MSSS: Mechanics of a Cataclysm

Too much mechwarrior, too much caffiene, and not nearly enough sleep. Behold, my latest entry!

Mechanics of a Cataclysm

Sons and daughters of the blood legacy,
Inspire me as I sing,
Of the deaths dealt out at Tukayyid
And of what our warriors faced and bravely fought;Help me paint a portrait of an apocalypse.
-The Remembrance, Passage 328, Verse 1, Lines 1P5

Chris looked up at the mirror, rivulets of blood slowly running down towards the sink; crawling through the fissures between the shards of glass. The fragmented surface only further distorted the reflection of himself. Sure, his knuckles hurt, but it didn�t matter. Musing to himself, he vaguely thought that it was fitting. His mental state was in the same condition as the mirror- shattered. Cracked.
Wild eyed, the continued to stare at himself. Wide, bloodshot eyes burned right back, like those of a caged animal.. He could still hear his Shadow whispering quietly to him. It was asking questions again. He could almost make it out, a shadowy second reflection of himself, just behind his right shoulder.

�Why are they doing this to you? Why are you letting this happen?�

Chris shook his head, sending water flying from his shoulder length brown hair. Once, he might have been considered passable, a bit attractive, even likeable. Looking down at his hand, he began to pluck the pieces of glass from the oozing wounds. Each bloody gash seemed more intriguing than the last. The horrid appeal began to fascinate him to no end- the pale skin; threads of pure, dark blood as it flowed down his hand, and then exploding into crimson beauty as it collided with the tiles below ; the yellow of his slender finger bones as they stretched on beneath the glory of the flesh ; the pieces of glass which cascaded the dim florescent light over the entire work of art...

�Think how good that glass would look in Dave�s eyes��

He shuddered. He shuddered at himself, at his Shadow, at everything. The Shadow always seemed to be changing. One moment, it would be a fierce demagogue, trying to whip him into action. The next, it would be his Mephistoles, goading and tempting him. Sometimes, it was a thundering call to arms while others it was the gentle caress of someone who seemed to care. Tearing a strip from a nearby towel, he hastily bound his hand. The Others, they could not be allowed to gaze upon it. It would bring worry and suspicion. Worry and suspicion would bring his Shadow to light, which would be beneficial for neither of them. The only reason Chris permitted the Shadow to speak to him was because it was useful.

He looked God-awful, with hunched shoulders and his bizarre taste in clothing. A long black duster didn�t hide his bizarre shirt, made up of pictures of people�s eyes, ears and lips on a dark background. Both were open anyways, showing his taut, gaunt form. Ribs showed through the skin. Tight, wiry muscles flexed and clenched beneath, barely restrained. Black pants, black boots- all of it matched his mood. He felt worse, of course, than he looked. Everyone at school looked at him odd, quietly whispering and pointing, knowing he �wasn�t quite right�.

�Why bother? Why hide from these...these insects?�

The Shadow turned again, from trying to seduce him down its dark path to his private demagogue, worshiping only The Flesh. HIS flesh.

The miserable shade of himself. So self destructive. It was smart, though. Smart as hell. He watched through his own eyes as it tried to warp and twist the halls of the school into something more decayed and claustrophobic than they already were. He couldn�t let it take over, he just couldn�t. The Shadow might be his friend, but it was also unspeakably evil. It would bring destruction on everything it touched, including Chris.

Everything everywhere rushed through his mind as he walked through the school. Memories. Knowledge. Rumors. Histories. The method to his madness. Passages from epic poems, bits of worldly wisdom, half remembered lines from books he had read.

Ten pounds of pressure to snap a man�s neck�

Bonnie Prince Charles�s victory at�

Strike with the heel, not the palm of the�

What ho, Balthasar? What news bring ye of �

I come not to praise Caesar, but to...

Spinning in the metaphors for missing moments, he barely noticed where he was going or how long it took to get there until a gentle voice called out to him from the darkness of a very unexpected alleyway.

