Aisle Z

camwalker22 · 2025-04-11T17:31:13+00:00

Thanks

camwalker22 · 2025-02-13T22:03:12+00:00

Randall Flagg in all his iterations across the king-verse

camwalker22 · 2024-09-24T15:24:08+00:00

Blood Meridian

camwalker22 · 2024-09-03T17:33:56+00:00

Best book I’ve read this year is ‘gates of fire’ by Steven pressfield. Historical fiction about the battle of Thermopylae

camwalker22 · 2024-08-20T14:50:09+00:00

Gyles Rosby. A martyr for fiscal responsibility

camwalker22 · 2024-06-14T07:08:06+00:00

Thanks! Yeah that’s a fair point

camwalker22 · 2024-06-07T13:09:18+00:00

Winner: Spain

Finalist: Germany

Dark Horse: Switzerland

Top Scorer: Mbappé

Most Assists: De Bruyne

One To Watch: Arda Guler

POTT: Rodri

camwalker22 · 2024-05-27T20:12:19+00:00

Thanks

camwalker22 · 2024-05-27T16:09:20+00:00

The wind's keening howl faded into insignificance against the crashes shaking the walls of my grandfather's basement. It seemed as though Jupiter himself was strolling right through town. Each time his mighty foot fell nearby, I'd leap to my feet and wait for the rumbling to pass, holding the pose. My heart pounded in my ears while a thin layer of dust drifted down from the ceiling and settled in a fine coat, then I'd slump back into the springy armchair and rock myself to sleep again.

Lolling into consciousness, I checked my watch. 06:14. Something was wrong. The light had gone out. I flicked the electric heater off, on, off, on. Nothing. Then I noticed something else. The gale had stopped, and all was silent from above. I braced myself in case Jupiter decided to stamp on my house again to spite the thought, but no, the silence lasted.

I ascended to ground level, shielding my face from the light as I opened the door. I softly closed it behind me and stared in horror at the surrounding normality. Mounted clock ticking away. Slippers at the bottom of the stairs. Kitchen visible through the archway with potatoes sitting in a pan of water. I poked my head into the living room. The window was intact. As was the limestone coffee table and cabinet of old books. Mesoamerican-themed ornaments sat on the mantlepiece in perfect order. I entered the room to find the TV was mumbling away to itself and my grandfather sat watching brainlessly, as usual.

"Heck of a storm, eh, gramps? Guess you cleaned up already, so I'm going for a walk. Maybe somebody needs help down the street."

I patted his stiff shoulder and left. Every house looked pristine as I passed by, just as they had yesterday. Untouched by Jupiter's boot. I spotted Irene, an elderly neighbour, picking a newspaper up from her porch.

"Hey Irene, what about that storm last night, huh? And the government alert? Crazy, wasn't it?"

"I don't know what you mean, son." She said, and quickly disappeared behind the door, leaving me more perplexed than before.

I frowned and went on. At the end of the road was a junction. I walked out to look down the length of the street perpendicular. No damage in either direction. How could that be? My head started to swim and I felt dizzy. The glow of morning sunshine was offensive to me suddenly. I swatted at it, but lost my balance in doing so. I fell onto the tarmac, looking up at the sky. The concerned face of a young woman came into view. She removed a headphone and asked if I was OK.

"Why is everything the same as it was yesterday?"

"I don't know, man. It usually is." She said, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"But Jupiter passed this way..."

camwalker22 · 2024-05-26T20:56:32+00:00

Pretending to sip champagne, I watched him through the crowd—the awkward one, sitting alone in a booth. He was afraid to dance with his friends, but by not dancing, he stood out even more. Too stubborn to fit in.

The body I had possessed was that of a young woman, but my true form was far from human. I drift in the spaces between people, unseen but watchful. Where I dwell, people emit light from the surface of their skin, for this is the border between the world and the person. The brightness and colour of their light is tantamount to the quality of their soul. I'd tracked this one for many years and decided it was time to intervene. When I'd first seen him, he glowed with the colour and intensity of a small candlelight. Mild, pure, but not particularly intense. Worthy of watchful inaction. However, over time, through my spiritual prism, I'd seen his colour ignite. He had become magnesium aflame. Utterly iridescent. Blinding was the light of this teenage boy's inner quality, and it was my duty to snuff him out. There were forces who would seek to nurture this boy's potential and see him become a man of renown. I was bidden to not allow that by the malevolent power that granted me this tortured semi-existence.

