Untitled Short Story (Robert McCambridge)

Nothing in there turned out the way I had imagined it. Breakfast’s aftertaste lingered around right through the day, until dinner was finally available to renew my tongue’s faded torture. Differences between my plate of potato mash and side of stale bread were unnoticeable at that stage. My woollen socks acted as a makeshift floor polisher with every journey I made, like something you’d only find buried in a mountain of cheap Japanese novelties. A collection of MAD magazines kept me occupied during my ‘silent reading’ sessions, with each recycled gag seemingly more amusing every time I read them. The news talk station on my small Phillips radio fed me tiny spoonfuls of events taking place opposite the thick concrete walls of my cell.


There were no curtains to shield me of the humiliation from the outside world. Thick steel bars vertically aligned within the concrete square cut-out between the public and me, mediating my every move.

Stepping into my cell for the first time was where everything I knew about survival changed. The logistics of my situation held me tight in its grasp. Limits were applied to every choice of action presented to me, leaving me with no other choice than to make do with the few personal comforts I had left.

I buttoned up my orange prison jumpsuit and combed my black ‘bed hair’ into form. My feet swayed back and forth over the edge of my bunk bed. A cold smack struck my foot like an electric shock.

“Oi Adam! Quit it bro. I can’t sow these sleeves up with your feet in my damn face man.”

That was my cellmate Gordon, being his humble self as usual. On the outside you’d think he’d ended a few lives during his rough course through life, but he was different on the inside. Way different. Gordon was a big man, faded sailor tattoos covering the lengths of his bulked up arms. He was the only prisoner in our cell block whose hair matched the colour of our prison garments. As orange as the scuffed up road cones you see on the side of the motorway.

“Sorry Gordon, I’ll make sure to wash them next time.” I chuckled.

Gordon and I shared the same sense of humour, except he hardly ever showed his amusement towards the jokes that flew back and forth between us. The only time I ever really saw him laugh was when I resorted to washing my hair in the toilet bowl, due to the fact that he had used up all of our week’s tap water on flooding our cell to protest against the limited supply of water for each cellmate. He found it to be a symbolic gesture. I found it ironic.

Still, his moral respect for others overshadowed his pure idiocy. He was a person I could trust and rely on, not somebody I had to watch for every time I shut my eyes.

One thing we never spoke of was our reason for ending up in jail in the first place. Go to the movies and you’re bound to hear the classic “What are you in for?” one liner. We kept our mouths shut, never speaking of our run-ins with the law. It was our mutual unspoken rule.

I switched on my radio to news talk and laid down the length of the plastic coated mattress, shutting my eyes and dreaming of the events unfolding in that place called freedom.

“I have to disagree with you there Tom. How could you expect the Prime Minister to make those decisions? This is an economic decision for the public to make. Our Prime Minister has left the people of this country with only one option to choose from which completely contradicts the basis of choice and free will. It’s absurd!”

A taste of freedom was all I could savour from it, but unfortunately the system had already dished out the only choice available to me. A lot of people wouldn’t look at going to prison as a choice, but for me it was. Growing up without a father probably played a major part in me being here, even though my mother tried her very best to steer me away from the devil’s highway . I may not have chosen to end up here, but I had made decisions in my life to lead me exactly where I am now.

Gordon placed his needle and thread safely onto his grease-stained pillow.

“Do you ever get scared that when you leave this hole, everything we left behind on the outside has changed?”

I turned the radio’s volume down to answer his bizarre yet insightful question.

“Nah man, I look at it like this. Once we’ve overstayed our welcome here everything will have changed, but the changes will serve us as new found opportunities for us. Who knows, draining tap-water reserves could be an Olympic sport when you’re out of here.”

Gordon punched the underside of my bunk bed as I laughed, hoping to send me airborne.

“Yeah, funny guy.” He muttered with a grin.

The clitter-clatter of a riot baton being dragged along sets of prison bars echoed through the hallway like a homemade xylophone. With its deafening volume increasing, I stuck my fingers in my ears and stayed down on my bunk bed until the egotistical prison warden passed our cell. When the rattling was at its loudest he paused, before continuing further down his percussion orchestra.

Gordon stood up and prodded me in the arm.

“Adam. Adam!”

I removed my fingers from my ears.

“Let me guess, was it Officer Cameron again?”

“Yeah, but he was looking at you rather strange bro.”

I stared at Gordon with a puzzled look on my face.

“Honestly man, what’s his fucking deal?”

