John Luther

My first delve into the sci-fi/horror realm--A story about a man, John Luther.

John Luther      

     

     AND all of a sudden---blackness; then there was light. Not the kind of light that glowed like an ember but a burning, smashing Armageddon from the heavens; an Armageddon that warmed the skin and blinded like the sun. John Luther thrust his forearm in front of his face and attempted to shadow his eyes; the burn forced them shut, and he stumbled back two steps. 

 

     “Hello!...Hello!...Hello!” he cried.

    

     There was no reply. Luther looked towards the heavens again, and after a moment he was forced to turn away. Nothing; nothing but light.  It was then that Luther realized he was naked after his hand ran across his bare chest and lower leg. Still in shock, he ignored his exposure and kept both hands raised in front of his eyes. “Where am I?...Hello!...Where am I?” he yelled.

    

      And yet again he heard nothing ---neither a laugh nor a creak of the floorboards--- just perfect silence.  After a moment or two, Luther, still blinded, began to feel around the immediate area; he felt nothing---no chairs, no couches, nor even a wall, and then he bent over and felt the ground, which reminded him of a ceramic bowl. Then, he attempted to pry open his eyes to steal a glance at the floor. Staring straight down with both hands around his face, he caught a glimpse of a vague white substance, and feeling bold, he turned to steal another glance at the rest of the room; only this time the light put Luther on the floor, as if to punish him for his boldness. “AAAAAHHHHHHH,” Luther cried, as he formed a fetal position on the floor, and there he lay for what must have been an eternity.

    

       Luther cursed God: how could fate be so cruel to a man? The floor was cool to his naked body, and Luther raised himself to a sitting position; he began to cry, and after a short while he opened his eyes again.

    

     This time there was blackness---not the blackness of the night lit by the moon, but the type of blackness a blind man witnesses. Raising himself to his feet, Luther put his hands in front of him like some ant’s antennas, and began to walk; he had no ears, no sight, no smell, and only the touch of some bare floor. Luther made his way forward, whimpering like a scared dog. He saw nothing but blackness in all directions, and his feelers only contacted nothing. It went that way for an hour or two. After which, Luther felt a sudden surge of insanity: “Who are you?...Why are you doing this to me?...Who the bloody hell are you?”.

     

     A few hours ago, Johnathon Williams Luther III, had been alone in his dorm room, asleep and sweating in the dark. He awoke, showered and walked to his bicycle. London was cool this time of year and the Queen Mary School of Law was back in session. Luther was heading downtown---it being almost eight hours now, since he last shot up, and the shakes in full effect. Just one more time, ol’ Chap, before school is in full swing, was the lie that drove Luther to Brixton. Luther arrived at an apartment block, breathing heavy and feeling dizzy; all the while, he carried two hundred Euro in his coat pocket. Luther knocked on Apartment 202B, and he was met by a man in his thirties who wore a sport coat and a black fedora. “Wait here,” the man said, and took Luther’s money with the door slightly ajar. He returned and handed Luther a small, brown, paper bag from the doorway, and the last thing that Luther recalled was taking a plunge under a small stone bridge, somewhere in Brixton. Then Luther was alone in the room---the room with no walls, and coated by perpetual darkness---void of life.

     

     Luther felt the shakes coming on again; it must now have been a few hours since his last plunge. Eventually, the shakes forced Luther to the ground, howling in pain: “Please Stop!...Please Stop!...Please Help Me!...Please God, Somebody Bloody Help Me!” The effort was in vain, and nobody came to help him, as Luther agonized on the floor, in the dark. A feeling of panic overtook him as he lay shaking, and Luther rose to his feet screaming, “Am I Dead?...Is this Hell?”  As the panic rose in Luther, he screamed for God in a muted whimper, and when his heart quickened, he began a mad sprint into the black oblivion; Luther ran, and ran, and ran, into an endless blackness, breathing heavy and screaming---until he hit something in the dark, and fell flat. He awoke a few hours later and let loose a maddening scream, “Help Me!, Help Me!” When nobody answered, he rose to his feet and felt the invisible wall that he had ran into. He placed his hand upon it, and felt its texture as it lay there, somewhere in the blackness.

     …AND THEN THERE WAS LIGHT

   

      A microscope pointed at a dish, somewhere in a white room.

     

     “A fine specimen, indeed.”

     

     “Yes, Good Man, the talk of the Science.”