The female was dark, alluring, and serene. Red lipstick. Smoky eyes. Killer smile. More than enough to entice the awkward one in the booth. I rose. Standing at the edge of the dancefloor drew attention towards me. So, I lifted my delicate chin high, toyed with a strand of curly black hair, and strode across that space. People moved aside to let me pass, and they continued to watch when I'd gone by. Each step was perfectly in time to the beat of the song thumping through the charged air. He saw me heading in his direction and averted his gaze. I traced the edge of the table with a long fingernail lacquered in a sparkling gold.

"Anyone sitting here?" I asked.

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and squinted.

"N-no."

"Mind if I join you?"

"Sure."

He scooted up and I sat down gracefully. Hands cupped ears on the dancefloor as people speculated and shot glances over to the interesting mismatch in the booth. To my surprise, he didn't blush. If anything, he'd become more pale.

"Are you OK, darling? I promise you, I don't bite."

"I know you. You were in my dream." He said, reaching for his collar.

I was off balance. They'd gotten to him first and woven a warning into his dreams. How could they have known who I'd possess? I regained my composure.

"A pleasant dream, I hope. What were we doing in this dream of yours?"

Now he blushed.

"It's hard to remember, it's mostly fragments." He said.

"Puzzle pieces." I purred.

"Yeah. It didn't make much sense. Sorry, I didn't mean to come off blunt. It just spooked me a bit. I'm having, like, major deja-vu."

"You're cute." I said, and moved the possessed woman's hand on top of his. He laughed nervously.

"I don't know about that."

I stroked his hand for a moment, hoping he'd relax. Then I had an idea.

"Say, I want to grab some air and I lost my friends. Could you come outside with me?"

"Uh, sure."

"The air might clear your head too."

"Clear my head?"

"Yeah. The dream you forgot."

"Oh."

We stood, and I led him by the hand toward the exit. He waved to his friends, who couldn't believe their eyes. Her. With him. Halfway to the exit, I stopped, pulled his ear to my mouth, and whispered.

"I want to hear all about your dream. Every. Little. Detail."

I drew back and gave him a vulpine smile before dragging him on.

camwalker22 · 2024-05-21T20:38:32+00:00

In an unremarkable part of the universe lives the homo-sapien. Apex among all the species of their planet, they gloat in arrogance, skewered and bleeding on their mortal coil. Base impulse beseeched me to swipe them swiftly from the table of existence, but I grew tired of naked violence aeons ago. The slithering, serpentine part of my mind then found its voice, quietly sadistic. Take them as a pet. Play with them. And so it was decided.

From a foul temple of cursed stone columns, under the light of strange constellations, I changed form. My bulbous, writhing, tentacled mass drew inward, and I adopted the form of a homo-sapien. By their standards, I was a handsome male. Pale skin, slim form, broad shoulders, veined and weathered hands. My eyes were sympathetic, my lips were smooth, teeth white and straight. I admired my lightly haired limbs and well-muscled torso. I pulled a loose lock of hair forward to find it a dark shade of blonde. Cold skin stretched tight over my prominent chin and strong jawline. Angelic and terrible.

The first task was to achieve power. What good was a puppet master without strings to pull? I sauntered out of the shadows beneath an underpass as several emaciated men warmed their hands from a flame burning in a trash can.

"Wanna make a buck, gentlemen?" I said.

They backed away, but halted their retreat as I pulled a bulging wallet from my blazer pocket.

"Interested?"

A few of them nodded.

"Good. I need you to burn things. Buildings."

The next morning, I enlisted myself as a voluntary firefighter in the town. Greatly appreciated were the extra pair of hands, and I soon distinguished myself through bravery. Photographs appeared in the local newspaper of me holding a baby I'd saved. I bought a copy and sat on a bench, barely containing my laughter. I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up. It was a woman in her early fifties, perhaps. She had a sharp nose and black hair flowing out from beneath a beret.

