Post Apocalypse Piece

A Story by Flint Mitchel

Some old writing I have lying around. I'm curious which of my past concepts have the most potential interest for a full novel.

The music is calling me. I can feel it speaking to me, asking me to find it. As strange as that sounds, It's the only way I know how to describe the feeling. The sound takes me through several hallways until I find something I know can't really be there. In front of me is a bar, not a bar like the one Kalyna had taken me to last night, but a fully furnished one. Several wooden tables with chairs pushed in are on the right side of the room. On the left is a bar made of brightly colored wood that stretches the length of the room. I let my hand slide along the polished surface as I walk toward the piano in the back. I sit near it, letting the music embrace me in its warmth.

The piano is facing the back wall and I can't get a good look at who is playing it. It's a man, I'm sure of that from his build. He has brown, curly hair that runs down to his shoulders. I know I haven't seen him before, but I don't care. I lean back in the chair and close my eyes, letting the embrace of the music carry me away. I feel like I could sleep, if I wasn't already sleeping.

"Hello, Hannah." The man's voice snaps me out of my dream-like state. How did he know my name? It doesn't really matter, I am asleep after all. "My name is Desire. I've been wanting to meet you for a while now." His voice is smooth as silk, almost as alluring as his piano playing.

"What's this song?" I ask him.

"This is a song I wrote long ago. One dear to my heart. You see, I am one of the five Reapers."

Whoa, what? That last part came out of nowhere. Reapers? Children often grow up hearing about Reapers these days. With ghosts and ghouls commonplace, why wouldn't the other undead beings actually exist as well? Of course, no one actually saw a Reaper and told the tale, they'd probably be dead right about now. Besides, this man with his long hair and beat up old jacket hardly fit the bill.

"I know what you're thinking, my girl," he says. "I'll try to explain as easily as I can for you." He continues to play the piano as he talks. The strange tune keeps lulling me back, making me more relaxed than I've felt in a long time. "The Reapers are very real," he continued. "There are always five of us, each with our own gifts. It is our task to help the souls of the dead cross the Boundary between this world and the next. This song, it is how I feel about death."

"Why is it so sad, yet with so much mystery around it? It's like you don't know if you should be sad or not." I feel strangely comfortable around this man. It's rare that I talk to someone I don't know. Call it whatever you want, I just don't like people in general.

"You have a fine ear for music. It is sad because of what I am. When a Reaper passes a soul over, he can feel all they feel. I have been doing this for a long time. I've felt so much pain...." His voice trails off as the music takes a mysterious turn. "The mystery, you see, is that even I don't know what's on the other side. I've helped countless people, good and bad, cross to the other side without knowing if it's even somewhere they want to go."

"So why do it?" I ask him.

"Because someone has to. If I don't cross souls over, they'll be forced to wander the Earth, never truly finding peace."

"How do you know they'll find peace on the other side?"

He chuckles before answering. "I don't."

Chills race up my spine as I start to understand the music that had me so comfortable only moments ago. This man, Desire, helps the dying pass on without knowing for himself if there is a Heaven or Hell. What kind of life must that be? Feeling the pain and anger in someone over their death and not being able to comfort them about where they're going? How long had he been doing this? How much pain had he been a witness to? I don't know what to say to him. We both sit silently, letting the music wash over us. The music that relaxed me earlier now brings back memories: Memories of my old survivor community, my friends that I made, my family that adopted me. I remember how they abandoned me in the city but I can't remember why they did that. The pain comes back and I have to keep the tears from welling up in my eyes. Yeah, sad and mysterious alright.

"Would you care for a drink?" His voice came from my left now.

Desire was standing behind the bar. Wow, he got there fast, or was I losing track of time because of the music's effect on me? If the music had the power to do that, this man could be more dangerous than he let on.

The piano was playing itself now. I stare at the keys as they play the song without Desire's help. Then I remember that I'm asleep and shouldn't question things as much. With that decided, I sit at the bar. Falling into one of the red-cushioned bar stools I look at the, now bartender, Desire. His eyes draw me in and I melt in them. Between his eyes and the music, I'm having trouble focusing on my thoughts. This is so not good, but I can't force myself away. He smiles at me as he turns to grab a couple of the bottles that line the wall. What a weird dream.

"I assure you, this is no dream," he says as if reading my mind.

