He looks up to find three analogous shadows stirring back and forth above the chamber. He realizes that he is in the floor and they are walking around above him. He tilts his head to the side and sees more shadows below him on another floor. They are all looking at him, waiting for him to say something, but when he opens his mouth to speak all he can hear are the muffled words inside his head. His ears are bleeding from some sort of penetration.

He finds himself naked in the chamber and the distance between the top and bottom glass surfaces feel so much smaller. All around is light and the shadows that every now and then spare his eyes.

The chamber reminds him of a pinball machine because of an opening at his feet that curves downward and leads through the floor below him. On the other side of his left foot is another smaller gateway that extends straight and into the wall of light. This is normally where the ball would deploy, but instead of dropping off near his head, the passageway for the ball curves straight into his shins.

The shadows pace back and forth watching him anxiously. He can barely move under the strange binds and the blinding white light. All is quiet until he hears some sort of machine charging up. The sound oscillates from the pinball alley at his feet. The opening carries to sound into the chamber as it gets louder and louder and suddenly a shadow emerges from the white.

It seems to have been shot from a pressurized contraption for the speed it is traveling at. As the shadow passes through the light and closer to the chamber, its detail is revealed. The object is long and fat almost like a baguette. As it comes closer to the chamber, the object reveals a long, sharp bayonet coming for its head. Beyond the razor sharp blade is the head of what now appears to be a creature. Its face is comprised of a narrow opening, which appears to be its mouth. Along the body of the animal are small protruding barbs much like those on a cactus plant. At the end of the body is another sharp bayonet, but unlike the one at the head, it lays like a tail.

He struggles as the monster no longer than his thigh flies around the curve at the opening and into his legs. The sharp object at the head rips its way through his lower legs like a bullet through water. The chamber is instantly spattered in crimson and he begins to scream inside his head. He shakes around as the monster doubles back and shallows what remains of his feet whole. The slug-like thing circles back with little effort leaving on blood and scrap flesh below his knees. Then the worm makes its way up his legs and continues to feast without any obvious exertion of energy.

In a short matter of time the worm is swimming around in his torso as his heart stops beating and slips from out of his ribs. His remaining organs also slip out and sail down the river of blood that leads to the ball return. The shadows below swirl around as blood passes through the pipe before them. The shadows above kneel down and look him in the eyes.
With his last breath on of the shadow’s face splits open and fades away revealing his own face looking down on him.

Kevin wakes up cold and shivering. His bed sheets are wet with his sweat. His legs still kick in reaction of the dream.

We march in line
All battered and bruised
Covered in Kevlar
Marked civilians

I have trouble
Twisted ankle
From the window I threw
My self out of

Another second
My head would have been all over the floor
Several of them over me
On their way to genocide

But now I am safe
Among strangers that may be traitors
With knives hidden under their skin
But soldiers are within arms reach

So my worries fade
As we march out of the city
And into the dark jungle
Deep away from the war

Our home burn behind us
Masking the sky in black blood
Drawn from our friends and family
Just moments ago

The soldiers escort us away
Not enough in number to stay and fight
Never enough
We will all die the same way

Alone

“It’s Victor,” Steven said as he approached the radius.

Harold nodded from across the site. They had been walking side-by-side and Harold circled the body when they were close enough. He wanted a closer look at the hand of the twisted arm and realized that Victor was no longer carrying the envelope.

“It’s not here,” Harold said as he bent down on one knee in the thin cover of snow. It had been snowing since sunrise and was going to pick up heavily throughout the day.

“Then let’s get back to the jeep.”

The two men began walking back towards where they came from when the stench of Victor’s body first hit them. They never looked back and they never returned to that field.

***

Steven and Harold were in the jeep slowly sliding down a tree-covered road frozen by the bone-cracking ice storm. Harold began slamming the dashboard as Steven could not control the wheel. The raining ice and snow was hammering the windows. Steven gained control again and straightened the jeep out, “Will you relax.”

“It’s gone.”

“We’ll get it back once we get to the other side of the ridge. We’ll find the sucker and we’ll cut his head off for it. I’ll do it bare-handed if I have to.”

“First Jason,” Harold began, “and now Vic.”

“Listen, you need to drop it and focus. We’re not gonna get the envelope if all you do is panic!”

Harold sat silent for a moment as Steven hit more ice. He continued, “This fucking ice is killing me.”

After another long moment of silence, Steven began to speak, but he found it hard to open his mouth when a hole suddenly burst through the windshield and a chunk of rock and ice crashed over his knuckles. He swerved the jeep for a moment only to get it back on track and stare as his bloody hands. The rock had broken off the ridge from high above and targeted itself right over his hands, just like the bullet that killed that old women went right out of the muzzle, right past the Senator, and right into the apartment window across the street. As Harold began to panic again, Steven dropped his head slightly and muttered a very tired, “well this sucks.”

***

Harold glided through each aisle like a gentle tide, skimming his fingers along the many boxes sitting upon each shelf. He came out of the pharmacy store with a box of gauze wrap and got into the jeep. People here and there were staring through the hole in the windshield as they entered the pharmacy to pick up anything they might need for the coming storm — food and what not.

Harold carefully bandaged Steven’s hands. A collection of flurries were piling on the dashboard, coming through the hole. By the time the heavier precipitants from the ridge descended and made it to town, they were well on their way.

“We’re going to need plastic wrap for the windshield,” Steven started, “before we start freezing to death.”

“We should have grabbed some off Jason’s head when we found him suffocated.”

“What the fuck?”

“What?”

“What the hell has gotten into you? Are you high? You were just freaking out before we got to town?”

“Well I took some of this stuff Victor gave me the other day,” Harold reached into his jacket pocket and produced an orange and white prescription bottle. He shook it like a container of Tic Tacs, but Steven soon swiped it for a closer look.