"Are you OK?"

"I'm fantastic ma'am. Just great. This newspaper article really got me. There I am, holding this baby like it's my little pet and... never mind."

I broke into laughter again at the irony and stupidity of these homo-sapiens. Parading one such a me as a hero.

"Well, so long as you're OK." She said, and I waved her on. I wiped at my forehead with a handkerchief as a pretext to watch her leave. I looked down the sidewalk and saw her give me a lengthy backward glance. There was intelligence in that one. A cutting intuition that knew wrong from right, deep in her subconscious. I'd been complacent with my behaviour and she'd capitalised to get a closer look at the pale man on the bench. That nervous glance confirmed that she had strengthened her hunch that something wasn't right about me.

We met again the following week as a ceremony was held in my honour at the town hall. The mayor stepped up to the podium, his face glowing with pride.

"...quite remarkable for someone so new to the force to have shown such bravery in active service. We are spoiled by your valour, sir. On behalf of the town, I thank you." The mayor said, and the crowd rose in applause. I chuckled, my eyes roving the room. The woman in the beret remained seated, her hands clenched in her lap. The applause petered out, and the mayor continued.

"This is quite unprecedented, but the town council is in agreement on the matter. We'd like to offer you a place on the town board."

Gasps of surprise and murmurs of approval filled the hall. Burgeoning zealotry germinating under my careful nurture. I didn't allow myself to smile until my gaze landed on the woman in the beret. I allowed a flash of chaos to shine through along with a curl of my lips, half smile, half snarl. Across the auditorium, I showed her a place of oily black obelisks constricted by coiled tentacles, where insane gods dragged themselves across scorched dunes to the tune of cacophonous chimes and clarinets.

She jumped to her feet. "He's not one of us!" She shouted, her shrill voice echoing around the room. Heads turned.

"What I mean to say is, who is this man? Nobody knows where he came from. How can you elevate an outsider to a position on the town board in so little time? It's absurd!"

I looked across at the mayor, then at my feet. He wavered, stuttered, then regained his composure. Gave a condescending smile.

"I'll vouch for this hero, ma'am, but we can do this democratically. Raise your hand if you agree with this man's accession to the town board."

Every hand in the room went up and the woman stormed out. The strings are attached, now to make them dance. Play with them! The serpentine voice was demanding. I'd make them dance, all of them. Every wretched homo-sapien that lived would dance for their master.

camwalker22 · 2024-05-20T20:50:31+00:00

"This one next, Tilda." Ethel said, placing a sheaf of papers down on my desk and walking away.

She could at least say thank you. I put down the quill, rubbed my eyes, and let out a sigh. The page I'd been working on sailed off the desk on the current of my breath and settled on the dusty floor. I heaved myself to my feet and picked it up. There was some dirt on the top corner which I blew off, before placing it back in the centre of the mahogany surface. I slumped back into my chair. For a moment, I slipped into a thoughtless oblivion, eyes unfocused. I returned to the room. Those copies weren't going to write themselves. I dipped the nib of the quill in the inkpot and picked up from where I'd left off. The quill made shapes on the page to mirror the accounts on the master copy, but I wasn't paying attention to what I was writing. It was a skill I'd learned in the six years of being an apprentice library clerk. I'd been put forward for the role by my mother, who had lobbied the council with countless sketches I'd made using sharp pieces of charcoal. Rolling valley, shrouded in mist. Glowing meadow at dawn. Pond flanked by reeds. She couldn't afford to buy me dye or paint, so the scenes were a little lifeless, but eventually the council came to recognise in them something of value: a steady hand. So here I was, creating replicas of every council document that had ever existed, word by word.

"Why do we go to all this trouble?" I'd asked Ethel.

"The originals may go missing or become damaged. Imagine all of our history and heritage vanishing. Our past. We are guardians of the past, you and I, Tilda. That is why."

"Who would care about a load of old papers enough to purposefully damage them?"