“Beats me. He said your name just before he walked on. Don’t know what the hell that was about.”

It had been going on for a few weeks now. Officer Cameron would cruise past our cell, giving me odd looks but not saying a word. It was almost as if he expected me to do something. Something I was unaware of at the time.

Hell. For me, it was just another day in paradise.



* * *



Prison courtyards have a reputation for placing that much needed sense of freedom into our hands, then snatching it away with the sound of a plastic sports whistle. Our courtyard wasn’t much different.

Intense heat beamed down from the sun, crawling slowly over the cold blue sky above us. Waves of heat steaming off from the black grit of our courtyard made it hard to sit down comfortably. The large metallic fish-net surrounding several square meters around the symbolic plain set limits to our freedom. Watch towers were placed in every corner of the yard, standing tall and waiting patiently to challenge anybody who steps out of line. Littered with orange jumpsuits, you’d mistake this place for a chaotic carrot garden from an over passing aircraft.

We wouldn’t really consider ourselves to be a gang, although with big ol’ Gordon by my side I secretly knew that the pair of us made up a solid unit intimidating enough not to be messed with. Gordon and I would hang out on the rotten wooden bleachers close to the courtyard’s entryway, giving us a clear panoramic view of every cell-dweller in the area. To be honest, I preferred this spot for its safety value. With guards pretty much at our fingertips, I knew that there wouldn’t be a chance in hell of anybody trying to fuck with us.

Gordon stubbed his cigarette out on the wooden seat next to him.

“You know, we’ve never really told each other what we’re in for.”

“I know.” I replied, slightly distracted by the basketball game next to us.

“Do you mind if I ask you?”

“It’s not that big a deal bro.”

“I know, I know. I’m just kinda curious. You know like, after the way Officer Cam’s been acting when he’s around you.”

I took my focus off of the game and stared at the paved asphalt underneath me.

“I dunno. I think it’s just a grudge dude, no biggie.”

“But I mean, like, there’s quite a few guards who have grudges with inmates in our cell block. They yell all sorts of shit at each other, but with you and Officer Cam it’s different. He stares at you like he’s just seen a ghost and then doesn’t do shit.”

“Yeah.” I didn’t want to give in just yet.

“That doesn’t answer my question dude. You seem less concerned about this than I do.”

He had a point. I could already tell that the unspoken rule we unknowingly agreed upon since day one was about to be broken.

Before I could even take a breath of addictive fresh air, a prison warden’s piercing whistle sounded the end of our time in the plains of seclusion.



* * *



Darkness gradually crept towards the prison facility, bringing its freezing temperatures and a handful of nightmares for it to distribute to unwilling victims. Today’s last flicker of sunshine flared over the distant hilltops, beaming through the window’s ribs and into our cell. Long shadows were cast across my desk space, tracing black charcoal outlines along its wooden grooves.

I hadn’t spoken to Gordon ever since we arrived back in our cell. I wasn’t too sure whether he still wanted to talk about it or if the subject had been completely swept under the rug. To be honest, I hadn’t thought about it that much. Besides, it wasn’t necessarily any of his business anyway.

We both laid relaxed in our bunks for what seemed like a day, quietly keeping ourselves occupied with our books and personal possessions. Just when I thought we’d left it at that, Gordon stood up from out of his bunk and looked at me as I tried desperately to fall victim to the night’s obscurity.

“Hey Adam, you still haven’t told me what you’re in here for bro.” He said calmly, leaning on the metallic bed post of the bunk bed.

“Well you haven’t either.”

“I asked you first man.”

Gordon wouldn’t back down. He was definitely a persistent bastard.

I opened my eyes to the asbestos riddled ceiling before replying back.

“Look man, I’m in here for my reasons and you’re in here for your own. It really isn’t that much of a big deal.”

“Then why won’t you tell me?”

Frustration grabbed a hold of me, finally opening me up like a can of sardines. I just wanted some peace and quiet from his ongoing nagging attitude.

“Alright, here’s the deal. I tell you my story and you tell me yours, then we can both hit the pillows and grab some goddamn sleep. Deal?”

We both knew who had won the argument and almost instantly Gordon’s face was accompanied by a large smirk. He had accepted the deal without question. I sat up slowly from my warm mattress, avoiding a smack in the forehead from the ceilings rock hard surface.

Clearing my throat and rubbing my eyes, I explained to him my haunting story of how I came to arrive in this very cell.

“I got involved in some pretty heavy shit.”

