After struggling with my writing for weeks and even going so far as to write a full on lamentation here about it, something in my brain finally broke through and I felt “the spark”— the one where your brain lights up and all of a sudden you can’t stop yourself because you know if you do for even a second it’s going to be gone again; before I knew it I had a full page and a half written. [doesn’t seem like much and…no, it’s not. But after struggling for so long, to have something pour out of me, it was a miracle. And let me say it felt oh so good…like releasing a pressure valve right before disaster strikes.]
So, in celebration, I have decided to share the scene that has reminded me that, yes, I do like writing. And yes, it doesn’t have to feel like you’re being dragged uphill by a rope tied behind an ATV.
Keep in mind, this is still first draft, but I hope you find some enjoyment in it.
**
Cw: some survivors guilt. It’s not very heavy in this section, but it is brought up.
I sat on the floor in front of the open garage door, adjusting the wood around and trying to dig in my memory for every detail on how to build a fire from the measly three years I was in Scouts. The dog lay nearby, head on his paws, just watching curiously. Suddenly his head picked up and he glanced toward out the open door and gave a small whine. I tracked his gaze out to the dark grey skyline—a rumble, too low for my ears to register but that I could just barely feel reverberate through my chest.
I glanced back toward the dog, “You scared of the storm, Bud?”
He turned his head back to me and gave a single swish of his tail across the dusty pavement, but still gave a slow, nervous lick of his lips as he heaved a whining sigh.
“There’s nothing to be worried about,” I assured him. Putting the kindling aside for a moment, I stood and walked over to him to rub his head. “This is a great chance to get some clean water—no telling how much there’s going to be out here.”
I stood again to head back into the convenience store section. The dog scrambled up to follow me, completely undeterred by his injuries. I figured if he felt good enough to be up and about, then he was responsible to know for himself, but he continued to press in on my heels and whine as I wandered around the gas station shelves, gathering dusty plastic portable gas cans, and anything else that might be able to collect water. Eventually I got annoyed enough that I tried to shoo him away. “Go lie down, you’re going to make me trip.”
The dog just glanced from me, back to the stormy clouds brewing out the window. He whined again, walked around in a circle, then gave another whine with a high bark.
“I know you’re worried about the storm, Bud,” I assured him again, trying to put on the soothing calm voice I used with frustrating patients. “But there’s nothing to be scared of. We’ll be safe in here. In the meantime I’m just going to collect some of the rainwater so we can have something to drink.”
The dog continued to watch me, but at a distance, whining periodically as I wandered about the store and casting worried wide-eyed glances out the front window. By the time I had gathered an armful of clean-enough containers of all various sizes, the sky had gone almost night-dark. A strong sharp tang had hit the air, and lights would flicker every so often up in the clouds, leading to a rumble through the ground shortly after. The first couple raindrops had just started to fall as I headed outside to place the open containers. I was just placing the last couple gas-cans out underneath the open sky when the rain hit in earnest, washing a heavy pour over the land like a sheet. The dog barked at me from where he stood just inside the open bay door. He whined and paced in a hurried circle, then continued to just stand and bark.
“Relax, Bud,” I called back, over the sound of the rain. “I’m not going to melt out here.” I placed the last gas-can down onto the ground, but paused as I noticed a strange yellowish fog rising up from the dirt. As soon as I noticed it, a faint sickly sweet chemical smell hit my nose. It grew stronger, and stronger, gaining a heavy sour undertone and crawling down my throat and sitting in my lungs until it felt like I was suffocating on it. I tried to cough, but each breath just this smell…this taste.
The dog’s continued barking caught my attention. I immediately dropped the last container and began to run back, as fast as I could through the hacking and heavy feeling growing in my head. I just made it under the overhang of the garage, collapsing onto my hands and knees. The dog continued to bark at me, pulling on my wet shirt and running back and forth from me to the open door.
Bracing myself against one of the support beams, I crawled up the wall until I could stand and grab onto the rolling overhead door. Using all my remaining strength I heaved it down, rusty wheels screeching like a bullet to the head. The dog jumped and grabbed onto the dusty rope hanging from the other side and together we pulled the door down the rest of the way. It slammed to the ground in a puff of dust and the room immediately went still.