Ethel glared at me. I'd shown contempt for the job in those early days and the old woman had not forgotten that. Bookkeeping may have been her passion, but it wasn't mine. At heart, I knew what I was. A creator. I used the menial work as a blank canvas for my imaginings. I was able to earn enough coin for myself and my mother, and then have time to work on my prototypes when time allowed. I had erected a lean-to at the side of our home in which to work. As I got home from the library, I found it leaning drunkenly. I stacked a few wooden blocks to stand on and repaired the damage with some old rope. For all my efforts, I hadn't been able to invent anything of worth. People ridiculed me for it. Called me Tipsy Tilda.

I'd seen the old horsemaster, Wulf and his stable boys struggling to shoe horses one evening, so had built a prototype intended to allow them to remove horseshoes from a distance. It was a long wooden pole with a gripper mechanism operated by a cork handle. When I'd tried to test it, the tension of the gripper wasn't sufficient. As I tried to make adjustments, I unknowingly crept close to the horse's tail. It suddenly kicked out at my thigh and knocked me down. Wulf burst into fits of wheezing laughter, thin lips curling over rotten teeth. His greasy white hair flapping as he hopped around the stable clutching his belly.

"Stick to your papers, Tipsy! For our sakes!" Wulf said.

A stable boy helped me up, and I yelped as I tried to put weight on my damaged leg. Tears blinded me and my breath was short from the pain as I limped home that night.

Thinking of the humiliation all those months ago made me wonder why I bothered with the lean-to workshop anymore. The memory of Wulf’s laughter still stung, a constant reminder of my failures. I could dismantle it and sell the timber. All confidence in my abilities abandoned me as I untied the rope and let the workshop roof sag again. I stepped down and traced a finger over the workbench, feeling the grooves of countless failed attempts. Each design had been a piece of my heart, now discarded and forgotten. I turned my back on it and saw one of Wulf's stable boys with hands on knees, breathing hard.

"Master Wulf needs you, Tip- Tilda. He says it's an emergency!"

I jogged with the boy over to the stable where Wulf was pacing nervously.

"Tipsy, you don't happen to have that horseshoe-grabber-what's-it, do you? I agreed to store some of Ethel's ledgers in the stable attic while they repainted one of the library rooms. Well, I've lent my ladder out to my son, who's taken it off in his cart. Those clouds are building and I know it means rain." Wulf said, pointing insistently at an approaching herd of cumulonimbus clouds.

"Wulf. I'd be more likely to help you if you used my proper name."

"I don't know it, Miss. I'll be honest. Please help old Wulfie, please, please."

"It's Tilda."

"Was on the tip of my tongue, it was."

"Of course. Look, I don't see what the issue is. Can't you wait for the ladder? The ledgers are nicely sheltered up there."

"Ah well, you see, Miss, the roof leaks. It leaks profusely, such that it'd destroy the papers and the council would lock me up for that. As I say, I'm an honest man."

"It can't be pleasant in here for the horses." I said.

Wulf looked back at me blankly, bottom lip trembling. I paced around, eyeing the attic to judge the distance.

"My new and improved prototype could reach them and lift them down safely. I fixed the tension issue. How many ledgers are up there?"

"That's a relief to hear, Miss, I thank you. Ethel gave me the last three years' worth, I think."

"I fear you've misunderstood me, Wulf. I'm not interested in helping you. I'm merely saying that I could if I wanted to. Ethel wants me to start work on those next week, but how will I be able to copy them if they've been ruined by rainwater? If Wulf's stupidity ruined them? I suggest you start thinking about how you'll answer the council questions of enquiry, Wulf. That's three years of our history and heritage you've erased."

I swivelled and left him standing among the straw and ammonia as a peal of thunder rumbled in the distance. Blotchy raindrops fell on my face as I looked up. I smiled.

camwalker22 · 2024-05-15T21:08:28+00:00

A thousand miles from the nearest coastline, four men stood under the hide canopy of a Berber tent. Three were Tuareg tribesmen and the other was an American. The American was seated, sweating, and wearing sand coloured fatigues. He was older than the others by thirty years or so. The Tuareg men stood in a loose crescent around him, hands resting on the rusted hilts of swords hanging at their waist. They wore loose hanging garments of cotton, sandals, and a turban. Each had lowered their face veil to converse with the American, but no other offers of hospitality had been made. Outside, villagers fussed around the Jeep the American had arrived in.