Gordon’s eyes were completely glued to me, not missing a single word that came out of my gob.

“Bills weren’t being paid, rent for the flat was way overdue, I was living on microwave meals every day, the whole shebang. I couldn’t handle that shit, you know? Sure I was just barely surviving on what I had but I wanted to do more with my life, or at least look successful even if I wasn’t.”

I paused for a few deep breaths, looking Gordon straight in the eye as I told him the rest of my story.

“I got a contact from a good mate of mine. Let’s just say that this contact was a supplier in various forms of illegal substances.”

“You mean drugs?” Gordon questioned.

“Well, yeah. I aint no drugged up fool though man, I needed the cash and I was desperate to get out of the situation I was in.

“So, you were caught dealing drugs then?”

I gave Gordon a shake of my head before continuing.

“Not quite man. I called up this guy—“

“The one who had the drugs.” He interrupted.

“Yeah, the one with the substances. I was told to meet him at a house out West from where I lived. I hadn’t been there before, and the directions were kinda convoluted. Anyways, I ended up outside some house. The place looked quiet, so I took my pistol—“

“You had a gun?!” Gordon yelped.

“Shh! Not too loud man. Yeah I had a gun. I mean, the place looked fucking creepy let alone it being deserted. Well, that’s what I thought anyways. So I grab my gun and shove it under my belt before walking up to the front door.”

My heart began to race as I travelled back through the memories which have left me tossing and turning in my sleep ever since. The hairs on the back of my neck began to stand up like an army of soldiers as I prepared for the main event. Gordon sat down in the plastic chair by the desk space. His big eyes still fixed onto mine, almost as if he were trying to lip read my every word without fail.

Looking down at my pair of scuffed up sneakers, I took another deep breath and prepared myself for the final act.

“I heard shots. Real gunshots. I remember pulling my gun out from under my belt and pointing it towards the house.”

In case Gordon’s eyes weren’t open wide enough, I could see that what I said to him then and there shocked him. His cheeky grin was gone and his eyes began to glisten from the light in the window.

“You...you what?”

“I was crapping myself dude! If I had known that things weren’t gunna go as planned I wouldn’t have shit myself for the event.”

Determined to finish my account of what had happened that day, I jumped off of my bunk and began to pace up and down along the limited space of our cell.

“I started to head back to the car when I heard a yell coming from the front door of the house. Then this woman bursts out of the door yelling and screaming at me, waving something around in her hand, and I panicked. I just...”

Another deep, deep breath.

“I shot her dude. I fucking shot her.”

Silence.

Not a word from Gordon. His head turned towards the caged window before tears started to roll down his apple shaped cheeks. He was crying, but made not a single sound. His hands clasped into fists. Knuckles as white as the discoloured pillows of our bunk beds, rubbing slowly back and forth along the top of his lap as if trying to restrain himself from lashing out at something.

Curious and concerned, I shuffled over to where Gordon sat.

“It was an accident man. I had no intention on hurting anybody, let alone kill them. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you in any way bro.”

Still, not a word came out of Gordon’s mouth. I placed my hand delicately onto his shoulder to try and comfort him, but was quickly followed by an attempt of his to shrug it off. Gordon stood up and walked over to his bunk, before lying down on his back and staring into the spaces between my bed slats.

Making my way back to my bunk, worried and confused, I made one last attempt to comfort Gordon.

“Hey man, don’t worry about telling me your story. You can let me know whenever you’re ready alright? Hang in there man”

“Don’t worry,” he replied with a trembled voice, “I don’t have to anymore.”

Gordon’s ways of dealing with certain issues have always puzzled me in the past so I didn’t think much of what he said to me that evening, and with that I rested my head onto my assigned pillow and drifted into a deep sleep.



* * *



A sharp pain in my stomach had woken me up instantly. My insides felt as if they were tumbling around the inside of my torso like a washing machine on a constant spin cycle. Nerves all over my body were sending excruciating signals of pain to my head, overwhelmed by the amount of fear surging through my terrified body. I attempted to sit up in my bunk but instead felt an unusual pressure around my neck, preventing me from sitting upright and observing my own wellbeing.

“What the hell... is going on...”

My words were muffled by a gush of warm liquid down the back of my throat. Attempting to gather the remainder of it in my mouth and spitting it out only caused the thick dispel to run down the sides of my face and into my eyes. A headache of all headaches stormed around my noggin, creating even more discomfort than there already was. I cried for help but was left impaired by the amount of liquid flowing up through my throat to my mouth. Pain still surging from my torso, I pressed my hands down onto my stomach where I felt the source of it was.

