Tremors
It had been hours since Kit had laid his eyes on anything other than the lady in the apartment across from him. He knew that he was out of her field of view, but the anxiety still swelled within. To any wandering eye that would care to gaze upwards into the old Le-Roue housing complex, apartment C-32 was a mystery. The only thing a passerby could see were a pair of half opened mini blinds, a computer desk, and a faintly dim light which cast a shape no one would care to notice along the busy streets of Mon-Prill City. If the rain didn’t drown out and wash away the slightest ray of light and burst of natural color, Kit would have found some kind of solace in his current situation; but it would seem that this woman was his only light in this entire city.
He watched for months after seeing her curvaceous figure dance in front of her mirror, taunting him. The swaying of her hips becoming waves of sensual death that crushed and drove the air out of Kit’s lungs on a weekly basis. His eyes slowly scanned the rest of the dim room, slouched in his seat he eyed the clock as its red numerals flashed 5:45. The alarm blared breaking the silence of his torrid apartment. It would only be a matter of minutes before he was spit back on the busy streets of Mon-Prill, the lonely scent of poverty and malice clung to every face and building. The cause was faintly visible but the effect was still prominent as if it happened a mere hours ago. As if a great flash appeared, and as it dispersed it stained everything it cast its pale shadow on. Ripping the innocence from the air, and the eyes of man forever tainting everything Kit loved. It felt like centuries since Kit felt anything other than the numbness of his mundane world.
He was a farce of urges and judgments, day in and day out he stared callously in the mirror trying to figure out exactly who it was that was actually peering into his soul. The night terrors hadn’t stopped, it felt like Kit was living in perpetual night. The skeletons gripping at the supple flesh of his mind carelessly sinking it’s anchors into any opening, spilling every ounce of the former person onto the floors of apartment C-32. He had been awake for the past two days trying to make sense of what was going on. All of the wallpaper had been torn from the walls. The bare brick and fresh clumps of dry wall had kept the voices from bouncing throughout the apartment. The only place that they seemed to stay away from was the living room. For some reason the faint sunlight had kept them away. In the middle of the night Kit was pulled from his bed. Fumbling to his feet and fishing for the nearest light switch, he saw a long and hollow face peeking below his doorway. It’s long and lean body blocked a portion of the doorway. Shivering in place the body stood prone but the head and neck of the thing contorted and swung into place just above its concave shoulders.
Frantically trying to blink the ghastly eyes and gaudy grin away, Kit found himself pressed against the wall, his mind and legs propelling him further away as the rest of his body remained frozen. Taking one giant stride into the room the lean creature hovered over Kit. Digging its claws into the ceiling and shivering closer with every breath. It’s neck snapped and contorted once again, it’s eyes growing wilder. Looking up at the woolly long limbs of the creature, Kit refused to close his eyes as cold saliva pooled underneath his shirt. The sensation sent Kit bolting for the doorway. Slamming the door behind him and hunkering down in the living room. Kit struggled to calm himself as he hid behind the makeshift barricade of furniture. Guttural howls and laughter crept through the house as the door exploded open. A strong gust of wind tore through the hall, shattering every lamp and piece of furniture. Kit sat among the rubble watching the eyes that clung to the shadows dart from corner to corner. Its deep wheezing echoed through the still apartment leaving Kit shivering at every heaving whisper. “Soon Kit, soon.” The sun light continued to creep through the blinds, propelling the sound of wheezing back to the bedroom. Kit forced himself to swallow, reached his arms through his jacket and grabbed for his keys at the edge of his door frame. With a swift pull and a turn of the knob Kit Stevens was back out of the hell he called home.
“At the very least I can be alone around a bunch of people instead of being alone at home.” called out a familiar voice from deep within. The hallway was narrow, and smelled of rotting wood. The Le-Roue housing apartments had to have the worst ventilation in all of Mon-Prill. The apartments were riddled with bullet holes, pests, and citizens ruined by the war. The horrible florescent lights and the lack of fresh air lead Kit to speed up his pace. The feeling of creeping death slowly tightening its grip around his neck. A feint sound of wheezing echoed in the distance. He frantically pushed open the door to the stairway and bolted down the stairs dodging the puddles of urine empty syringes and idle bodies. The stench was uncanny, Kit figured that he would eventually get use to the array of smells that his lovely building produced daily. But he had never been one to adjust to anything without a fit of reluctant rage. The ragged apartment complex paled in comparison to the world outside. There on the streets of Mon-Priell the rubble stricken streets housed more than stray animals, there were lost souls ripe for the harvest in the lovely city. The war machine had bulldozed through the fledgling city leaving not even a glimmer of hope behind. Just a couple of broken buildings, a crippled government and throngs of people paralyzed by their fear of fighting back. In the beginning the war was a standstill battle.