�Hey, sexy. Welcome to the last night of your life.�

The voice came from a young girl, no older than sixteen. Long, blonde hair fell down her shoulders and across the center of her face, waving in the few breezes that disturbed the stagnant air. Bright eyes, wide and innocent, stared from a face that�s muted beautiful features belied a predator lurking just beneath the surface. Wearing tattered jeans, a tight T-shirt and old sneakers, she hung both arms over the baseball bat that lay across her shoulders. The savage light glinted off of the grins of the formless shades behind her that expected a bloodbath. Her friends, her companions who hid from the light wanted to see a spectacle. They had no idea.

Chris smirked. The Shadow screamed and battered at its cage inside the twisted depths of his fractured mind.. Soon, my brother, soon, he thought to himself. He watched calmly, smirking at the tribe of street urchins. His cold glances flitted across each one, even as the girl mocked and taunted him. Finally sick of foreplay, she attacked. Beaming like a seven year old with a lollipop, the savage little girl launched herself forwards. Chris finally let his Shadow out to play amongst the petty, indolent, violent mortals that had driven him mad.

He could feel it take over. Like electricity in his veins, it surged through him. The bat whistled through the space his ribs had previously occupied as the Shadow leaped him back. The girl, helpless, followed through on her swing, turning her shoulder towards him as she continued forwards. A quick elbow to the temple left her senseless on the cold, wet asphalt- it was the last merciful act of the night.

Chris left no survivors save his new beauty. The first young man to step forwards was killed in short order. Chris� hand shot out, grabbing the man across the mouth and jerking his head right. With little other choice, his body followed suit. As it moved to compensate for the pressure on the spine, Chris snapped the head back left. The Shadow relished the sound of the neck snapping audibly. A knife hand strike to the throat felled the next opponent, crushing the windpipe and letting the street urchin suffer a terrible, asphyxiating death as his own destroyed cartilage and seeping blood choked him. The Shadow laughed, and Chris hear the hollow sound emerge from his own mouth. It reveled in the glory of the Flesh, his Flesh, as it wrought terrible destruction upon its enemies.

Jess came around, large eyes hazy and her head sore. Turning her head, she looked along the ground to see a pair of black leather men�s shoes, speckled with blood. In the background, she could see her boyfriend, frozen in a state of shock. His own wood-handled switchblade was jammed to the hilt through his solar plexus. Crimson had soaked through his shirt, pooling on the dirty blacktop. High above her, she heard a mushy crunch and watched another body cross into her vision. A curious mix of gray and red came from his crushed temples, the ooze slowly leaking from his head as his eyes looked up sightlessly. She screamed.

A face descended into her line of sight. It was the young man whom she had tried to accost. His broad, mirthless grin sent shivers down her spine. She could smell his breath, see the clear insanity in his eyes. She could see the person behind those orb, grey orbs, locked and unable to get out. He spoke words which would remain with her to her dying days:

�You and me, we�re going to discover the mechanics of a cataclysm together��



DE



[Edited on 20-1-2004 by DeusEx]

[Edited on 22-1-2004 by DeusEx]

Das BUMPEN to alert people of my entry!

DE

ooooh...I want more!!!!

great story...missing about 26 chapters or so..you better hurry up and get to writing..I want to know what happens to Jess and Chris

GREAT story DE!!

Get to a publisher soonest - it could sell!!

(If you need a sub-editor, I'm available - reasonable rates, too!!)

More, eh? Maybe once the ATS story is done. I really like this story, it's a favorite. Any other opnions?

DE

Dark, moody and ultra-descriptive as always, DE.

So far I think this is the best one of yours I've read - and I've read a few.

Keep them coming, matey.
regards
flc

This is how it's done, children. This is a revision of my work, put into first person. enjoy.

Mechanics of a Cataclysm


�I tire of these... incidents, Chris. It hurts me to see you like this.�

The voice that spoke those words was like a chorus of my own. I vomited again, sending chunks of breakfast and droplets of blood splashing into the cracking, yellowed porcelain. I panted some, wiping my mouth with the back of my sleeve.

