PreludeA Chapter by Domenic Luciani
It’s not every day that you die, but when you do, you had better hope you go to a better place than I did. I wish I could tell you what my life was like up until that moment that wound me up in the situation I was in, but truthfully, I couldn’t if I wanted to. So instead, I’ll tell you what happened after that particular ten minutes of life I had left. My story begins with the last thing I remembered. I was being rushed into a hospital with blood spilling from my forehead. I pray this situation never happens to you, because I had never been so frightened in my life . . . not that I could actually remember my life or anything at all for that matter, other than a few random flashes of memories. At first, my vision was so spotty that I couldn’t make out anything, and my ears were filled with a hollow droning sound, but it was all slowly becoming clearer. The first thing I noticed was the feeling of a hot trickle of blood moving past my left ear, which was collecting into a pool beneath my head. Had I been in a more conscious state, I would’ve been disgusted. When I was able to see better, I craned my head upwards in an attempt to figure out what was going on. People in blue scrubs and white lab coats hung over the bed as it was pushed through crowded white hallways with rows of doors and carts of medical equipment around every turn. The lights above blurred like those of a subway car as it flew by a darkened station. “Don’t worry, Nicolas. You’ll be fine,” a blonde nurse above me said calmly. Nicolas . . . was that my name? “What happened?” I asked. My words were slurred and I couldn’t help but notice how my lips felt numb and swollen, so instead it sounded like “wuff abbum?” The nurse didn’t respond, whether she understood me or not, her face was serious . . . too serious for me to be fine. I tried to turn my head to get a better look at where I was being wheeled, but a sharp pain shot through my body as I made the slight movement, forcing me to put my head back down. “Please, don’t move,” the nurse said, her eyes showed deep concern. I laid there playing possum, trying not to breathe for fear of discovering another injury. Meanwhile, my vision was starting to go fuzzy, and colors began to blur together. A thumping in my head began to beat, and I could feel the heavy weight on my temples as blood pumped to it. Everything around me began to continuously going out of focus and then become clear again. The nurse was soon replaced with a doctor in a white coat and a sterile mask around his neck. The doctor held up a bright light to my eyes, walking quickly as he checked the dilation of my pupils (or whatever doctors check for when they do that). “Mr. Rider, look into the light please.” Nicolas Rider . . . what a strange name. The light felt like a laser was shooting through my eye socket and into my brain. Within seconds, my headache became splitting. I screwed my eyes shut against the pain and started to shake uncontrollably, first in my leg, then the sensation traveled up my thigh to my abdomen. My eyes were rolling back into my head as the wound in my forehead began to bleed again. “He’s going into cardiac arrest!” someone shouted, their voices muffled as if they were very, very far away. My vision became spotty and the tiny black dots that formed along my peripheral vision began to sink inward, consuming everything I could see into the inky darkness. I didn’t know what was happening. My mind was screaming for answers, and if I could’ve moved my mouth well enough to form coherent words, I would’ve screamed them out loud. I had never been to a hospital before, at least, not that I could remember. Everything was strange to me, and I didn’t even know how I knew that this stark white place was a hospital, or that the woman who had looked over me was a nurse. The images and names were buried somewhere in the back of my mind, but I didn’t know how I had obtained them in the first place. Then, I heard a voice, icy and riddled with glee. It seemed to come from everywhere, and nowhere at the same time. “I do believe he’s the one,” said the voice. “Yes, he’ll do very well. . . .” There was a pause in the speech. Whatever the voice was talking to, I wasn’t able to hear it. “Quite the interesting proposal,” the voice said, pausing once more to listen to a silent answer. “Good. The decision has been made.” The darkness around me swirled and vibrated like a swarm of angry bees. It pulsed against my body, squeezing me tightly and constricting my movements. I suddenly had the overwhelming feeling of being shoved underwater. Vaguely, I remembered a boat, and an ocean of some kind, but the meanings of such scenes were beyond me. Then, it was all over, and my vision suddenly became clear. But quickly, as if it were some horrible joke to let me up then strike me down, a horrible ripping sensation gripped the inside of my mind. It wasn’t pain, but something else unbearable. It felt like I was being ripped in two. I tried to scream, call for help, but there was nobody in this strange realm that could hear me. I was alone. I blacked out. Then, quite suddenly, I was awake and the horrible ripping sensation had passed as quickly as it had come. Around me, there was nothing " nothing at all. It looked like I was in some sort of desert. A grey ash covered the surface of the ground like miniature sand dunes and dark storm clouds passed overhead, stretching off towards the horizon, but other than that, I was alone. I wandered around the barren world, unfeeling and uncaring. Dust whipped up occasionally around my ankles even though there was no wind, not even a breeze. It wasn’t hot or cold, dry or humid; it simply existed. I sat down a few times in the grey soil, but I didn’t get tired, hungry, or thirsty. I looked around all the time, trying to get my bearings, or see something different, but nothing changed no matter how many times I looked. If this was a dream, it certainly wasn’t a pleasant one. Time seemed to move by so slowly, I was beginning to think I would be in this place forever " an eternity in this barren wasteland. It happened when I was walking along a path that I had trudged so many times before, a silhouette appeared in front of me. At first, it looked like a blob of ink had spilled over the ashy canvas, then it morphed into the form of a shadowy man. The man leaned over and beckoned me to him. I moved, unaware that my feet were moving against my will. As I approached, the figure spoke to me. “Well hey there, kid. I was wondering if you would be interested in participating . . . In a game of sorts.” “Why?” I asked. In a normal situation, I would’ve been suspicious, but there wasn’t that nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach that there should’ve been. “Because I believe that you have a certain . . . special quality. Now, is it a yes, or no?” The figure asked. “What’s in it for me?” “Hmm . . . you certainly ask a lot of questions,” the figure noted irritably. “I’ll have you know you’re starting to get on my nerves. If you accept, you will leave this place for a more . . . fulfilling role. I’ll ask once more. Yes or no? “Yes,” I answered indifferently. “Well, wonderful!” the figure said cheerfully, “Now just hold still.” I looked down, wide eyed as a black shadow began to creep up my body from the grey dust below. It flowed and swirled around me, forming a tight cocoon upon my body, slowly making its way up to my neck. I looked upwards, towards the sky, desperate for anything that could save me from this nightmare, but nothing came, no ray of light, no savior. The heavy shadow felt cold on my skin as it made it clamored toward my face. My mouth was smothered, choking me, and then finally, it covered my eyes, flowing over them, until I could see only darkness © 2010 Domenic LucianiAuthor's Note
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21 Reviews Added on March 31, 2010 Last Updated on June 9, 2010 Previous Versions AuthorDomenic LucianiBuffalo, NYAboutThat is my real name, and that is really me in the picture. Like Patrick says, I'm not in the witness protection program. I mostly write books and stories. I like fantasy, or fiction, but if.. more..Writing
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