Opening my eyes only let more liquid to leak into my field of vision. At first the darkness around me seemed discoloured and red, leaving me unable to see properly for at least a few minutes. During this time I heard nothing but the shuffling sound of footsteps. My eyelids blinking uncontrollably to flush out the excess liquid from my eyes, revealing to me my dim lit cell and two suspicious figures standing beside me.

As I struggled for breath in a confused haze, one of the figures stepped forward and whispered into my ear.

“She was all I had left. All that I lived to support for. She took care of me every step of the way. From pre-school to puberty. From my legal troubles to graduation, and you took that away from me.”

The orange hair brushing back and forth over my face was all that I could recognise from this figure.

“Gordon... what’s happening... everything’s dark and cold...”

“You killed my mother, and now I’m going to kill you.”

My heart sank to the very depth of my soul when I heard those words.

My last words weren’t exactly anything special to go out with. I would’ve chosen something a lot more suitable for the event if I had been given a slither more of time. It’s just here and now, and there’s no going back.

I catch the second figure stepping up beside Gordon and recognise him almost instantly. Officer Cameron is standing at there the foot of my bunk saying not a word. His prison officer badge gleaming in the ample light coming from the cell block hallway, before covering it with his hand to prevent any attention from being drawn to the situation.

Gordon holding his makeshift shank plunges the jagged piece of steel deep into my blood-soaked stomach, exchanging words with Officer Cameron as my soul finally drifts into the depths of oblivion.

“I killed him Dad. I fucking killed the bastard.”

Iraq inquiry: British officials heard 'drum beats' of war from US before 9/11

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/newstopics/politics/6643302/Iraq-inquiry-British-officials-heard-drum-beats-of-war-from-US-before-911.html

Paradox Lost (Short Story)

This is my first propper attempt at writing a propper short story. It's meanings and ideas are in there, it just deppends how you percieve them I guess.
Anyways, enjoy!


Paradox Lost

I’d never seen anything like it before. It was just there, inches in front of me, downstairs in the basement; floating in the corner next to the old computer desk, as if being hung from the ceiling by fishing line.



I was paralyzed with fear yet intrigued by what was being presented to me through this ‘window’ of time.


Time stood still, and I was gazing into tomorrow.


Controlling my nerves I held my hand in front of me, pressing it against this texture-less surface. It’s quite hard to explain exactly what I felt on that day.


I remember pressing my hand into the wormhole, feeling a tickling sensation along my arm as I pushed further in. My eyes wide open, staring at this time paradox manifestation.


Without warning, I was being pulled towards the entity. The thought of resisting crossed my mind but was never put into play. I was curious. I mean, what were the chances of something like this happening to me, you know?


Staring straight ahead of me, I took a brave step into the event horizon.


The feeling of everything was present with the feeling of absence. Comfort was replaced with an unknown emotion. An emotion which shrouded me with loneliness yet, I felt content.


. . .


“What... what’s going on? Where am I?”

Ivor opened his eyes carefully, almost blinded by the fluorescent bulb hanging over him. The rattling of metallic equipment echoed down the hallway outside of his door. There were screams coming from a few rooms down, yet people strolled past the opening of his room with ease, neither of them the slightest bit phased by the yells of pain.

“You’re in hospital Mr. Vance.”

After adjusting his eyesight to the room’s bright surroundings, he became aware of two gentlemen standing by his side.

He turned his head towards two men, adjusting the back recliner of his hospital bed. They were average in height, looking weathered as if they’d just left a nightclub. One of them was wearing a dark blue shirt under his grey jacket. The other officer wore just a porcelain white business shirt tucked into his dark denim jeans.

“What’s happened? Is everything ok? Where’s Donna?”

One of the men replied in a deep and asserting voice, “We’re with the feds. Mr. Vance, could you please tell us exactly where you were yesterday round mid afternoon?”

“I was on my way home from work on the phone to Donna, my wife. I was running late for a meeting earlier that morning; had to spend a few more hours in the office before I headed home, so I gave her a call.”

With a slight hesitation to his reply, the second suited man lowered his head and cleared his throat.

“Mr. Vance, your wife was found dead at around 11am yesterday morning. There couldn’t have been any possible way for you to contact your wife whilst you were driving home from work that evening.”

“So what we’re saying is,” the man in the shirt leans in towards Ivor’s ear, “we both know that you’re full of shit. I’d be calling in a witch doctor if I could talk to dead people, but that wouldn’t be possible in the first place now would it Mr. Vance?”