�...ankly, I don�t w-w-hy you REFUSE my help time and again. After all, I�m only l-l-looking out for your best interests...�

The voice, that shadow of myself, was rambling on. Sometimes -I don�t know why- it stuttered. Honest to God it stuttered, making the entire self-choir even more incredibly bizarre. At any rate, I heaved myself up, knees buckling. I felt a wave of nausea and vertigo wash over me, but I leaned against the dented steel wall of the stall, and it passed. I stumbled out, boots clattering against the tile. Looking in the mirror, I saw myself for the first time. Blood trickled down the side of my face from an egg-shaped lump on my forehead, a gift from Dave, just another punkass at this school. My shirt - covered in pictures of eyes, ears, mouths- was wrinkled and have the beginning of several bloodstains on it. Everything else I wore was black, so I figured I was okay. Blasting the cold water, I shoved both my bruised knuckles under the water, feeling the water take away some of the pain. In their own way, even inanimate objects hit back, even stall doors.

�Do they even know why they do this to you, to us?�

�No, of COURSE not. Please, enlighten me,� I responded to myself as I splashed the water up onto my face. The water was starting to run red from the blood dripping from my head. This wasn�t the first time this had happened -the conversations with myself or another bloody day where any asshole who thought he could push me around did. When I looked up, my reflection was staring at me mockingly. His lips moved in synch with the chorus inside my head.

�You want to know why, Chris? It�s because you�re WEAK.�

I gritted my teeth against the accusation. The Shadow�s reflection -not mine anymore- jaunted his head at me, taunting. The only other sound in the room was the sound of sanguine water dripping off of my hair and face into the sink.

�Look at you! You�re a freak. No one likes you. The hair. The shirt. Do you really think you ever really stood a chance?�

My fists curled into balls.

�Especially not J-j-jess. Those dreams of her touching you gently? Loving you for the �beauty of your mind�? She�d rather suck off her boyfriend than even...�

Now THAT tore it. Before I knew what was happening my scrawny, bony fist was pummelling at the mirror as I yelled something unintelligible. I stopped myself after a few seconds. The mirror was dotted with impacts, like multiple spider webs splashed crimson. Blood flowed between the cracks in the glass. That�s how I was, just like the mirror- cracked and broken beyond repair.

My reflection was warped and distorted now, but through it all, I looked like a beaten and caged animal. Pathetic. I shook uncontrollably in a mixture of shame and anger known to almost every male on the planet. A dull throbbing reached through the haze, starting at my hand and working its way up my arm. Looking down, I could see the glass mingling with my flesh.

�Why are you letting this happen? Together, we can make them pay.�

Damn it, I don�t know why I didn�t just let the Shadow out some days. They deserve worse for what they do to me. I looked down at my hand, and began to fish out the bits of glass from my hand. A few longer shards were jammed right in there. After a few minutes, I began to stare more intently at my hand. I could see my knuckle bones, yellow and straight. My flesh pulsed streams of ruby glory down each digit while the two largest mirror pieces amplified the sight into a work of at stretching into eternity. I paused for a second. It was almost beautiful, perfect. The musical rhythm of blood splattering the sink helped a sense of...inexplicable magnificence. Order. Perfection.

�Behold the Glory of the Flesh. Our Flesh. Why should others defile it so?�

They shouldn�t, I told myself. They had NO right! Looking back down at my hand, I practically slapped myself. What the # are you doing? I started to pull and wiggle the glass from my hand, wincing at suddenly raw nerve endings. Gasping, I pulled as much as I could out, then ripped a strip from a towel I found in the locker room next door and bound it as best I could. Part of me did it to help stop the bloodflow, the other did it to hide the Glory. My head was pounding. I stumbled from the washroom, disoriented. A few people saw me, and snickered. Bastards.

Then I saw them. Dave, the brute who had been beating on us for years had his arm around precious Jessica. We never knew what she saw in him. She was practically burrowing into him. Her long, golden hair brushed against his arm. It should be US! WE were her childhood friend. WE helped her, nurtured her, loved her. He came along and ruined it all with his gang...his attitude...his-

�Kill him. He deserves no less after warping Jess. He turned her into a drunken slutty criminal!�

�He corrupted her.�

�Now. We can do this now. Can you trust anyone else to help you?�

�Can I trust you?�

�I�m a part of you. I�m your friend. I�ve helped you before, and I�ll do it now. Just imagine...�

He flooded my mind with the horrors he would subject Dave to. The first image was Dave�s head imploding under a rain of hammer blows, denting at first then coming apart, bits of skull and brain flying. The second was a plethora of needles and glass jammed into Dave�s face. mouth, hands, neck, eyes... barely able to scream in agony...