“Ket… Keta… Ke…” Steven stuttered, “Harold, this is Ketamine!”

Harold was sinking in his seat, smiling as he felt himself floating like a bubble towards the roof of the car.

“How many did you take? How many?!” Steven was now screaming.

Harold just sat and smiled and closed his eyes. Then he finally said, “Well, when I opened ‘em, they didn’t shake around so much.”

Steven popped the cap off of the bottle to find two tablets sitting in the bottom. He rolled his window down and tossed the bottle.

“Harold,” he began, “You listen to me now. We’re going over the northern ridge and up the mountain to get the envelope. Okay?”

“We wouldn’t be in this position if you never took up that job. You would have never fired that gun and killed that poor old lady. But no, you’re just a greedy murderer…”

“I didn’t mean to kill that lady!”

“… and now both Jason and Victor have been suffocated and blown to pieces, respectively, in order to get to you. And now they stole the envelope and now everything’s been blow to shit and we just as good as dead.”

“Harold! Listen to me: we’re getting that envelope back!”

“How? How can you possibly get it back? These guys are way out of your league… let alone mine. Not only do they have that stupid envelope that we should not have even had in the first place — that should not have existed if it weren’t for Jason — but we’re being hunted down like animals because you screwed up yet again and you took the money and ran…”

“You’re an asshole, okay, I…”

“You’re a liar. And a thief. And you’re not my friend anymore. No way, pal.”

“Fine, but we’re getting that envelope back whether you like it or not.”

“You better count on the latter, cause at this rate no one’d like getting that envelope back. It’s probably too late as we speak…”

The train was on its way to Monaco when Youth got on. If Monaco was the next stop, Youth was just on time in collection to immediately join his brother, Helm, and race to the Riviera.

Youth opened the next door and walked in swirling his knife again, like the movement of chimney smoke in the icy winter. The next man who’s nose he cut was rather large, but did not yield his money. Youth challenged the man for his life and stuck the knife into his throat.

On the other side of the car, a man with a stowed revolver rose and shot Youth through the throat.

These barrels are filled with PGDN and wired to fifteen separate charges. Not only is this situation a bit flammable, but the Cyanide gas produced won’t be too friendly with your insides, Chas. Yes, that’s right, Chas, things just got personal.

Chas dropped the note and ran for the collapsed staircase. Unable to ascend it, he ran to the other side of his basement and shoved the window above him open. As he pulled himself up out of the darkness, he noticed the wired clock on one of the barrels. Without hesitation, he lifted himself fully out of his basement and onto his back lawn. He was done playing games. He was done following this psychopath’s rules.

So he ran through his tight backyard and emerged from the brush onto his drive. His V-Rod Muscle was sitting pretty before him and in a second he had it running and soaring into the street. And then the sirens came booming behind him. Several cars were close on him, but a few broke off towards his house. Chas barely glanced over his shoulder to see his house getting smaller in the distance as the cars toppled over his beautiful lawn and men rushed in through every entrance. They were probably to the basement door by now, descending the stairs, stumbling down off the collapsed section. The barrels before them — like giant volcanic rocks — black and smooth –

– and then the explosion — he did not hear it. He did not see it. All Chas saw was the road before him. The black asphalt suddenly fading into whiteness. And when the light cleared he was still on his bike, flying down the center of the road. His eyes were tearing up red and he was panting with stress exhaustion. Every ounce of air in his lungs was gone and it took all of about a minute to get it back. He flicked his head over his shoulder to see a fiery masterpiece behind him, expanding in all directions. The explosion was unreal to him. He felt invincible riding in front of this behemoth inferno.

He quickly covered his mouth and nose with his jacket. He could see countless people on the streets. Walking their dogs or riding their bikes, all running towards the explosion. What is it these days that draws people to destruction? All of them about to take in a breath of stale air. Their sudden comas. Their sudden heart attacks. The agonizing pain of flooding lungs. Blue lips and skin. Every last one of them was going to die. Chas could smell the almonds. He was riding — the almonds…

… he was breathing Hydrogen Cyanide. He began to panic and become dizzy.

She leaned towards me and handed me her phone. I read the letters burning through the liquid crystal display screen: im outside rite now — nik’s car is in flames and others — fire tuck is almos her. I grabbed my back pack and was on my feet and out the door before the teacher had time to position his glasses from falling off his face. I tried not to run. Then I ran. The halls were full of kids all sitting around and feeling each other up. Super intendants smoking blunts in the corner. Everything a blur of machinery and grease, chugging and pumping past my florescent scanners. I made it to the main lobby and then the entrance. Through the glass a gust of black smoke swept across the lot. My heart fell into my pelvis and the rest of my organs followed in a migration to my feet.

I stumbled down the outside stairs as my kidneys slid past my knees. Down the lot was a firey mess where I parked my car. Around the fiasco was a group of counselors and then teachers and then students and then cops pushing past with their flaky skinned fingers. A red water blaster was rolling down the drive — alarm booming and beeping. I came close to the scene and was greedily pushing myself above people.

Before me was a car in flames. It was mine. Black. Two door. It was engulfed in flames and the two surrounding cars were demolished as well. One was flipped over. One seated a kid, who blankly stared into a swirling gaze of smoke and grass and trees and people. He was bleeding from the top of his head and just staring. Just staring ahead of him. A teacher began to shout: “Get me some tape!” He had a scruffy face and a short curly top. I felt rather offended by the shouting and turned towards my girlfriend, seeking her response: “Isn’t that your car?”

And I looked to my left from her to see that my car was in fact several spaces down from the disaster. I approached it and touched it. Made sure it was real. Speed-dialed home. Assured homeostasis. Hung up. Got in my car. Drove away with her. Towards the sun of the new day.