| Short Story |
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Bloodied Water
By Alex Davis
The rain is still falling.
It began a few months ago. Nobody thought much of it at first, a few days
sustained rain was nothing unusual. But the falling water was unrelenting, and
continued for a week, two weeks, a month. Nagako had warned me that it
would before she left; she told me that I should leave to, but I was still here.
Sometimes the rain reached such an intensity it was impossible to leave the
house- it fell in great sheets, marking the skin with the vehemence of its touch.
There was something different about this rain and people knew it. Whenever
I went out there were whispers that lingered in corners, barely breaking the
surface of everyday life but still there, people giving only the softest of voices
to their fear. No one knew, that was the worst of it; no one knew when it would
stop, or when it would let up. There were no weather reports any more, the
news reporters seemed to skirt around that once familiar institution, as though
they too were scared to admit their ignorance. So people sat and watched the
perpetual downpour and heard the incessant clatter of precipitation against
their windows and doors, a familiar backdrop to their new way of life.
Three months, that was what Nagako had said. I had kept a track of the date
on my desk calendar, noted the days gradually dwindling down to this. Today
I cannot help but wonder what drove me to stay; there was nothing here for me
but the strange responsibility handed to me, a divine right that I felt some
intangible tie to. Nagako had begged me to flee the city with her, to take on
the new boundaries together, to escape and to keep running as one. My
decision was made now, and I had trodden too far down this path to return.
Strangely I think people have noticed these curious changes within me. My
skin has whitened to an almost opaque shade, the veins on my arms and
hands painfully visible. Sometimes I am fascinated by the blood pumping
through them, their tones tinting the surface of my ashen flesh. My senses
have become keener, my capacity to smell distant odours and hear long-gone
sounds surprising and delighting me. My eyes have become blacker, the
slight blue of their irises now melded into one dark mass. As time has gone on
I have tried to leave the house as little as possible; the paranoia and hushed
words grow heightened in my presence. Perhaps people can innately
understand what is going on, some primordial knowledge they are not
prepared for. Do they know more than me, or are we all as drowned in
mystery as one another?
The last few days have seen my nails growing a great deal; they have
become long, stretching inches beyond my fingertips, tapering to a sharp point
at their end. My first instinct was to cut them, but instead I decided to leave
them, to let all these transformations run their course. As I study their texture
and form, I notice the rain has become markedly heavier, again no doubt
driving the denizens of the city back into their houses and under any shelter
they can find. However it continues to grow stronger and stronger, crashing
against the pane of the window ferociously.
I feel unsettled by its viciousness and so step back from the window, which is
still assaulted by the water. Suddenly the glass buckles and gives way, falling
weakly to the floor. I prepare myself for the torrent that should burst towards
me, but all of a sudden there is no more rain. I have to walk to the window to
make sure of the fact, barely able to believe that the ceaseless downpour is
over. Then all of a sudden there is a voice behind me.
'Don't worry, there is worse to come.' I move to turn but the voice says firmly
'Don't turn around.' The voice is male, a rasping and dry tone suggesting
great age. 'You want to understand all of this. The rain is your provider,
Shinji. These months have seen you grow so much stronger, so much better
than humanity. It's what you were born for.'
'What's going to happen to me?'
'That depends on you, Shinji. If you follow me, you can know power beyond
your imaginings. The rain will never stop again.'
'What do I have to do?' Still I have yet to face this intruder, his words
persuading me of his intent. Did Nagako know that this visitor would come to
me on this day, to whispers riddles and vague promises to me?
'You're thinking of her, aren't you? Wondering if she loved you, if you loved
her?'
'I don't know why she left.'
'She didn't want to see you change, to see you evolve. The answers are
here for you tonight. Look at me, Shinji.' I turn to face this mysterious figure,
again unable to resist the sincerity of his tone. What stands before me is an
apparition, a spirit shape. He has no skin, or blood, but instead his outer
surface is covered in the images of rain. But it is then I realize it is not just an
image; he is actually comprised of the precipitation, composed of water that
moves in abstract patterns that appear beyond my understanding. 'What...are
you?'
'I can show you, Shinji. Come drown with me.' He steps slowly towards me,
the placid inner movement of rain matching his lethargic stride. His extends his
hand to me and I reply in kind, the moisture of his strangely carved palm
connecting with mine. The rain begins again, even more violent than before,
the sky trying with all its might to drown the surface of the earth below it. I step
outside with this unknown figure and as the water clashes with my skin it peels
away the layers, my flesh weak to its unrelenting touch. The liquid lashes at
my face, my eyes, and my old form begins to filter away in a stream of
bloodied water. 'Don't be afraid, Shinji. The time has come for you to rise
above this flesh.' I fall to the floor, my form degenerating to nothing beneath
the vehement attack of the dark clouds...
I awaken, and all I can hear is rain. The sound does not come from around
me, but within me. The sky is blue and clear above me, and the vermin have
begun to emerge from their houses. They throw their arms about and run in
circles, rejoicing the most absurd of victories. With a faint laugh, I decide to let
them have these moments.
The clouds will come back again, and then the hunt can begin.