�Think. Feel. We ARE the same, you and I.�

Part of me wanted those things to happen to Dave. We glared and grinned at him as we passed, neck limp, eyes wide and giving him a horrible grimace of a smile. I saw his eyes bulge. He had probably overhead my conversation with myself. We could see the fear in his eyes. The Shadow continued to talk to me. The halls around us warped and twisted with our passing. I don�t remember how long we walked, wandering. The world was torn and sundered to our whim, in our eyes. Suddenly, we were in a very unexpected alley lit only by the sputtering amber of a streetlight behind us.

�Hey Chris. Welcome to the last night of your miserable life,� beautiful, sweet Jess called out to us. We could see the bags under her green eyes, the track marks along her alabaster arms. We saw her small breasts heave under her shirt, her long legs tense under her old, tight, torn pants. More importantly, we saw the Louisville Slugger that her arms were slung over. Behind her, formless shadows with teeth hovered, anxious for the bloodbath to come.

�Let me help please, Chris! I swear I will leave her unharmed.�

�No.�

It was an objection to both Jess�s statement and the Shadow�s.

�THEY engineered your personal cataclysm, put the mechanics into motion. They did the same to her. Are you a whipped dog?�my own voice in chorus goaded me.

�NO!� I howled, and finally let the Shadow out to prove him wrong. To regain my dignity. To get vengeance. It was like fire in my veins. I felt stronger, faster. Information, memories flooded my mind. My father shocking me with two bits of electrical cord for breaking a vase. Martial arts techniques taken years ago. Playing with Jess when we were seven, her long hair flowing as we pushed on her on a swing. Half of a Shakespeare novels flashed through our head, garbled. The final bit in the torrent was �One death is a tragedy. One million is a statistic.�

In an instant, I realized my mistake. Now, he was in power. I was trapped, and could only watch the horror. He pointed to the largest shadow, and started forwards at a quick walk. Jess came at him with the bat, swinging for the ribcage with a wild, feral look on her sweet face. We dodged left and elbowed her in the temple as he followed through on her swing, watching her collapse with a sigh of pity. She would be unconscious for awhile.

The rest of her companions weren�t so lucky. My Shadow literally tore them to shreds. The first person to step forwards was a young man on the football team, cigarette clenched in his teeth as he charged forwards to tackle us. The Shadow merely extended two fingers, letting the shorter opponent blind himself. I felt the jarring sensation, and then the feeling of flesh up to my knuckles as our opponent screeched in agony. I began to feel sick, the Shadow leering as he bent the fingers imbedded in the poor soul. Still screaming, the Shadow put his free hand up against the temple of his victim, heaving his head and dragging it along as he slammed it into the brick wall to our left with a sickening crunch. The man�s screaming died in his throat.

I felt ill. The shadow continued his rampage, eviscerating one of our tormentors with a captured switchblade, watching with a measure of glee as he fell backwards, trying to clutch his guts inside of him. The Shadow�s victim failed. Crushing the windpipe of the last of Dave�s cronies, he turned to Dave himself. His screams echoed in our mind endlessly.

When Jess awoke, we were there. She saw us, covered in blood, staring down at her next to the mutilated corpse of the Dave. Our hand slid over her face, brushing her cheek. Then, it was clamped tightly over her mouth. I heard my own voice, the stuttering chorus speak:

�Y-y-you and I Jessica, we�re going to dis-cov-cov-cover the mechanics of our cataclysm...�



[Edited on 3-2-2004 by DeusEx]

DE excellent babe!!!!!

personally I like the first version better, but perhaps that is only because it came first.

Geez, I haven't seen thsi story in ages. It's probably my favorite, out of all of my short stories. Can I get a few opinions? Once the ATS story is doen printing, I was wondering if I should put this and a few other stories into a sort of anthology. Suggestions, help, and coauthors are by and large welcome.

DE