Ivor sat motionless in his bed, staring into space as if anything else around him were insignificant. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You... you guys are pulling my leg here, right?” he asked nervously. “Please tell me this is a fucking joke guys.”

“Yeah, I had a feeling you’d play that routine. You know, Mr. Vance, don’t you think that it was pretty damn obvious when you left her in the fridge with your car keys in her pocket?”

“Wha... what?! I was on the phone with her! I swear it!”

“Not only did you lie about talking to your wife yesterday afternoon, you never even stepped foot in your car after the incident.”

His face began to go red with anger as he sat up from his backrest.

“You’re a pair of fuckin’ liars! I was at work all day and you guys know it! Give me a phone; I’ll call my supervisor to prove it!”

The man in the white shirt leaned against the steel cupboard at the foot of his bed.

“We’ve already been to your office Mr. Vance. Neither your supervisor nor your boss had seen you that day.”

There was a long and unyielding hum in the room, as if silence had turned itself up in volume.

Ivor began to sob. The two men picked up their briefcases and adjusted their jackets.

“We’ll be back in just a few moments Mr. Vance; we have some urgent matters to attend to. When we return however, you will be transported to a local police station for questioning. In case you’re having any thoughts of doing a runner there will be an officer posted outside your room. If I were you I’d be getting in touch with your lawyer.”

Turning their backs to Ivor, the two men walked out into the hospital hallways and disappeared as they stepped off to the left.

Left confused and alone yet again, Ivor felt a sudden cold over his body. His vision began to tunnel into nothingness in front of him. The hospital chit chat began to echo more intensely by the second. Ivor lifted his hands to his ears in an attempt to block out the sound, but nothing helped. His skin began to tingle, slowly leaving any form of movement in his limbs impossible.

With one final conscious breath, he fell back into his bed and slipped into the abyss of unconsciousness.


. . .


Blinded by the light.


Time flew by like a book’s pages fluttering in a subtle wind, rendering no sense of present. There was no then, now or later.


There was only me, drifting through this magnificent kaleidoscope of memory. No questions were left unanswered to me. I understood anything and everything that ever was.


In this vast space of peace and nothingness, I could see the day of my marriage so clear.


I could see my first day at school.


I could see the day of my birth.


Everything I had experienced in my life surrounded me, like a guarded security room lined with flickering CCTV monitors. But these weren’t mere monitors; these were projections of my mind.


My consciousness no longer existed in a set time or space. I had found the water of life in this empty confinement of space and time. I had experienced emotions and sensations others could not even begin to comprehend.


For a momentary stop between frames of time, I was the Alpha and the Omega.


. . .


Hunched over in the back of a parked police car, Ivor could taste the stench of vomit in the foot well left by a previous victim of nauseating pain as he regained consciousness. His arms held behind his back by a pair of ice-cold steel handcuffs, digging into his spine every time he sat back. Dressed in his green track pants and oversized GAP sweater, Ivor began to take note of his surroundings. The vehicle had been left parked at the centre of a vacant mall car park, with not a single car on either side of him.

After a few minutes of disorientation and confusion, Ivor soon realised that there was nobody in the driver’s seat, let alone the passenger’s. The engine was still running yet there was nobody to man the steering wheel.

Surely they wouldn’t just leave a suspect in the back of a patrol car unattended.

Without hesitation, Ivor attempted to open the door with the toe of his hospital slipper as he leant back across the leather seats. The door swung open with ease following the click of the door lock, sending in a wave of fresh air which reached down to the very bottom of his lungs.

Ivor shuffled towards the door and stepped out slowly, adjusting himself to his centre of gravity with his legs still half asleep.

He needed to get home quick. He knew that something wasn’t quite right with this.

Donna! Ivor suddenly remembered the hospital bed, the two men in suits, and the fact that his wife Donna had been brutally murdered.

But it wasn’t me! How could it possibly have been me?

Spotted in top of the glove box Ivor found the keys to his handcuffs. Ivor tried at the door handle with his hands behind him, leaning back into the passenger’s door to pull it open.

Shit!

Locked.

Finding the keys was easy. Opening the door on the other hand was a different story.

His hands cuffed behind his back, Ivor began to slam his lower back into the passenger’s window hoping it would break. His hands were safe from the crushing impact between his back and the glass, trying harder and harder to smash it open.