"How is this possible if it isn't a dream?" I counter.

He pulls out a couple of tall glasses from under the bar and sets them in front of him. Then he starts to mix the drinks as he answers me in that silky smooth voice of his. "I brought you here in your sleep. It's one of my many abilities. You see, Reapers are supposed to sooth the souls of the dead before they can cross over. This is my own little piece of relaxation that I can offer them."

Am I dead? The thought hits me immediately as I try to figure out why he would bring me here. He said that he brings souls here to relax them before they cross over, and here I am feeling all warm and dopey. I can't be dead, there's no way. I would remember something like that, wouldn't I? ... Wouldn't I? There's just no way, but I can't bring myself to ask him out of fear.

"The Reapers are most effective working together," he goes on while ignoring the panic on my face, "it's why we all have different abilities. With so many people dying at once we had to spread out. We've been playing catch up ever since that first volcano went off, probably will be for a long time."

I don't want to be a lost soul doing nothing but watching Kalyna and the others. Is the alternative really any better? What would my options be? I could cross over to god knows where, I could wander the Earth alone and afraid, or I could return to a world without hope. Is being alive better than death at this point? I know I don't want to be dead, but I don't know if I'll really mind it either. How sad is that? I want to blurt the question out, I have to know. The only problem is I can't say it. It's his eyes again, those beautifully seductive green eyes, they take the breath out of me. I feel like he isn't ready to answer my question yet and so he isn't letting me ask it.

"Don't trust him," a rough voice says to my right as Desire turns to put the bottles away. I recognize the voice, it's Manifest. I turn to look him in the eyes, it's the first time I've seen him. He looks like Desire's opposite. Instead of beauty and grace, Manifest is almost sickly looking. His eyes tell a different story as well, they're hazel with concern in them. Looking at Manifest snaps me out of the hold Desire had on me. I'm aware of the music and can feel the sinister intentions of Desire now. He has an agenda, of course he does, why else would he bring me here? Somehow my mind hadn't thought about that. Manifest must be countering whatever it is Desire is doing to me. Can I trust Manifest anymore than Desire? I don't think I have a choice, he's in my head after all.

Manifest puts a finger to his lips and gestures towards Desire. He wants me to fake being under Desire's control. Maybe it's really Manifest that he's after, but he has to go through me first? It doesn't matter, I realize, either way he's after me.

Desire turns around, oblivious to the other person sitting in the room, and slides me my drink. His face turns sour when a little spills out of the glass. "Almost perfect," he says happily.

I can't tell if spilling some was an accident or another ploy to seem more human. I look at the bluish liquid and wonder if I should drink it. The music is lulling me into a false sense of security again and I have to concentrate to not let that happen. What would this drink do to me that his eyes and music hadn't already? I try not to look into his eyes, but mine are drawn in again. That seductive stare won't let me go despite the help from Manifest. I find myself taking a drink unintentionally. The flavors fit my pallet perfectly. I can taste several different fruits that I don't recognize, but love nonetheless. I start to feel fuzzy, like getting a buzz from too much alcohol. I try to pull the glass away from my mouth but my hands won't obey me. Instead of panicking, I welcome the resistance letting me enjoy a heavenly drink. Manifest is at my side, he puts his hand on my shoulder for support. With renewed resolve I tear the glass from my lips and set it down. My body feels worn-out from the effort.

"How was it?" Desire asks me.

My reactions are sluggish since drinking. I can't stop myself from embracing the music and smooth voice again. I look up and try to talk, but no words come out. I manage to force a nod of approval.

"Excellent!" Desire pounds on the bar with glee. "I knew it. I'm great at figuring out people's tastes." Butterflies erupt in my stomach like an infatuated school girl. I feel proud that I made him happy. He chugs down his own drink like it's nothing.

The sound of Manifest's voice enters my mind again. "Stop playing his game. Ask him why he brought you here."

Hearing Manifest's voice brings me back. My head is still fuzzy, and I can't help but feel I'm floating, but I can focus on my thoughts again. I manage to push the butterflies aside and force the question out. "Why am I here?"

The disappointment on Desire's face was obvious. He must not be used to someone able to get through his tricks. "I respect you for being so forward, but it's a shame." He sighs. I think he really is upset. "I was enjoying being able to entertain a guest that I wasn't about to reap." He sets his glass on the table. His eyes change from dreamy to frightening in an instant. The mood change makes me want to squirm in my seat, but I feel too numb to move an inch. His voice becomes deeper, hardened. "The truth is that you are an enigma to me, girl. You should be dead. Grim predicted your death years ago and he's never wrong."

