head into the hallway wasn’t the brightest idea. One of the intruders saw me as I was about to retreat back to the room and shouted after me. I didn’t hesitate to make for the nearest window, two of the men running after me. I grabbed a heavy box that was placed against the wall and smashed it through the glass. Wavering a little bit, I dove through and dropped five feet into a small bush, glass piercing my arms and knees. I got up as fast as I could and started to sprint across the barren street as my pursuers continued to follow, but was stopped short when I saw one of them had brought out a gun. They called out to me and asked if I wanted to risk my life and try to make a run for it. They assured me I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. At this moment my heart was skipping every other beat and my brain was pulsing as it tried to figure out a way to get out. But I was trapped. The bandanna man who had shouted at me now began to circle around me, cornering me if I decided to run. So I decided to give in. I dropped to my knees and let them come to me as they pulled me back up, hitting me with the butt of their guns. I tried mumbling something but I was too out of it at the moment to be able to comprehend anything but fear. They searched me for weapons, not noticing my cigarette pack, and tied a thick rope around my arms that brutally burned my wrists. They told me I would be going with them now, and that I was going to be a slave. I didn’t say a word. I wasn’t surprised. I only hung my head down as they led me back to the house to meet up with the other two men and their captives, and we started back into the empty, dark streets. Along the way the four of them talked to each other as if they were friends. They paid almost no attention to me or the couple, and I didn’t pay attention to them. I was lost in thought at the time, wondering where everything had gone wrong. I couldn’t decide if it had started when I looked around the doorway, when I had gone into the house, or when I woke up this morning. They occasionally looked around to check up on us, only to turn back and pull us along on the ropes. All of this had happened so fast, I was still in shock of being woken up so suddenly. Looking down, I saw my wrists were now seeping with blood. My hands were beginning to lose their color, and I was shaking violently. Why was this happening to me?

One hour ago we arrived at the same tower where I had seen the business man get shot. We didn’t go by the area where he had landed. Instead, the two captors took me into a back door that led up a long flight of stairs. I forlornly looked out the windows along the walls of the stairwell into the dark city, now burnt and charred. My blood had stopped flowing so heavily and was now caked all over my arms and shirt. I was like an animal being forced into captivity. Tears welled up into my eyes. A grave frown emitted from my face, dirty from the past twenty-four hours. My life of security had all been taken away in the blink of the eye, never to show its face again. And I never got to say goodbye. Finally we arrived at the final door of the staircase and they untied us, the man and woman crying and holding onto each other. They shoved us in, where nearly two dozen others had been herded. All of their eyes looked up at us greedily, hoping for some miracle to set them free. The room had once been an office, a desk being overturned and papers strewn all over the floor. The windows in the room had been blown out as well, leaving a broken down feeling about the place. Without a word the four men turned back around and left, closing the door behind them. You could hear a heavy object being pushed in front of it. I didn’t give the effort of trying to open it. Instead I crept over to the edge of the room around all the other haggard captives and slowly sat down against the upturned desk and looked out at the scene. It was almost like a painting. The black sky with swirls of gray clouds lashed across the horizon as the outline of a lifeless row of skyscrapers broke against it. I was reminded of this flaw upon mankind, our flaw to break down the beautiful. How we had an undying need to meet our goals as we eat away at everything else. As I pondered over everything wrong in the world, sitting with the other gaunt prisoners, I heard them. The sirens. But they were different this time. They were what you might call air raid sirens.

I now sit in this room looking forlornly out into the city, my legs dangling out the window pane. I pull out one of the cigarettes I found earlier and begin to toy with it, wishing I could light it somehow. Hopelessly I toss it over the edge. I have given up on everything, and I now listen to the end of my life. Of everyone’s lives, and the end of this city. I now realize that The Pestilence was right. We in the metropolis are now just a blast zone to the outside world. I begin to weep heavily as the sirens grow louder, ringing in my ears until it’s all I hear. The sobbing of everyone else in the room, the hushed whispers outside the door, everything is blotted out by the sirens. Hopelessly I recount the last 24 hours and try to pretend none of it ever happened. I try to reverse time and tell myself to wake up from my dreams of girls and mountains and mansions and get out of there. To tell myself that everything is about to change, that the man by the window is a traitor and that the house is a trap. My mind is fading, thinking of all the what ifs and could’ve beens. I try to close my eyes and go to a different place and reopen them to see if I’m there yet. I try to relive every moment of my life again, trying to stop this twisted fate and just return to the days of warm afternoons and fresh air. In the midst of my twilight I shove my eyes closed through red-hot tears and wish it all away until the screaming in my head almost overcomes the noise of the blare… But it doesn’t go away.

Nothing ever does.