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The Last Spoken Word

The Last Spoken Word

By Karl Knight

My job is to record the child’s words.

He held up an old piece of paper and a pen.

It is mandated that the words be written on paper as in the old world. They will be recorded and mark a milestone in our history.

Why a child. We have some of the world’s greatest thinkers, philosophers and they have chosen a child?

He turned a key and entered the large room filled with colour and bright images. The walls changed on a slow basis the images dissolving into new images, which showed a world of magic and wonder. This the womb of a child’s imagination.

I will have to go alone the presence of more than one will confuse the child.

You are sure that this will be the last one?

What if more are found?

The council have decreed that this will be the last. This will be what we keep as the last words.

Was it wise to change her is such a way?

It is not natural.

He closed the door behind him and walked to the far end of the room. A swirl of colour changed in time with his steps. He could see a blast of light pierce the colours as the little girl stabbed her finger into the wall.

He pulled a chair from the wall and sat facing the little girl.  With the touch of a stylus he tapped the words into his hand. A speaker system built into the walls released a synthesis of his voice.

“Hello Winnie. My name is Francis. How are you today.”

The little girl looked at him with calm blue eyes. He could see her small mind working as she looked at his hand and then his mouth. Then with eyes wide she spoke with an earnest voice

“Mummy says that each word is special so I should not use them very often.”

He wrote each word into the book and then tapped again. “That’s right Winnie but this is a special occasion. After we finish here you will go to sleep and while you are asleep they will put a special little thing in your head that will make you able to understand everything. You will be able to talk to mummy and daddy again and you will be able to hear their voices again.”

“Also no matter where in the world you are, no matter how far away mummy and daddy are you will always be able to speak to them.”

“Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Winnie looked at him for a moment and grinned.

“Yes that sounds nice.”

He wrote every word and then smiled at her.

“Winnie why don’t you tell me about yourself.”

“My name is Winnie and I like chocolate and cuddles. My teddy is the bestest in the whole world and I love him but not us much as I love mummy and daddy. My daddy flies a plane and my mummy makes sick people better.”

Again every word was put in the book.

“I don’t like spiders and grasshoppers but I love dinosaurs.”

At the word a dinosaur image covered the far wall. The girl smiled.

“Like that one.”

“They said I could have ice cream after it was done.”

“Yes Winnie you will get ice cream.”

He turned the page and kept writing.

“Daddy said that I should say Rosebud. I don’t know what that means but he said I should say it.”

He grinned and wrote it in the book then tapped. Winnie watched his stylus.

“Your daddy is making a joke.”

“It doesn’t sound funny.”

A tapping on the door made him turn away.

He turned back and saw the girl a small line of blood trickling down her face.

He tried not to look at the large metal plate above her ear.

“Did I do something wrong?”

The metal and plastic collar moved her face up.

Again he wrote and again he tapped.

“No Winnie you didn’t do anything wrong. The nurse will be here soon. Soon it will be all over.”

He looked at the paper. This is a moment in history. This will be forgotten for what was done to this girl and all that will be remembered is that she spoke the last words.

A friendly looking man entered the room with a silver tray. He smiled at the man and then watched as he knelt next to Winnie.

“Winnie it is time soon you will go to sleep. So now tell me what you want your last words to me.”

Her tiny body moved slightly and he watched as the endoskeleton kept her upright.

Those eyes blinked and he could see her think. Then the shot pierced her skin and her beautific face changed to one of sorrow and pain.

Just before she drifted off into sleep he could hear the words soft on her tiny lips.

“Mummy, daddy please make it stop hurting.”And then with a look of piece she fell asleep.

He wrote words in the book and then with final moment he let the baby fall asleep.

A voice came over the intercom.

“Thank you scribe. You have done a great service today. She will be remembered for human history and your role will not be forgotten.”

He left the room and handed the journal to a man in a suit and then waited till he was alone and cried.

© 2013 Karl Knight

Sunday Morning

Sunday Morning

By Karl Knight

                                               

It takes fifteen minutes for the bird to die. I wash my fingers the water congeals in the mud near my feet.

Blood dances in the water.

I grab the shovel and with a strong sure motion I slice the small body up, each stroke destroying the flesh, the dead meat.

I take the bloody pulp and bury it in soil.

All things can be hidden by the deep dark earth.

I grab the bottle from the shelf.

Humming softly I mist the roses.

I always find gardening relaxing.

© 2013 Karl Knight

The Tempest

The Tempest

By Karl Knight

Doug Fall rubbed his face, eyeing his glass carefully as he filled it yet again.  His eyes felt raw, and he couldn’t remember the last time that he had slept.  Was it yesterday?  No he had ordered pizza yesterday; it must have been the day before. He slowly lowered the bottle to the table, rocking it slightly before resting it flat on the wood.

Mouth numb, Doug drained the glass. His head ached and his stomach churned as the spirit flowed down his throat and he felt his bladder call to be emptied. Doug pushed his chair away from the table and lost his footing, slipping forward, the hard wood of the chair smacking him in the back of the head as he fell to the floor.

From a sitting position Doug tilted to his side and rolled into a crawling position. Doug crawled to the hall accompanied by the unsyncopated clink-link-ink of the wind chimes Nat had put up. Doug reached the lintel and used it to haul himself fully to his feet, heroically managing to stop from collapsing back to the floor, despite his knees (and the alcohol’s) best efforts.  Holding up the wall as he went along, Doug staggered toward the bathroom.

With an unsteady hand he grabbed the bathroom doorpost and tilted forward, hoping the momentum would carry him to the toilet.  But his dulled fingers lost their grip, and he fell forward, slamming face first into the toilet door. Head aching, Doug lurched to his feet and emptied his bladder. When he put his hand to his face, his fingers came away covered in blood.