The horrors of the Northern Sun held the future in a death grip for nearly four years. It felt like a lifetime for the people of Mon-Prill. The bombs scattered the remnants of any retaliation from the Republic of Mon-Prill. The pressure of the first explosion crushed the will of the entire land, and the next two snuffed out the flame that was the pride of the Republic. But the last bomb scarred the face of what represented Mon-Prill. The present, past, and future were all compromised because of the sheer greed and lack of direction placed in the hands of President Anthony Jacques. Jacques sent thousands of men to their slaughter and didn’t bat an eyelash at the turmoil he caused on domestic and foreign soil.
The national debt was at an all time high and the country was literally turned on its head from a landslide of piss poor decisions. Unfortunately these events took place before the war. He tried to make the Republic of Mon Prill the greatest conglomerate the world has ever seen. One unsteady step after the other he forced his vision into fruition. Directing his military to overthrow, and seize the surrounding territories of the Corodeef and Moleah. Making them close allies in a cohesive plot to shatter the juggernaut that was the Republic of Yoshon, also known as the land of the Northern Sun. The trade routes were the first to go, then the local politicians were shipped to private prisons in Mon Prill, and never heard from again.
Jacques and his cabinet planned to attack the Northern Sun when they were at their weakest, and would strike them down in a flurry of heavy ammunition and sheer manpower. Together they would swarm Yoshon like a pack of hyenas and divide the carcass among themselves. These promises proved to be transparent after Jacques was found responsible for the destruction of both Corodeef and Moleah. First turning them against each other and then doing away with them when they were at their most desolate.
Poverty and famine struck the two countries before Jacques implemented his coupe de grace. Bombing them to nothing but shards of sand and ash. It was only fair that he and his beloved “conglomerate” were reduced to the same horrors and were taken with the atomic tide that was known as Order B-66. The war had taken more than Kits homeland, his sense of security and his future, it took his father. Colonel John Stevens the living legend. Kit had heard one accolade after another during his brief time with his father. He truly was a man of merit. Kit reminisced about the vivid stories his father would tell him as he traveled down the canals and alleyways of the city. Every inch of the way the ghost of his father crept closer to whisper in his ear. “ At the very least, I can be alone around bunch of people instead of being alone at home” said that familiar voice again. “Are you going to continue to run from me kid?” Kit held his composure and held back the urge to cry out loud. His eyes widened and he clenched his jaw as he bolted through the door of Visalle’s Tavern.
The bell above the door cut through the stillness of the tavern like the blare of a pistol. The faces were all familiar but the leers burned holes in Kit’s confidence. He scanned the tavern for Romero. Either he was in his stock room which doubled as his bedroom, or he was smoking in the alley behind the building. The entire building was miraculously still intact after the war, aside from the makeshift skylight installed by the debris of the toppled tower that dwarfed the tavern. It had stood for four centuries and was erased within seconds. The debris was placed behind the bar on a brass altar as a reminder of what Mon Prill once was. Kit combed through the crowd of merry drunks, avoiding the slightest possibility of a conversation. The dim lights and smell of dust and liquor brought back memories of the colonel.
He envisioned him sitting in his seat at the edge of the bar, hysterically laughing and slapping the counter. Kit eventually made his way to the stock room, but there was no Romero just an empty cot and a bowl of half eaten oats. Faintly in the background you could hear Romeo’s hoarse voice singing his rendition of an old folk song. Kit followed the horrible sound of Romeo’s voice. He wasn’t in any of his usual hideouts but was down in the cellar. “Come one, come all, and gaze at the sky, for she holds in her hands my heart and my soul..” bellowed Romero from within the shadows.
Kit was always uncomfortable going into the cellar. As foolish as it seemed, he was still afraid of the dark. What scared Kit was what lurked inside. The dark made everything worse. Memories of Kit’s mother flooded back to him. He remembered holding on to her hand while she tried to reassure him that things were going to be okay. Peering into her eyes he felt that she was lying. As tears, and the dark, distorted the face that he had loved. The absence of everything around him made his skin crawl. Ordinary things took on a sinister presence in the dark. The dog, the lampshades, even the feeling of the rug beneath his feet felt foreign and hostile. Just a few months ago, the dark was the only place that “they” could get to him. He was safe out in the open. Especially during the day but lately “they” were breaking through their boundaries, and their presence was growing stronger. Sadly the walking night terrors were going to be something that Kit had to deal with all of his life. The doctors had diagnosed him with an acute form of psychosis after witnessing the death of his mother, and older brother.
