Brief Information
Chapter 1: The Beginning of the End.
A drawn-out, muffled groan came from beneath what appears to be a layer of ash. And then, a hand wiggles free, followed by the body its attached to. Stained in grey and struggling to stand, Matthew Prince gasps to breathe. Slowly trying to find his feet, every step he takes he stumbles, as if attempting to walk for the first time. But that is nowhere as troubling as the sight before him. Composing his bearings and propped up on his hands and knees, Matthew begins to scout his surroundings.
What he saw left him speechless. Motioning his gaze from side to side, forward and over both shoulders, his mouth dropped, and eyes widened not in horror, but in confusion and awe. There was nothing more beyond a desert of dust and embers, smoldering mounds, and a gentle, heated wind caressing the landscape. Thick clouds added tension above, bringing an eerie haze and a lack of actual sunlight. Peering back to where he once lay, Matthew stands upright, noticing something very baffling.
Wanting a closer look, his movement dragged and he subconsciously realized he was terribly weak; he strained, mostly, whatever had happened certainly taking a toll. Apart from the shape in which he crawled out of, there are ripples in the ground stretching as far as he could see. Suddenly, his heart began to beat hard, and pain erupted in his chest; assaulted with a fit of coughing, blood spurted from his nostrils and drizzled down his chin. He collapsed, falling onto his belly, red painting the ashen soil under his head.
Moments later, Matthew regained his poise through forceful effort and equal aplomb. "Uhn," he grunted. The blood on his face had dried, caking his nose and lips. He scrubbed it off with the sleeve of his hoodie. Although he felt the need to leave this dreadful area and search for hospitality, something resonated in the bowels of his mind, begging for truth. Minutes of reminisce brought him to a conclusion, everything pointed to a massive explosion and he was at the center.
Matthew decided to head north in a tempered wobble. The hot winds drifted south, biting at his throat. His partially singed clothing made no endeavor to dry dollops of sweat cascading his forehead, pits, inner-thighs, and toes. The longer he strode, the chances of Matthew acquiring water beseeches him; an empty stomach ached for sustenance, whether it be drink or food. He swore his energy was depleting, heeding exhaustion, yet the demand was tantamount. And despite the day finally abating to a sunset, he worried what the night would cost him.
That thought soon vanished as he witnessed a large, powdered hill bathing in fluorescence roughly 20 meters away; its plumage acceding past the rim and as bright as the stars in pitch black. To the best of his ability, Matthew hurries to the top, foregoing anterior sensations of discomfort and waxing on the contentment of discovering activity. When he reaches the border, he stops abruptly, kicked-up grime settling in his wake. Panning toward the bottom, he mustered a quizzical stare as his brows furrowed.
"Huh?" He murmured. Thousands of freshly dug graves littered the soot floor, howbeit no illumination ascertained. Approaching cautiously as to not disturb the burials, he skipped by each one, studying them. Matthew allowed his fingers to drum an inaudible cadence on either side of his waist, obviously absentminded to the florid spectacle trailing him; an immaterial agglomeration of twisting, gushing spectral power. Pausing, Matthew urged his right hand to grip his chest, again aware of the twinge and he winced.
"Who are you?" Hearing a deep, raspy voice command a question, Matthew swung around, half-expecting an enormous blow to the gut. The strong hit instantly knocking him off-guard, off-balance, tumbling, spinning, and instinctively thrusting himself into a defensive fighting stance. As quickly as the last wallop struck, another battered his ribcage. Toppling sideways, Matthew clenched his teeth, cartwheeling on a free palm, and consequently landing abaft. Luckily, he braced to roll and smoothly skimmed to a halt. "Tell me! Who are you?!"
An abundance of shuffling currents brushed by Matthew, inducing in him a meager act of insanity. The voice repeated its question, "Who are you?!" Nothing. He growled, then the voice howls a gargling, hoarse laugh, warping inside Matthew's proximity. Matthew confidently throws a right hook, ignoring the bristling creature's inquiry, aiming to take it by its left temple. Too fast, it evades the fist, sending its abstrusely built leg at Matthew's neck. However, it's captured and solidly yanked aloft Matthew's height, smashing the turf fiercly.
"Good, good," the ostensibly undaunted sentience echoed. "But don't be careless!" Its dynamic feet embossed the ashy slag, rectifying its posture. "Tell me, are you ready?" Momentarily distracted by speculation, Matthew is unaware of the contorted figure sending an extended hand to his mouth. And at the last second, it swerved, chopping into his occipital bone. It rattled Matthew's brain enough to conk him senseless, and somewhere other than his current location: reality.
That reality was surely gone. Matthew shot up from his bed, exhaling violently, sweating profusely. His sheets are drenched, the mattress inked in wet blotches, and the comforter blanket thrown to the floor. A window overlooking the City of Gresham's Kane road bathed in its street lights, casting beams into his bedroom. Wide-eyed, Matthew is shocked in disbelief.
He whispered in expelled air, "The fu--?!"
Writer's Last Words
So, tell me what you think. Criticize and give your opinions or consent to further chapters. Any input is welcomed!
Log in to comment