A clear water pools on the asphalt. The tension on the surface is so tight that not even a single ripple rolls across it. The perfect canvas on which the city’s scrapers are painted. They stretch northward into a crisp blue sky. Fluffy clouds softly shrouding the undefined edges of the picture’s frame.
Splash! The black sole of an Italian leather shoe suddenly decimates the tranquil picture as it plunges deep into the pot hole. A business man dressed to the hilt is running… running for his life. A fowl stench is racing right behind him… hurled along by the fiercest of winds. Despite all his best efforts, Evil has escaped his regimented conclaves. He knows it’s determined to free all his other dark secrets as well, so he is running to baton down the hatches… to triple lock the gate. The inevitable will not be the inevitable as long as he had a say. Not today – not any day.
As an adolescent, he never participated in track and field (or sports of any kind for that matter), but he manages to effortlessly leap over obstacles like trash cans and fences and rusty shopping carts disregarded by the vagabonds. The fear of public humiliation seems to rocket the man of constant sorrows to superhuman heights. Glancing over his shoulder from time to time, the man realizes that Evil is nowhere in sight. He did it? He outran his past with just a little effort? It couldn’t be that easy… or could it?
Cracked hardwood stairs lead up to the loft. With each step, the wood creaks and moans under the weight of guilt and shame. Confident that everything will be just fine, the man ignores the alarming sound the steps let out. At the top of the stairs, a formidable steel gate barricades the path forward. A slender skeleton key can be seen hiding just behind the slit in his v-neck shirt. It dangles from a sterling silver chain which hangs around his muscular neck. After a quick inspection of the surroundings, he unlocks the gate and enters his personal insane asylum.
Hundreds of dust covered crates line the walls from floor to ceiling. Each crate is individually shielded from prying eyes by a dark gray tarp. But the things inside have slashed and torn the tarp till they no longer serve their original purpose. Cautiously, the man inches past the crates closest to the gate. You see – the little white lies and innocuous fibs can handle the occasional splash of ambient light. They can be explained away, so he is less concerned with securing them at this point. He simply turns a blind eye and keeps on task. The deeper he delves though, the harder it is to ignore the contents of the crates. Their screams pierce his ears till they bleed. Gnarly fingers dart through the bars in the cages like tiny daggers. The last time he came around, a clawed hand nearly took of one of his limbs , so he is acutely aware of the benefits of treading lightly around here. The labyrinth is coming to an end… he’s almost there. Maybe he will get out of this unscathed.
There it is. A single crate standing six feet tall. It appears to be protected by a forcefield of some kind – swirling vortex of black – colorless vacuum of doom. The crate is tethered to the floor with steel cables and wrapped with a rusted chain that is adorned with several padlocks – like some sadistic charm bracelet. The once overconfident egomaniac is now a quivering mess. He shouldn’t be here… of this he certain. More certain than anything else in his life. But the swirl of the absents of light beckons him closer. It calls to him like a child to it mother. He can not deny that they once were aligned… same cause and creed and purpose…diabolically divine. “Let me out!” it whispers at first. “I can’t” says the man, “my world would implode.” The box rattled the entire building – rocking to and fro. The other crates follow suite… chattering, writhing, fomenting. “Quiet down… before you give us all away…. My fate and your fate are eternally intertwined.” He lowers his face into his palms. “I never intended to keep you so long.”
CRACK! POP! The wooden stairs leading up to the loft are splintering – one after another. Evil must have heard their cries of help from before. He has not come to help however. POW! All of his malice jackhammering down with each domineering step. Hearing the ruckus, the barricade a top the staircase makes a conscious decision to not do its job. Flung open wide for the Harbinger of Death to pass on by.
As the dark ooze passes, the things inside the cradling cages recoil within themselves like sluggish turtles on the edge of the freeway… petrified by the incessant traffic.
A sudden jolt of pain. The man slumps to the ground grasping his left arm. “A heart attack?” he blurts out. “Why are you doing this to me?!” The vortex swells with pride as Evil approaches – opening it’s mouth wide to welcome the prodigal home. “Gigs up, my long lost friend” Evil says leaning in from behind. “I have to admit – I’ve been impressed. You put up a valiant fight, but this is the end.”
The door of the six foot crate begins to open all on its own. Evil pries the trembling man’s eye lids opened as well. Being forced to face the darkest of his demons is worse than facing death itself. “STOP! PLEASE!” he begs for mercy. “NO… NO…DON’T DO THIS!!! he screams. But mercy is not on the menu. He wonders if it ever was. Inch by inch – the door slowly creaks open. Inch by inch – the terror is mounting. Inch by inch – his hope and dreams are slipping away. The last stream of consciousness trickling through the caverns of his mind is an endless cacophony – “THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING TO ME!”
Desperate to come out alive, the man remembers the contents of his pockets. His hands rummage around like a lady fumbling through her purse. No rhyme or reason. Only manic searching for the last fragment of hope. Is it? Maybe… maybe no… maybe yes… Yes it is… YES IT IS! He leaps to his feet armed with a new found courage and stares Evil in its unformed facial area. “Maybe I do deserve to be put to shame. My dirty laundry aired out for the entire world to see. I admit it is true, but I will never allow it to come to light by you.”
Wielding a half-used lighter like a sword from medieval times… the man shatters the darkness… sending Evil retreating from whence it came. The clawed hands of the things in the crates immediately wither… like raisins in the desert sun. The vortex of doom consumes the six foot crate that housed his darkest of demons. Even the barricading gate and all it adorning padlocks are sucked out to sea. Astonished… the man stands tall in the empty loft. That tiniest spark of light had undone a lifetime of shame. “The end is not the end” he thinks to himself. “This is only the beginning of me.”
He freely walks over to a nearby wind. Pulling back the drapes, he yells at the top of his lung. “If the son has set you free, you are free indeed.”
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©2014 Marshal Hunter. All Rights Reserved.
©2014 Marshal Hunter. All Rights Reserved.
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