He tightly grasped the guard rail leading him further into the cellar. The fear shot rigid signals up Kit’s spine like daggers of ice. He willed his feet to push further, gasping deeply through his mouth. His throat felt as large as a pin hole. Just twelve more steps he thought; the anxiety was smothering him. The stairs felt drastically uneven. Kit’s right foot felt like he was climbing the stairs instead of descending them, and his left leg fired pins and needles into his toes as it froze. He closed his eyes and continued one heavy breath, and step after another. Romero’s voice still bellowed in the distance. “There will never be a smile as bright as the sun, the warmth of her..” Romero heard a commotion come from the stairs stopping his song short. He grabbed Kit as he stumbled down the stairs.
“Damn it I told you not to come down here, you know that you shouldn’t try to strain yourself to do anything that could set off those tremors” cried out Romero. He pulled Kit over to a stool in the corner, and lit a cigarette. Peering at the young man convulse against the wall made Romero uneasy, no matter how many times he saw it happen he always hoped that he could do something to help the kid out. Romero had seen dozens of men die and never felt anything other than deep calmness; but something inside made him want to spare Kit of any hardship. Maybe it was because he felt like he was obligated to protect Kit after his father’s untimely demise, or that he saw a lot of himself in Kit. He took deep pulls off of his cigarette and continued tinkering with the radio that he was examining before Kit spilled into the cellar. Darting his eyes back and forth from his workstation to the incapacitated kid made Romero reminisce about how he and John Stevens would come up with ways to train their killer instincts as boys.
There were villages all over the south end of Mon-Prill back when Romero and John were kids. Romero vividly remembered the way that everything looked and smelled. The air seemed lighter and the sun felt warmer all of those years ago. Romero and John wanted to be great chiefs. They promised to make each other stronger, and whomever was chosen would make sure that he made the other his adviser. Romero, and John were inseparable until John met Clara. John stumbled across a badly beaten boy on his way home. The small child was being trampled, and rammed against a giant rock by a huge boar. His tusks were thick with the blood of the small child; its cries were thunderous and violent. Romero said that he could only remember a hairy black ball with two shiny white spears in front of it, and the sound of thunder before waking up in John’s home. John explained to him that he yelled for help but no one came, he figured that if he ran to get an adult that Romero would have surely died. So he hurled rocks at the beast until the boar turned his attention on him. John said that he then climbed up a tree with a stone tucked under his chin, and waited for the boar to tire itself out. The boar frantically smashed at the tree trunk, hoping to shake John from it, but the beast was met with multiple crushing blows to its crown after turning its back.
John patiently waited and leaped onto the beast’s back and didn’t stop his onslaught until the beast let out a great breath and fell flat. He then dragged the small child to his home screaming for help. He sat in front of the child for several days before seeing him come back to full consciousness; greeting him with a big smile and a bowl of food. John’s father was the local shaman, and knew exactly how to deal with Romero’s wounds but had a difficult job at cleansing his “energy field”. He said that Romero along with John were destined to deal with many problems in this realm because their energy fields were damaged at birth. Romero awoke to an array of smells, and a strange boy smiling at him while forcefully shoving a hot bowl of food at him. “Eat, eat you must, it will make you strong again; Appa says that it will keep the great sleep away for a while.” Romero tried to laugh, but the pain stopped him from fully letting out a cackle. He politely smiled after sitting up. Taking the bowl out of John’s hands expelled more energy than he thought it would. John smiled even bigger, offering to hold the bowl while the strange boy ate. He had never smelled anything like the food that was quickly disappearing one handful after another. Romero ate so fast that he could barely swallow the food that puffed out of his cheeks; he watched as John’s face glowed with infatuation.
“Appa, do you think that I can take my new friend out with us to hunt, or to get fruit from the plains, or to find roots for the…” “Now..now calm down John, your new friend needs lots of rest if he’s going to be strong enough to help you do anything. So you should go to the village to see if anyone is asking about this missing boy, and don’t forget to hurry back before night fall. There are many predators out there, and I fear that you wouldn’t make it back if the light disappeared from the sky while you were out in the open.” “Yes Appa, I promise that I’ll make it back, you don’t have to worry I’m strong, and not afraid of the dark just like you. There’s no way that anything will eat me, I’m fast Appa” replied John bursting with excitement. He grabbed a gourd and dashed out of the doorway after saying his goodbyes.
