Story [Issue 35] Decay - Part 3

[S.C.Y.T.H.E 1,072]

Part Three

Read Part 1 Here - Read Part 2 Here

 

Like waves

On the sea shore

Millennium pass. Soundlessly. Thoughtlessly.

But I never sleep.

Never.

The salvation of desolation is near. A serenity of oblivion is at hand.

 

The boy curled on the sand, oblivious to the seagulls swooping all around. The sun was high in the sky but appeared only as a silver disk beneath the grey storm clouds. With a crack of thunder, the ferocious heavens hurled torrents of rain into the sand and beach. The boy still did not stir.

 

Nothing has order. Everything is chaos. The only order is solitude, the only sense is void.

I glided through the fluctuating membranes of dimensions. Vails, inside vails, inside vails, inside shrouds, comprising everything. The everything that was mayhem.

Even an abyss is havoc. Existence is selfish senselessness.

 

The boy jerked awake. A pounding feeling of impending doom filled his mind, and he glared around at his surroundings. Dark, but not black. Twisting columns of obsidian hurdled every which way, bearing an ambience of untold age. There was no up, nor down, nor any direction at all. The boy had a definite form, and the pillars of stone seemed to contain their own gravity. He stood on top of one, the surface like glass, yet textured. Rippled, as if once upon an eon, this passage of stone was a molten piece of glass being blown in the wind.

 

The boy continued forward, propelled by an unknown desire. The column of material arced across the eerie chasm, with sudden jagged turns in every conceivable direction. Every few feet, a random structure or piece of matter branched off. The boy strode right past a dying oak tree growing directly out of the stone. A few feet ahead, the huge front of a steam-engine train broke out of the stone. The massive grate, a few front wheels, and the smoke-stack protruded, as if the train was coming out of a tunnel molded to fit the train’s shape.

 

The boy also spotted many bones. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could tell that the matter making up the spires of rock was actually slightly transparent, and beneath the surface were countless skeletal forms from all kinds of animals. He could also see what looked like a satellite or perhaps part of a space station lurking under the obsidian. Most malevolently of all, something was moving. A slithering shape was recognizable in the half opaque stone, and the being was certainly following the boy. 

What is this place? It wasn’t a regular dream that was for sure. The boy could easily tell that he was in his right state of mind. But this couldn’t be reality… could it? What is this place, the boy asked once more.

Surprisingly, yet familiarly, a voice answered. A resonating voice that shook the pillars of stone, yet was soft at the same time. A voice devoid of tone, a whisper that was also a shout.

 

 This is a dream of a dream, and echo of an echo

But it’s time for everything to end.

 

Very helpful. The boy didn’t care where this dream led, yet he took one more step forward. He placed his foot on the stone, when suddenly a deafening shattering noise rang out across the chasm. The stone was cracking. A whir-pool of cracks spread from where the foot touched the ground, the obsidian disintegrating and now… liquefying. The boy was sucked down the torrent.

The boy saw the bones first. But all matter of decay spiraled down with him. However, the strange shape was in the water too, arcing and flitting through the surge with a nearly electric course. Then, everything stopped.

 

The boy opened his eyes. Drops of rain pummeled the sandy beach and the boy realized that he was entirely soaked. The ocean waves were manic, rising all the way up to the boy’s legs and receding once more. Jumping to his feet, he recognized the beach where he had floated ashore from the Oil Rig. A film of black liquid clung to the sand and obscured the ocean’s surface. He stumbled backwards a few steps to avoid the ocean’s spray, but immediately noticed the writing.

It was as if a massive hand had carved these words in the sand.

 

Space, Matter, Time

All of it must end

~Ozymandias

 

The boy suddenly broke into a run. Some primal instinct compelled him to dash away from this unnatural scene, away from the water, and away from the oil. Sand and grass flew by in a blur. He hit a black asphalt rode, and followed it at a breakneck pace. Old, peeling billboards greeted him. A run-down fast-food restaurant’s flashy logo had fallen into the middle of the road and effortlessly the boy avoided it. He continued sprinting, blazing past houses and buildings. He finally came to a stop when he spotted a surprising shape on the horizon. A generic Ford sped along the road at a speedy pace, and continued over a hill and disappeared.

 

Finally he stopped to catch his breath. He spotted a sign for a regular department store. Regular cars parked on the streets, though with obvious signs of damage and discard. Broken, flickering floodlights lined the roads, and an apartment complex was not far off. Lines of once profitable hotels with names like “Blue Dolphin Inn” and “Beachside Stay” lined the ocean side of the road. These hotels were scrawled with Graffiti and most of the windows were broken. Not a single sign of life stirred amongst the boy’s surroundings.

 

Palm trees were bent over in the whirling winds, and the boy realized that he had been ignoring the biting rain for several minutes. He ran across the quiet street and entered a small clothing store. Half of the shelves and racks were empty and lying sideways on the floor, but he managed to find a couple pairs of clothing that fit him nicely. No cashier or manager greeted him at the check-out line. However, the boy did notice a black pistol lying on the counter.

 

He picked it up. The feel of a pistol was very familiar, and he pulled out the clip. Only four bullets remained. But four bullets could certainly come in handy, and the boy didn’t hesitate as he pocketed the weapon.

 

Outside the strip mall, he found an abandoned, forlorn bicycle. It was an old ten-speed mountain bike with a rusty chain. The boy hopped on, and pedaled off into the rain.

 

To Be Continued…

 

Edited July 30, 2017 by Hexed

[Jboymark53 508]

Nice!

[deadtoyou 2,502]

As an avid reader myself, I enjoy a good book very much, and stories that grip me are even more interesting. And this certainly falls into that category, and I cannot wait for part 4! :D

[Darren4Turbo 4,913]

Nice Story, waiting for part 4!  :D 

[liverpoolaum 811]

nice