With one final thrust the glass gave way into millions upon millions of pieces of small diamonds. Ivor’s hands fell through, slicing them up from the tips of his fingers to the palm of his hands. Sharp pains shot through his arms as Ivor began to scream in agony.

Adjusting to the pain he knocked out the remaining shards of glass from the window frame with his elbow, before leaning into the vehicle and getting hold of the keys with his teeth.

He dropped the keys to the tarmac next to the vehicle and sat facing away from them, placing his fumbling hands on the ground behind him as he looked for the keys.

In a sigh of relief Ivor freed himself from his constricting steel wristbands. None of what was going on made any sense to him.

Unlocking the driver’s door through the window, he ran around the front end of the car as if he were being chased by an unhappy parking warden.

I need to get home. I need to find my Donna.

His patience had finally run out, making him panic at the wheel when he accidentally let go of the handbrake. Sweat dripping from his brow as he stared out into the car park’s distant exit driveway, the sweltering afternoon heat wasn’t much help.

Grabbing hold of the wheel with both hands, Ivor drove out into the endless tarmac desert, hoping and praying that he would see the love of his life safe and sound on the patio bench with a smoke in hand and a smile on her face.


. . .

What is it to be human?


Is it to experience the unknown through everyday life? Through natural experience and peer influence?


Some feel that our lives are only an insignificant flake of dried up acrylic paint placed and designed so delicately on the vast canvas of a larger plan.


Contrasts between right and wrong; black and white have been shot out of existence forever.


Am I at one with time, or is time merely a by-product of human consciousness?


Nothing is certain, yet everything is content. The mystery of why we are here contradicts itself. How can such a form of chaos create an equal and balanced form of existence?


For many this will remain a mystery for generations to come, but for me, the discovery of this unknown perspective has only just begun.


. . .


There was not a single soul to be seen as Ivor drove through the empty streets of suburbia. Some of the lawns had been freshly cut but there was no sign of hard working men sitting by the step of their front door with a glass of water in hand, or any mowers cast out in the middle of their properties waiting for a refuel.

Is the game on or something? This ain’t right. Ivor pondered.

A red ink spread across the evening skies as the sun began to lower itself behind the passing estates. Ivor felt relaxed for a moment as his mind wandered off into nothing but a dream.

Relaxation was soon replaced by anxiety and fear as he pulled up towards the foot of his driveway.

Nothing was out of place. Donna’s car was parked neatly at the end of the driveway, and the house’s windows were ajar for airflow. Donna always kept the windows open. Fresh air swept through the house every waking hour of the day.

Turning off the car, Ivor nervously opened the door to his vehicle and stepped out slowly. He slammed the door behind him as if he wanted to wake up the neighbourhood. The sound of the car door closing echoed through the streets then, nothing.

Dead silence.

Making his way up the snaking pathway in amongst the grass to the front door, he reached for the door handle.

Unlocked.

Panic surged through his body at the thought of what might have happened to Donna. He couldn’t handle it and took no notice of any dangers which may have been present if there had been somebody else in the house.

“Donna! It’s me Ivor! Are you home?”

No reply.

His heart sank down to what felt like his stomach. His mind was running riot in his head, he couldn’t think straight.

Running through the house off balance he headed towards the kitchen. The horrors he’d face in there would be so unbearable. He didn’t want to see what he thought was in that fridge, but Ivor just had to know for sure. He had to know whether Donna was alive and well.

Walking up to the stained white fridge he cleared the lump from his throat. Fridge magnets covered the entire appliance like a Goth at a tattoo convention.

Ivor froze in horror as a howling scream escaped through the fridge seals and into the house. The screams gave way to a manic yell of horrifying words.

“Deliver us not into temptation!”

The hairs on Ivor’s body stood on end. His limbs paralyzed by the sense of dread and foreboding as the sound of a thousand screaming voices continued to haunt the halls.

“But deliver us from evil!”

Adrenaline rushed through his veins as he stared at the fridge handle, terrified of what would happen if he were to open it.

“Ivor, baby. Let me out.”

His arm shot for the fridge handle with a great amount of force and pulled the sealed door from the fridge in one swift movement. Revealing to Ivor nothing, but everything...


. . .


What am I looking for?


Why am I here?


Who am I? Am I you, or are you me?


I am no longer a loving husband to my beautiful wife.


I am no longer the broken memory of a teenage boy I was many years ago.


I am no longer a combination of bone and tissue.


I no longer belong to a confined pocket of flesh strewn into the plains of reality.


I am, no longer.



End.