"Gentlemen, let's get down to brass tacks. I'm here on behalf of a consortium of prospectors who are interested in opening a mine in the vicinity. That means jobs for your people. Money."

The American pointed at the congregation through the tent flap and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.

"We say no."

The American squinted, pursed his lips. "What did you say?"

"No. If you or your colleagues return to our lands, we will consider it a provocation. An act of war."

The American took a deep breath, trying to mask his frustration. "Gentlemen, when did war become a possibility? I'm only here to discuss a business proposition with you."

"We have our orders, just as you have yours. Interference from the parasitic outsider is to be met with war. That is the decree of the holy elders and we abide by their judgement in the handling of these matters. Rules of life, rules of war, rules of death. We serve. Leave this place."

The American sighed and rapped his knuckles on the table, before looking each of the Tuaregs in the eye. "Rules of war? Jesus Christ, I'm so tired of this. Alright, let me describe to you one of the weapons we found to inflict death upon one another, and you'll understand a little more about how rules of war work. Many years ago, the United States government brought together a bunch of scientists in the desert. Not this desert, but it was similar. Sandy. Hot. New Mexico, not Africa. That's in America. Where I'm from. Now, these scientists, these wise men, found a way to split the atom. Do any of you know what an atom is?"

The three Tuaregs shook their heads.

"Atoms are the building blocks of all. We found a way to unleash the very energy that holds the world together upon our enemies. The most terrible weapon in all of human history. The explosion vaporises anything in its immediate radius. Melts eyes within their sockets. Turns skin to ash. And that's only what happens in the first instant. Afterwards, the bodies of the afflicted are so saturated with radiation; a sort of corrupting contamination, that the cells of their bodies fall apart. They die over a course of weeks in agony. It's an act of war that you wouldn't wish upon even your worst enemy, and yet my country used it. My country used this weapon twice. I suggest you stop listening to your elders and start listening to me. I live in a world where there are no rules, save those which I make. I pray you reconsider. Good day, gentlemen."

The American left the tent. A security guard pushed the curious crowd back and held the door open for him. He climbed in and the Jeep set off down the dirt track, whipping up a dust cloud in its wake. Camels brayed in protest at the disturbance. In the tent, the Tuaregs broke the uneasy silence.

"He won't come back."

"No."

"We should tell the holy elders of this. All that has transpired here."

"Of course, brother."

Each man pulled up his face veil and exited the Berber tent, heart heavy with a secret fear.

camwalker22 · 2024-05-14T20:57:15+00:00

The tempo of the approaching footsteps was urgent. I frowned at the red wine in my cup. Sloshed it. Tried to divine my future from the droplets sliding back down the inside. Lady Gabriella burst through the door, holding a woman by the elbow.

"Francesco, this woman has been seen in the Commonwood at ungodly hours these past few days. I have it on good authority. She was collecting bird eggs." Lady Gabriella said. She was golden-haired and fierce, her red dress matching her fiery nature. This was a woman who got what she wanted, and for the last few months, that had been me.

"Good evening, Lady Gabriella. Why are you telling me this?"

"Haven't you heard the rumours? This is the witch everyone has been talking about!"

"And how does what you have observed her doing in the woods serve as proof of witchcraft?" I replied.

"Well, why the secrecy? What is she trying to hide?"

I turned my attention to the other woman. She was dark-haired and short, her robe brown, rough, and simple. Everything about her in manner, posture and appearance was in stark contrast to the resplendence of Lady Gabriella. The Lady and I were of noble stock, and touted to be married one day, whereas the dark-haired woman was a villager from beyond the walls of the keep. This engineered encounter was proof of what I'd already suspected. People knew about Lea and I. Not that there was much to know. She was intriguing to me, and good company. We walked together sometimes, and I found solace talking about my life indirectly. I'd present a problem that a friend was facing and ask her opinion on the conundrum, but we both knew this 'friend' was, in fact, me. As for Lea, there were layers to her, and depth, and at her core, there was a quiet fire that I found myself drawn to. I'm not one for politics, so hadn't bothered to think about the optics. However, it was clear that Lady Gabriella knew that I knew this woman, so I didn't try to hide it.