“Little one, where do you come from? ” Appa looked sternly at Romero. “I’m Romero, from the village of Enu, my father is Chief Ansule and my mother is Ana.” “How did you find your way down here?” Appa’s gaze upon the child tightened. “You would have to travel for three moon’s to get here on horseback.” “ I don’t remember, sorry..” Romero sheepishly gazed up at the towering man. Appa crept slowly towards the child, Romero’s eyes widened his pupils grew massive as Appa was inches away from his face. Romero was entranced at the warmness of Appa’s eyes. He blew a powder into Romero’s face, and kept his studious gaze fixed. Romero heard violent whistles as the room began to spin, the unsteady revolutions rocking him to sleep. Catching the falling child in his arms, Appa placed Romero in the corner on a pile of soft blankets and furs. He watched the child from across the room sitting upon his stool. He thought to himself, “At least John could get some proper exercise. Romero’s relatives were miles away.” “Who are you really little one, and why have you come here?” Appa grew more perplexed, as he began to toil with his thoughts. Perhaps he would have to consult the ancestors in order to solve the riddle of Romero. He sat closer to Romero, and began to slow his breathing. After several minutes Appa could see a rush of colors behind his closed eyes, he heard a great humming, and began to stumble further into a trance.
He opened his eyes, and slowly began to walk through the mist of the world between the realms. There among the mist he felt a warm sense comfort and could see an array of light radiating from his skin. He continued through the mist until he was met by his guide. He was a short man with a longbow in his hands. He wore a crown of bright feathers. The warmness that rippled off of the archer was uncanny. He greeted Appa with a tender smile, motioning for him to come closer. He and Appa shared a short embrace. “Appa, my son, we don’t have much time. Follow me. The archer pulled an arrow made of light from his quiver, casting it far into the distance. The arrow whistled, leaving a trail of light behind as it disappeared into the mist. Appa and the archer continued to walk until they reached a great beam of light. Appa couldn’t believe what he saw as they appeared on the opposite side of the wall of light. He looked down onto a village made of stone homes with many people, and strange animals about.
The archer pointed at a round man with many markings on his body, and a woman weeping in his arms. The people of the village grieved and circled around a body on the ground. As hoards of men left on horseback just over the hill behind them. They had fixed scowls, wore tattered clothes that stunk of salt and blood, and were coated in a thick darkness. They grunted behind a tall man wrapped in armor, pawing tediously at a small wooden box. The men slowly continued their way past the horizon, heaving women, and heavy boxes of golden coins that spilled out as they hiked further to the shore. Torches and lances were held high as they returned to the tides. Appa tried to run down the hill to see what the commotion was about in the village, but was held back by the archer. “I must go, they need help!” screamed Appa. The archer looked sternly at Appa, and shook his head. “You can’t undo that which has already been done, these things were set into motion long before you were born.” Appa looked down the hill for one final peek. The round little man and his companion were trailing the mass of people, who were now carrying the body, disappearing into the trees one by one. Appa looked back at the archer as he cast another arrow across the sky. “ Come, there is still more to see.” Appa followed closely behind, slowly disappearing into the mist, his eyes fixed on the black banner that snaked through the air.
“Appa, Appa, Appa I checked in the main villages, and on the outskirts too. No one knows anything about a missing boy. Even Liola heard nothing, and she knows everything about everyone. I hear that she only knows everything about everyone because she has nothing better to do but watch what others do because she’s bored with her life. Does she live through others, how is that possible? Appa, Appa is that true?” John shook his father gently trying to coax an answer from him. “Calm down John.” A smile had spread across Appa’s face, after stretching his long limbs he placed John on his lap. “Now little one, what did I say about gossip?” John thought hard, a stern look appeared on his face. “Appa said that following gossip leads you further away from yourself. The only good that comes from gossip is exposing the truth that people are curious, and insecure.” Appa nodded as he placed John on the floor. “Soon we’ll eat, and then we should rest. We have a long journey ahead of us in the morning.” John looked over at Romero, and was puzzled. “But what about my friend, can he come too Appa?” Appa nodded as he looked over at Romero. There had definitely been a reason why Romero appeared in their lives, and that reason was soon going to be revealed.