I collapsed back against the wall, sliding down until I came to sit at the bottom. That heavy saccharin-sour feeling was finally starting to lift out of my chest as long as I was out of the fog. I just had to remember to stay out of the fog and I would be alright.
I rested one hand across my stomach and tried to steady my breathing. But as I tried to calm myself down, my thoughts just stirred themselves up again. In this new world, nothing was the same. Even the Rules of Nature—something that I thought would never change, at least not in my life time—were entirely switched around! How was I supposed to live out here if everything was so different?! I wasn’t equipped to handle this! Maybe it would have just been better if I had died with the rest of them in the stasis pods. Why hadn’t they killed me too?
My chest hitched as a few tears escaped out of my closed eyes. I tried to push the sobs down—what good would crying do? But that only made them fight harder to come out, burning in my chest hotter than whatever was in that fog. I tried to let out a steady exhale, but it snapped back with a involuntary squeak, then petered out again in a long shuttering breath. More tears fell over my cheeks but I messily wiped them away, wiping grit from the dirty pavement across my cheeks instead. Suddenly I felt a furry pressure against my chest. I opened my blurry eyes and looked down at the dog, his bony head shoved into my sternum like he was trying to melt into me. His version of a hug, I suppose.
I managed to cough out a chuckle, burying my hands into the thick fur around his neck. At this point, who was trying to reassure whom? “It’ll be alright, Bud,” I whispered, sure his big ears could hear me over the sound of the rain and still rolling thunder outside. “We’ll be alright.”
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David took in the scene. He knew what was coming and it would hurt. But he accepted that, and in that lay the secret. Or one of them anyway. Hyper-regeneration looked wonderful to most. You heal, and in David’s case, from anything from magic attacks to non-magical. Once he even put himself in a car rigged with a bomb and set it off. All to get himself inside a hostage situation. He smelled like barbeque for days after that.
But then there was the downside. It hurt. Long after the wounds healed, it always hurt. He had tried medications, meditation, anything he could find. Phantom pain always stayed for quite a long time. David had learned to accept the simple truth and cover the pain with a smart remark or a smile.
Because, it hurt to be him. It always would.
When Stanley was done, David chuckled. The chuckle turned into a belly laugh. It rang off the walls. Stanley was unmoved, but puzzled.
“Laugh all you want,” Stanley snapped. “There’s nothing you can do. Except die.”
“Not much I can do I guess,” David answered.
He took a slow step forward. “You might be right about Viktor. But, he’ll try kill you as soon as you turn your back. But hey, that’s how it goes between ‘evil magic-bros’, right?”
David tilted his head to the right as a thought struck him. “Man, this is like back working for Vanguard or UNTIL all over again. Some things never change, no matter where you go.” He shook his head. “Back home in the Rogue Isles, and later in Paragon City, I fought a bunch of magical lunatics like you. They called themselves the ‘The Circle of Thorns’. Powerful, loved summoning all sorts of stupid things. Or they’d try to until say myself, Rivet, Witchcraft, Sun Warden or any of the others came calling.”
Stanley’s eyes blazed with anger. “All you EVER do it talk! I will be so glad to ...”
“Stow it,” David interrupted him. “This is the best part.” He took another step forward towards the barrier. He sniffed it and wrinkled his nose. “Ew, smelly. Well, fighting the Thorns taught me a few things. Pentagrams for one. They anchor two dimensions together so both can affect each other. Val could explain it better.”
David grinned, his eyes shone in the half-light at Stanley. “Viktor’s not from either dimension, so he isn’t any use to you. Makes the dimensional hoo-ha unstable, explody and all that. It’s like ‘crossing the streams’. Makes everything unpredictable.” The hybrid chuckled again. “Cause see, he’s from Paragon City’s dimension.” David stopped laughing.
“Like me.”
He stepped across the barrier. The magic flickered and turned from red to a nauseating shade of greenish-yellow.
“What?” Stanley screamed. The man’s eyes bulged.