By Alex Davis
The rain is still falling.
It began a few months ago. Nobody thought much of it at first, a few days
sustained rain was nothing unusual. But the falling water was unrelenting, and
continued for a week, two weeks, a month. Nagako had warned me that it
would before she left; she told me that I should leave to, but I was still here.
Sometimes the rain reached such an intensity it was impossible to leave the
house- it fell in great sheets, marking the skin with the vehemence of its touch.
There was something different about this rain and people knew it. Whenever
I went out there were whispers that lingered in corners, barely breaking the
surface of everyday life but still there, people giving only the softest of voices
to their fear. No one knew, that was the worst of it; no one knew when it would
stop, or when it would let up. There were no weather reports any more, the
news reporters seemed to skirt around that once familiar institution, as though
they too were scared to admit their ignorance. So people sat and watched the
perpetual downpour and heard the incessant clatter of precipitation against
their windows and doors, a familiar backdrop to their new way of life.
Three months, that was what Nagako had said. I had kept a track of the date
on my desk calendar, noted the days gradually dwindling down to this. Today
I cannot help but wonder what drove me to stay; there was nothing here for me
but the strange responsibility handed to me, a divine right that I felt some
intangible tie to. Nagako had begged me to flee the city with her, to take on
the new boundaries together, to escape and to keep running as one. My
decision was made now, and I had trodden too far down this path to return.
Strangely I think people have noticed these curious changes within me. My
skin has whitened to an almost opaque shade, the veins on my arms and
hands painfully visible. Sometimes I am fascinated by the blood pumping
through them, their tones tinting the surface of my ashen flesh. My senses
have become keener, my capacity to smell distant odours and hear long-gone
sounds surprising and delighting me. My eyes have become blacker, the
slight blue of their irises now melded into one dark mass. As time has gone on
I have tried to leave the house as little as possible; the paranoia and hushed
words grow heightened in my presence. Perhaps people can innately
understand what is going on, some primordial knowledge they are not
prepared for. Do they know more than me, or are we all as drowned in
mystery as one another?
The last few days have seen my nails growing a great deal; they have
become long, stretching inches beyond my fingertips, tapering to a sharp point
at their end. My first instinct was to cut them, but instead I decided to leave
them, to let all these transformations run their course. As I study their texture
and form, I notice the rain has become markedly heavier, again no doubt
driving the denizens of the city back into their houses and under any shelter
they can find. However it continues to grow stronger and stronger, crashing
against the pane of the window ferociously.
I feel unsettled by its viciousness and so step back from the window, which is
still assaulted by the water. Suddenly the glass buckles and gives way, falling
weakly to the floor. I prepare myself for the torrent that should burst towards
me, but all of a sudden there is no more rain. I have to walk to the window to
make sure of the fact, barely able to believe that the ceaseless downpour is
over. Then all of a sudden there is a voice behind me.
'Don't worry, there is worse to come.' I move to turn but the voice says firmly
'Don't turn around.' The voice is male, a rasping and dry tone suggesting
great age. 'You want to understand all of this. The rain is your provider,
Shinji. These months have seen you grow so much stronger, so much better
than humanity. It's what you were born for.'
'What's going to happen to me?'
'That depends on you, Shinji. If you follow me, you can know power beyond
your imaginings. The rain will never stop again.'
'What do I have to do?' Still I have yet to face this intruder, his words
persuading me of his intent. Did Nagako know that this visitor would come to
me on this day, to whispers riddles and vague promises to me?
'You're thinking of her, aren't you? Wondering if she loved you, if you loved
her?'
'I don't know why she left.'
'She didn't want to see you change, to see you evolve. The answers are
here for you tonight. Look at me, Shinji.' I turn to face this mysterious figure,
again unable to resist the sincerity of his tone. What stands before me is an
apparition, a spirit shape. He has no skin, or blood, but instead his outer
surface is covered in the images of rain. But it is then I realize it is not just an
image; he is actually comprised of the precipitation, composed of water that
moves in abstract patterns that appear beyond my understanding. 'What...are
you?'
'I can show you, Shinji. Come drown with me.' He steps slowly towards me,
the placid inner movement of rain matching his lethargic stride. His extends his
hand to me and I reply in kind, the moisture of his strangely carved palm
connecting with mine. The rain begins again, even more violent than before,
the sky trying with all its might to drown the surface of the earth below it. I step
outside with this unknown figure and as the water clashes with my skin it peels
away the layers, my flesh weak to its unrelenting touch. The liquid lashes at
my face, my eyes, and my old form begins to filter away in a stream of
bloodied water. 'Don't be afraid, Shinji. The time has come for you to rise
above this flesh.' I fall to the floor, my form degenerating to nothing beneath
the vehement attack of the dark clouds...
I awaken, and all I can hear is rain. The sound does not come from around
me, but within me. The sky is blue and clear above me, and the vermin have
begun to emerge from their houses. They throw their arms about and run in
circles, rejoicing the most absurd of victories. With a faint laugh, I decide to let
them have these moments.
The clouds will come back again, and then the hunt can begin.
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