I panic, but can't do anything about it. I'm supposed to be dead. At least that means I'm not dead now. Not that it matters, he still seems intent on getting my soul.

"Remember not to mention me," Manifest whispers. "He'll kill you himself if he knows that I'm with you." I make the mistake of turning my head to face him.

"What are you looking at, child?" Desire asks in the hardened voice stirring fear inside me. He's looking at the empty stool.

Don't panic, Hannah. Lie, just lie, it isn't hard. The resolve Manifest gives me is enough. It has to be. "I... I'm just...." KEEP IT TOGETHER! I need to recover or I'm dead. "I guess I'm just a little shook up learning I'm probably dead." The words came slowly and slurred because of what Desire has been doing to me. Still, good save.

He looks at me with those green eyes. They have that melting effect again, he's trying to coax me into giving more information. It takes all my concentration to resist, I don't budge. He looks away, admitting defeat. "You aren't dead, yet." I doubt he bought my lie, but he's not pressing the issue. His voice regains its smooth quality. "I'd like to know why that is. I'm sure that you're getting curious as well. You see, I can sense that your soul is ready to be reaped, but it can't be because of that living body of yours that's holding on to it."

My soul ready to be reaped? That doesn't help calm me down any. I feel I'm hyper ventilating. My senses being dulled so much, I can't tell how I look or sound to him. All I know is he seems to be winning this encounter. What does that mean for me?

"If you're willing, we can travel through your memories and find out why your soul is in this state."

I don't know if it's his eyes, music, or drink, but I nod yes. I'm trying to say no, trying to resist, I can't. He is in total control and it scares me. I feel useless, like a child locked in her room during time out. I can think about my actions and what I should do differently, in the end it's up to him. No. I have to resist. I use every once of my strength to push back from the bar, only managing to scoot a couple inches as my body shakes from the stress. My body, no, my willpower, is failing me. I can't resist. The music embraces me and I slouch forward, leaning on the bar.

"Listen," his voice sounds dangerous, threatening even. "One way or another I will enter your mind. But I warn you, it's far less painful if you don't resist me."

He's angry. He must always get his way. My resistance is futile and doing nothing but upsetting him. His hands grab mine in an iron grip, pain erupts from them and I'm sure I'll have bruises. He holds my hands on top of the bar. His grip keeping me firmly in place. My eyes glance up to meet his, my mistake. The haunting beauty of the song, my fuzzy head, his alluring eyes, they force me to bend to his will. I can't look away, can't move, this isn't good. Sudden pain knifes through my skull. I try to reach up, his grip not letting me. All I can do is curl my head down against my chest and scream out in agony. It feels like my head is about to explode. I've never felt pain like this before. I want to fall and wrap myself into a ball, but I can't. I can't even fall.

"Stop resisting!" Manifest yells. If he wasn't yelling I would never be able to hear him over my cries of pain. "It'll be over soon, just let him finish. One way or another he's going to get through."

Manifest's voice brings comfort. Someone is watching over me, even here. I have no idea who, or what, he is, but I don't care right now. I try to calm myself down, try to accept that I'm in pain. It's a lot harder than it sounds.

I fall to my knees and wrap both arms around my head. The sharp pain is gone, but that doesn't stop the throbbing. My eyes open. The light of the room makes me nauseous. It feels like I have the worst hangover of my life. At least I can move again. I can move! My head may hurt, but the fuzzy feeling is gone! The music is gone. Desire. I snap my head around, a little too fast, and fall the rest of the way to the floor from the sudden pain. I see him standing at my side. Desire is still here. I let out a sigh and he laughs at me. Thanks for that, Mr. Sensitive.

"We're in your past now, Hannah."

I look around to see my childhood room. There's my purple walls, my white comforter on the bed, my adorable antique vanity in the corner. I'm home.

"I do apologize that you have to experience your memories like this."

"Why?" I ask. Happy to be able to talk without needing to fight for every word.

"Because experiencing your own death can be quite traumatic." His voice was genuinely sad.

One second I'm lying on the floor, the next I'm sitting on my bed in a white night gown. Not good.