“I TOLD YOU THAT YOU SHOULD HAVE KILLED THOSE OTHERS SOONER!” Blightman raged.
The hybrid rubbed a foot across the line of the pentagram, smearing the blood. The shield fractured in reply as the pentagram was no longer intact. David felt the sharp pain of backlash but ignored it. He had seconds to make sure the shield would stay unstable so the others could finish this ritual off. Which meant he needed to make sure the pentagram stayed broken.
He dove into the middle of the group, snatching the Rod of Rasputin out of Stanley’s hand. Stanley shrieked. Blightman lunged for the rod, but David was ready. The hybrid spun on one heel and struck Blightman with every ounce of enhanced strength he had. It was like being hit by the hand of God. Blightman’s eyes crossed as his jaw shattered. The demon staggered backwards, part in the pentagram and part outside it.
David let the momentum carry him in a circle. He hurled the rod outside through one of the small gaps in the barrier.
“Val! Throw the reverse switch would you? Turbo! Got any ‘angry roombas’? Magic doesn’t work well with tech!” David called out as the Rod clattered to the floor near Val’s feet.
David raised his clawed hands in mock defense against Scarlett’s finger that wagged at him. He sat back in his chair, his whiskers bristled forward and gave her an innocent look. The smirk fled his face as she requested. Instead, it peeked out through the twinkle in his eyes and curled tail.
“Sure thing, Turbo. Next time, we take the party way in,” he replied. “Though ‘rooftop express’ still makes for a good ‘plan B’.”
General Davis cleared his throat. “Less on the shoot out in downtown Manhattan next time.”
The cougar-man folded his arms over his chest and nodded. “Well, they brought pistols to a cat-fight. It got my fur up. But fair enough, General. Less on the shoot outs next time.”
The general raised a cynical eyebrow at David, but said nothing. He returned his attention to the other agents in the room.
David scrutinized the close caption of Blightman and O’Reilly. The manner of the two suspects left him with an uneasy feeling. He stood to get General Davis’ attention.
“General, I’ll take a round of questions with one of those two.” David gestured to the close caption screens. “It’s worth taking a run at it anyway.”
The general considered the idea, then nodded. “See what you can get out of them.”
Skol’s aura burned and Hulk roared from the pain. Pain became rage and rage turned to strength. Slowly, the green behemoth pushed the Jotun backwards. The giantess adjusted her footing, but Hulk gained the advantage.
A figure appeared in mid-air beside the combatants out of a cloud of blue-purple smoke and energy. The thief smiled at Hulk. Hulk blinked in surprise.
“Mind if I cut in?” Lightfeather quipped with a wink at Skol. He quickly tossed a brown-green cloud into the Hulk’s face and slapped the end of monster’s nose. Not enough to break it, but enough to make the green monster’s eyes water. The thief then tucked into a ball and dropped straight down. He vanished in another burst of energy a second later.
Furious and angry, the green behemoth prepared to roar another challenge. Instead, he inhaled the cloud of dry grass and burnt dust. Hulk’s eyes watered. His nose itched horribly. He shoved Skol backwards before he sneezed with the force of a small gale wind.
Lightfeather reappeared five feet away in a crouch on the grass and smiled. The elation was short lived. Amid his wild fits of sneezing, the Hulk backhanded the thief across the chest. The young man was hurled backwards. He hit the ground hard, then rolled to a stop. He felt the waves of pain from fractured bones radiate all across his body. Despite his obvious pain, the thief laughed out loud.
“Pressure”, Lightfeather coughed, then groaned in pain. Though mule-headed stubbornness, he forced himself to roll over. “Pressure points!” The thief croaked. “Sure he’s strong, but that won’t cover his pressure points!”
He coughed and took another deep breath. That was a mistake, the pain made him nauseas. “Pop his ears to stun him. Slap the end of his nose to make his eyes water. Pressure points on top of biceps or legs will make his limbs go numb for a bit.” He yelled this out to his teammates, he hoped they heard him. The thief groaned again and fought back the urge to curl into a painful ball.
Lightfeather closed his eyes. He concentrated on slow, deep breaths. Slowly the nausea faded even if the pain did not.
