Silver Signs: Part 4.

A woman lay in the alley. Or, the remains of one did. Her throat was cut deep and I could see bone through the slash. My eyes trailed down to her abdomen, which lay open. That was too much for me, and I clenched my eyes shut, leaned against the alley wall, and wretched. It hurt to do, mentally and physically. My throat and eyes burned, and I let out a sob against my own will. Silas patted my back, coughing, and pressed a mint into my hand. He had thrown his coat over the woman, and it was already soaked through with blood. I looked away, and noticed there was blood on my sleeve.

I looked back at the wall, squinting. It was covered in blood. A slowly drying and browning version of the spiraling blue symbols I had seen this morning. An image of the moon pulsed in my mind and I went lightheaded. I backed away and rubbed my eyes with my hand, coughing again. Stumbling out of the alley, I slumped against a building and pulled out my cell phone, dialing 911. I got a busy signal.
I got a genuine goddamn busy signal, on the only emergency number. Shit. Silas stumbled out after me, cursing at his phone.

“Can’t get it?” I looked up at him. He shook his head. “Hoof it, then,” I murmured and stood, walking towards the police station. Silas wasn’t looking so good, so we had to stop about halfway there for him to vomit into a trashcan. Apparently the drinks weren’t helping him, anymore. Somewhere nearby, glass broke. We both broke into a run, Silas cursing every few steps.

Silver Signs Part 3.

The bar is half full despite being well before noon. Pale-faced men and women in ties and pantsuits mill about dimly. No one says a word. The bartender sets a glass in front of me and fills it. The bottles have all been opened, most of them drained. He fills another glass for himself. The bartender during the day must be a different guy than I remember. This one is dressed as formally as I am, tie and all. There’s blood on his cuffs.

“Hey, guy,” I look up at him, head tilted to one side. “Where’s Lucius at?” The man shrugs.

“Dunno, place was open, so…” he trails off, looking guilty. “I’m Silas, though.” Silas reaches across the bar to shake my hand. He looks around suspiciously at the other patrons for over a minute. Silas leans down to whisper to me. “So what’s going on? Do you know? No one here really talks.”

“No, what’s going on?” I look him over for any obvious weapons, leaning slightly away.

“Well, I heard something about the end of the world, so it might be that. I figure though, it’s some kind of government thing.” Silas grins proudly at those claims. I have to stare at him for a long moment. I remember the angel, and suddenly the first option seems almost obvious. I suppose at this point I owe him a secret.

I tell him about the angel. What I can remember of it. The entire story almost sounds less crazy out loud. Telling it makes me need another drink, which I get. By the end, I notice my hands are shaking. Silas simply nods and pours me a third drink.

I head out, and walk for a few minutes before I notice Silas beside me. He was pointing at the moon and wincing. I glance at it and check my watch. It’s daytime, just before noon. The sun is out, too. On the other side of the sky was the moon, big and shining and possibly made of cheese.

“So? Atmosphere trick, right?” I looked over at Silas, then up at the moon. My eyes felt strained. They started to water and I couldn’t look at it anymore. Next to me, Silas was rubbing his fingers over his eyes, grimacing. A man hurried out of the alley, wearing a scarf, a trench coat, and a wide brimmed hat. It was a little summer for that sort of getup, wasn’t it? His footprints were red. I watched him go. He must have been sweating like a pig under all th- Red? I ran to the alley he had emerged from and immediately regretted it. Behind me, I heard Silas gasp, groan, and lose his breakfast on the sidewalk.

Silver Signs, Part 2: Pact and Paranoia

Wolves are howling somewhere outside. I check the clock, six-thirty. I yawn, peel the diodes from my sweaty neck and peek outside. The sun is rising, but the moon is still out and full, right where it was last night. Looking at it makes me feel uneasy, so I close my blinds, shower, and dress. I vaguely remembered something odd happening and some funny dreams last night.

By the time I’ve left for work, the day before is a comfortable blur. The moon still lingers in the sky, opposite the sun. I pull on some sunglasses, hurrying away from it and toward the train station. A wolf howls somewhere. I shiver.
The office is emptier than yesterday, which was emptier than the day before. People simply keep disappearing. Not showing up. It doesn’t get reported anymore. Who to report it to? Besides, if people want to lose their jobs, that’s their problem. I heard the other day that it’s happening all over the city. It did seem like there were less people on the street, come to think of it. I also heard the people that disappear are sometimes found naked in the woods, insane. These thoughts lead me to realize my boss has been gone for two full days. I decide to check in on him.

The air in the office is stale. His computer is still on, two days of undone paperwork splayed across his desk. These forms and files are covered in ink, as if someone flung it from a well in some sort of avant garde art experiment. I think that’s what you call it. It occurs to me slowly that the ink is spread in a few repeating symbols. Written, not flung at all. These symbols, in a spiral pattern, cover his desk. There are upwards of sixty (guessing here) ballpoint pens on the floor next to his desk. I have no doubt that they’re empty. The pattern of ink continues down the sides of his desk and onto the walls. Likewise, I have no doubt in my mind that Mark is gone forever. This is when it occurs to me that there is no one around to record my time, or sign my paychecks. I may as well be unemployed. I sigh, loosen my tie, and head to the bar.

New Direction.

I'm changing the direction of the blog, partly for it to have a point, and partly as a challenge for myself. I have some stories I'd like to write, and it might as well pop up here, eh?

As for the direction: Webcomic style (we need to work on that, don't we Lupine?)stories.
What's this mean? I'll be trying for two posts per week, of decent size, until the story is done. Then the next story, then the next, etc.

I will still, of course, be writing standard-style blog posts as well, but the story will take precedence.

First up: Silver Signs, a semi-apocolyptic supernatural horror series, written in the first person. Also, it's very light science fiction. Again, it's purely experimental, so anyone actually reading will need to work with me. First post should be ready around Tuesday.