Copyright 2103 JC Wallace
Welcome to installment #8 of my weekly flash story: Diventando - Becoming. If you haven't read the first seven installments, scroll down this page and start from the beginning. Warning: Some of these installments contain graphic sex scenes between men.
Each week we are given a list of prompts to choose from. The prompt I chose this week: "How can you say that?"
After catching up with Owen and Turk, check out the list of other authors flashing this week at the end of this installment. Enjoy
Diventando - Becoming #8
A restless sleep plagued Owen that night. Sweat soaked his clothes and bedding. Internally, a raging furnace blasted through any cooling effects his overworked air conditioner might have offered. His muscles twitched and bones ached and his mind raced. Thoughts and emotions batted for recognition. Guilt, remorse, longing, fear, anger, loss...all wanted to be front and center in the spotlight. Memories, good and bad, as well as family and friends, appeared and then faded in his dreams. Unfortunately, his dreams didn’t allow him to escape from the knowledge of his impending death.
Wayne came into Owen’s room several times during the night, leaving him water, wiping his sweaty forehead, sitting on his bed—just in case. A part of Owen wished to die in his sleep while another part panicked at the thought of dying. After hours of tossing and turning, Wayne convinced Owen to take something to help him rest. Wayne’s weary, exhausted face told Owen that Wayne wouldn’t sleep until Owen did. Owen took the pill without protest and soon sank into a deep sleep and into another dream.
Owen stood in a darkened forest beneath towering, leafless trees. Their gnarled, fingerlike branches, illuminated by the full moon, intertwined above his head. A volcanic heat, the likes of which he’d never felt before, radiated from his core. His chest was bare and his sleep pants hung on his emaciated frame. This wasn’t his body. Well, it had been his body after his last battle with his illness. Now, almost two years later, his mind was reminding him of how his body would waste away before his death.
He ran his fingertips over his ribs, each one on
prominent display beneath his taunt skin. His collarbone protruded sharply. The
joints and bones of his elbows and wrists were visible. He swiped a hand over
his head. He had hair. Thank God. After his last round of chemo, he’d gone completely
bald. It had taken over eighteen months for his hair to return to its original
thickness. He didn’t every want to be bald again.
Owen surveyed the dark woods with a keen eye. Nothing
looked familiar. He’d spent many hours throughout his life in the woods behind
his house, exploring and escaping life. Having been sick for so many of his teen
years, friends were rare. In those retreats to the woods, Owen had found peace
and comfort, which is probably why his brain had chosen to place him in this
setting. He felt safe here yet...Something else was here, waiting impatiently
on the fringe of his consciousness. Tense expectation spread through Owen with a
restlessness that itched beneath his skin and he knew what waited...
Death.
Death waited with an impatience emanating from
Owen’s victories over his illness, which had allowed Owen to continue living. Owen
had clawed his way up that cliff over and over to stay in the land of the
living. He had cheated death one too many times and now, Death paced, like a
caged tiger, waiting for the door to his enclosure to open, waiting to claim
what was rightfully his—Owen’s soul.
“What are you waiting for?” Owen yelled into the
darkness. “I’m done fighting. I give up! Just get it over with!”
Silence was the answer.
“Come on, Death, you fucking coward. Come and get
me!”
A loud humming noise filled the air, emanating from
some unknown source. Panic clogged Owen’s throat as the pulsing infiltrated his
skin, quivered in his muscles, expanding until Owen was confident that his
molecules would separate and fly into the atmosphere. When searching for any
clue as to his final destination—if any—after death, Owen had read hundreds of
stories of near death experiences. Many of those stories had mentioned the vibration
as part of their transition, as the vehicle for crossing over.
Shit. This was it. The end.
A swift, sharp wind rushed down through the trees
and pushed hard at Owen. The whistling and howling that accompanied the sudden
gust, morphed and twisted into words.
“I am not Death. I am life.”
Owen struggled against the unyielding wind at his
back, and tried to respond, but the swirling wind pulled the air from his lungs.
“You have been denied me for far too long, but I
have always been here. Waiting and watching.”
Owen forced in a lungful of air. “NO! I want to live,
but I don’t have a choice!” God, how he wanted to live.
Owen’s feet were forced to move forward despite his
struggle to remain where he stood. The humming expanded and contracted as the
wind whistled through the trees, yet their branches remained still, unmoved by
the force battering down on Owen.
“There is a choice. Stop the fight against me.”
Owen held his arms out as if the action would impede
his forward movement, but it was fruitless.
“How can you say that? All I’ve ever done is fight
to live!”
A crackle of energy charged the wind, sending an
emotion racing through Owen. It felt a lot like anger. Whoever or whatever was
doing this was pissed.
“Others have fought against me, kept me locked away with
their science. I have lost all patience for their meddling.”
Owen’s forced steps quickened with the growing
torrent, which was guiding him around trees and rocks and brush, as if
following a predestined path.
“I don’t understand what you mean!”
The rush of the wind swiftly carried Owen’s voice
away from his ears, causing him to wonder if he’d even uttered a sound.
“I will show you life.”
Ahead in the darkness, a pinpoint of white light
appeared, swelling and expanding. With a sudden, flashing brilliance, the light
illuminated the hidden spaces untouched by the moonlight. The intense sphere of
light encased Owen and the surrounding forest. The wind ceased with an abruptness
that left Owen flailing and bending at the waist to avoid face planting on the
ground. Once he steadied himself, he stood upright.
Owen blinked. In a clearing, in the center of the
brilliant light, stood a tall man with his back to Owen. The dark skin of his
naked torso shone in the light, highlighting his hard, tight muscles. A red and
black plaid kilt hung low around his hips. Damn, that was hot.
When the man turned, Owen gasped.
Turk,” Owen whispered.
Turk’s
met Owen’s gaze. His stern face softened, and that coy lopsided grin Owen found
so appealing appeared.
“He
is life,” the voice said.
The
man was magnificent and beautiful and yes, definitely full of life. Turk’s
smile twisted, transforming into a malevolent, wicked sneer and then he spoke.
“Yes,
I am life. But I am also death.”
# #
So sad but, hmm.... Excited for next week
ReplyDeleteyou're cliffhanger just rivaled one of Night's .... I'm anxiously awaiting next week. I'm really enjoying reading this. It's been interesting and a little sad from the beginning and you're doing a great job.
ReplyDeleteHave a fabulous weekend !
Thanks Yael. Glad you like it and are excited for more. Thanks for stopping by and commenting!
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