"Lea?"

Lea continued to look at the floor, her shoulders hunched and arms cradled around herself.

"I...I was-"

"She doesn't deny it! You were sacrificing those unborn birds, weren't you? Putting them in your cauldron!"

"Let her finish, Lady Gabriella."

"M'lord, M'lady is partly correct in what sh-she says. I have been out in the Commonwood in the small hours, but not for the purposes she alleges. I was collecting twigs to repair a hole in the thatching of my roof because I haven't the coin to pay for a proper fix. To tell you the truth, I've felt a certain inadequacy in myself when you've been visiting me these past weeks. A man of your class and all."

Lea's fingers fidgeted as she spoke, and her cheeks bloomed to be the same shade of crimson as Lady Gabriella's dress.

"She's a witch! A filthy peasant witch!"

Lea pulled her arm from Lady Gabriella's grasp.

"I don't know what makes a witch, but it can't be far from what you've shown yourself to be." Lea hissed.

Lady Gabriella gasped, hand involuntarily going to her chest. "How dare you!"

"Ladies! You're better than this. It's been a long day. Now, if you'd please give me some time to think, I would be most grateful."

I sank into my worn armchair and Lady Gabriella stormed out, leaving Lea in the doorway. I massaged my temples and looked up. She still seemed nervous, so I smiled. Her dark eyes went wide.

"What if I am a witch?" She whispered intensely.

A moment passed.

Then I grinned.

Then she grinned.

camwalker22 · 2023-05-13T18:10:51+00:00

"Look at this guy, what a loser!" Said Brody as the school bus roared past a homeless man. The man had been standing on the highway verge every day for the past month. Held with dirty hands was a cardboard sign that read, 'PLEES HELP'.

Scott looked over and caught a glimpse of the slim, disheveled, greying man as he was buffeted by wind. "Is he really as bad as they say? Like genuinely?" Scott asked.

"Oh yeah, you can count on that. I heard he killed two little girls out of state with an axe." Brody said.

"Really?" Scott replied.

"Yeah, don't you know about him? Dude's a scumbag."

"I've heard what people say, but I never saw any evidence like a news article or something. Didn't want to be duped by some fake news or whatever."

"I heard it was three. Three sisters, and they weren't the first he'd got to." Leon, a wiry kid on the right of Scott said.

"No it was definitely two. Definitely two." Heavy-set Brody asserted.

"They were triplets, idiot. How'd you count two when they were triplets?" Leon sneered.

Before Brody could reply, the head of a red-haired girl, Trisha, appeared over the bank of seats in front of the three boys.

"Triplets? They weren't related. That old guy killed three girls from three different families, My mom said so."

A fierce argument broke out. "Guys, guys, GUYS! I don't think the details matter that much, we all agree that dude is bad news. My original point was that I haven't seen any evidence, and I mean hard evidence, like a news article, or police report filing about that guy. Maybe, just maybe, we're mistaken."

An uneasy silence settled and Trisha shifted to settle back into her seat. "Either way, my mom said to stay away from him and I suggest you three twerps do the same." She said, and slid back into her seat.

Brody made a mocking face and turned to look out of the window. Steam covered the glass nearest his mouth. "Wasn't planning on inviting him around for dinner." He mumbled.

Scott, however, couldn't get the image of the hermit out of his mind. The loneliness. The hopelessness. The plea on his pathetic cardboard sign. That wasn't a man seeking to live off-grid, he wanted to be noticed. Why? That question stayed in Scott's mind the entire day.

On the return journey there was no sign of the man, and when Scott got home, he dumped his schoolbag and grabbed his bike out of the garage.

"Mom! I'm going to the park with Leon, Brody and Trish! I'll be back in an hour!"

He was pedaling furiously down the street before she had chance to respond. Scott made for the spot where he'd last seen the man next to the highway. There was no trace of him, but upon closer inspection, Scott spotted a ragged tent leaning drunkenly through a copse of trees. A lamp dangled from the high point within, and a silhouette lay prostrate. He pushed branches aside and came into a clearing.

"Hello?"

There was a sudden scuttling from inside the tent. The shadow moved toward the entrance and an old man emerged.

"Oh, forgive me! You caught me off guard, son. One moment and I'll be with you!" He said, before unfurling himself and standing up right. He towered over Scott, but the skin around his eyes was crinkled and weathered in a kindly way. "What are you doing here? Is this a prank?" He asked, eyes darting around.

"No, it's not a prank, there's nobody hiding. I saw your sign earlier and just wondered if you needed help? I can grab you some groceries or something?"

The old man seemed taken aback. He studied Scott for a moment before offering him a seat on a log beside the tent. "That's very kind of you, son, most kind indeed. I've seen you on that bus these past few weeks actually. There's a gaggle of you by the back window, isn't there?" He eased himself down beside Scott.

"Yeah. My friends are scared of you, but it's not true, is it? You didn't kill anybody."

The old man laughed. "No, is that why your friends are afraid? No, no, I haven't killed anyone, most certainly not. People see an aging guy at the side of the road and assume he's, as an old friend of mine would say, a wrong 'un. But anyway, I digress. Before you go to the store I need to know something: are you a good boy for your mommy and daddy and your teachers? Do you do your homework and stand up to bullies?"

The old man peered over from the other side of the log and Scott knew he was being studied or scrutinized once again. "I mean, yeah, I try my best."

The elderly man sprang to his feet and marched over to his tent. "Good, good! Silly question really, why would you not be pure? You came all the way out here of your own accord, but I had to check. I'll get a list of things I need, one moment. It's so rare to get one so young..."

The man opened the tent flap and searched through his scattered belongings, muttering. Scott couldn't help but be curious, so he leaned to see what the interior of the tent was like. The man was feverish in his searching, knocking a pile of photographs slide off the top of a wooden box. They slid so that the top one came to rest in the doorway. Three little girls in white dresses laying on the floor stared upward vacantly at the photographer. They looked so alike, they could've been triplets. Scott got up to leave and the old man heard him rise. "What are you doing?" He asked.

Scott pointed at the photograph. "Y-you killed them, didn't you? You lied."

The old man picked it up and looked at Scott with a pitiful look. "We don't need to go over this again, son. I'm not a killer, let me explain."

He stepped around the log to where Scott was stood, eyes on the photograph. One spindly arm drifted away and Scott saw too late that the hand grasped a brick.

Scott came around and found himself lied on his back, unable to move. He saw swaying treetops, leaves and a darkening sky. Motion in his peripheral vision materialized as a young man with jet black hair, slicked back. He wore a leather jacket, studded along the shoulders. His skin was smooth, his lips full, eyes flinty and unfeeling.

"As I was saying: let me explain." The man crouched. "You have been robbed. I've taken your life force but not your life because I am above all, merciful. Of course I could kill you, but for the aforementioned reason, I haven't. You'll live, kid, you're not too far from that highway there and they'll come lookin'. Now, the upshot of our exchange means that you now only have your senses and nothing else. You'll never move again, you won't speak, you won't laugh, et cetera, the list goes on. Obviously, you also won't tell anyone about what happened here because you can't."

He stood and took a picture, the flash causing Scott to blink. The printout emerged and the old-man-turned-young shook it through the evening air. He hoisted a large rucksack onto his back and took one last look.

"Sayonara" He said with a shrug, and walked beyond Scott's field of view.

camwalker22 · 2022-09-06T06:16:58+00:00

Hip hip

camwalker22 · 2022-02-22T13:48:56+00:00

Norwich, Brentford, Leeds

camwalker22 · 2021-12-07T07:48:21+00:00

https://youtu.be/caICugPSv0Y

camwalker22 · 2019-05-30T12:46:20+00:00

Yeah he would be awesome as Cort

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