Red jacket.

Doug managed to make it to the sink and wash his hands before he started to cry, sobs overwhelming the rising crescendo of dancing metal and howling wind outside

Splashing water on his face, Doug turned and staggered back down the hall, again using his weight to keep the wall from falling, back to the table, back to the bottle and glass and oblivion. He grabbed the bottle on the second try, dropping into the chair as he poured another glass, painting the table with the brown spirit.  He raised his glass to the spill - just one more wet splatter to dry into a sticky mess.  Much more of this and the table would be more caked on scotch stain than wood.  Sooner than later, if he had his way

The wind wailed outside the walls, kicking up in speed enough to knock the back gate loose and add it’s thuck-thuck-thuck to Natalie’s damn chimes.  He should take them down; what the hell were they good for anyway? Just another damn thing to make more bloody noise.

The thuck-thuck-thuck-thuck echoing in his head and scotch burning through his veins was getting to him.  “For fuck’s sake! Bradley how many times do I have to tell you shut the fucking gate!” The gravel in his throat cut into each word. 

The name hung in the air, rang down the halls and left trails of fire in his brain as Doug realized what he had said.  Hands shaking, shoulders sagging, the tears again dropped wetly onto cheeks still damp from the bathroom. Gone.  Gone.  Gasping at the lances of pain in his chest, Doug shook his head, scrubbing his face smearing the tears and blood mingling into a wet mess. Gone..

The pain sparked anger.  He wouldn’t remember! He slammed his fist down hard but missed the table, overbalancing and falling back to his knees. Must stop thinking.  Slowly and carefully Doug struggled to get back into his chair, holding the table for dear life as he finally managed to slump back into a sitting position.

Today he would not remember.

He shook his head as he carefully grabbed the glass. His hand shook as he lifted it up, scotch dancing in the glass, the faded light refracting dully through the amber liquid. He would beat the memories, kill them. That was all he could do.

With a shaking hand he downed the contents of the glass and tried and failed to put it down, bouncing it off the table. The glass hit the bottle, tipping it on its side, scotch adding to the wet stains on the table. He tried to rescue what he could but it was too late.

He looked at the now empty bottle. Time for more scotch.  He staggered back to the kitchen looking everywhere for another bottle. Nothing. Damn! Now I have to go to the pub and put up with that idiot clerk again.  Doug had thought Dave was a decent bloke until Dave started hassling him about how much booze he was buying.  Why couldn’t he just mind his own business?

He licked his lips; his mouth had dulled to the point that he couldn’t taste what he was drinking.  Good.  He hated scotch. That was why he drank it. 

He needed to be lost in the haze of drunken amnesia. He didn’t want it to be a pleasure. It had worked well for a while but now he was starting to build up a tolerance. That was OK; it just meant he had to drink more.

Don’t think about it at all. The memories were bad. They should be blotted out, burned so that there was nothing left. But the mind, the mind was sneaky. It would find a way to remember. It was a slippery creature, it would wait till he least expected it and then rip him apart. Just like it was doing now.

The first time he saw his son’s big eyes looked up at him. The moment was burned into his soul. He needed more scotch. 

Outside the wind was howling.

Before Bradley had been born things had been difficult with Natalie.   He had been going out drinking, and one drink led to another and one thing led to another. He slept with an ex-girlfriend, secure in the anonymity of a crowded bathroom, but one of Nat’s friends had seen them leave the club and told her. The fight had been devastating and they had come very close to getting a divorce. He’d even moved out, crashed at a friend’s place for a few weeks.

But the time apart had just driven home how much they needed each other.  He had brought the biggest bunch of flowers and apologized again and again until she finally agreed to give him another chance.

Things had still been a little rocky after he moved back in, until one morning on his way out to work he leaned over the bed to kiss her goodbye and she had said the magic words: “I’m pregnant.” The room swung 180 degrees and Doug dropped back onto the bed. After a moment of stunned silence, he got up and left without a word, headed out to work. But he never made it. He just wandered around town trying to figure things out.

On that long walk he faced doubts he never even knew he had.  But somehow, walking in the park, everything just fell into place. When he got home, Natalie was still in bed. He gently shook her awake and climbed into bed, where they held each other for what seemed like hours.  When he finally spoke, Doug’s voice was soft, chastened.  “I’m sorry.  I just needed to clear my head.  I just needed to get my thoughts straight.” Nat looked at him with fear in her eyes.  A tear rolled from her cheek to the pillow.  “And?”  Doug held her tight. “This is the best thing I’ve ever heard.”

Bradley had been the bond that strengthened their marriage.

There had still been tough times.  They hadn’t gotten much sleep in the first three months and the printing company he owned had gone out of business.  By the time they moved to Harris Gap to buy a general store from a friend, it felt like they had hit rock bottom.

Doug had spent the first couple of weeks getting to know the locals at the pub. The locals liked to tell the newcomers stories of the great Ben Harris and the good old days. One night, Marvin told him about all the abandoned mine shafts that littered the bush. 

It was something that he didn’t really bother with but he still told Bradley, just to be on the safe side. Why didn’t he listen?   As they began to build their life with Bradley in Harris Gap, even their inevitable arguments seemed less serious than they ever had been before.

But now his son was gone. It had ended too soon.  Too soon.

There was a loud crash and the wall bucked inward. The wind continued to build.  Something large thundered past the window, rattling the glass. Doug looked up as another shape tumbled through the air.

The house shifted with the wind, the walls were creaking dangerously. Each gust of wind buffeting against the house. Another loud crash the wall buckled again.

Nat had loved the house.  Once they bought the business things had started to pick up, and it wasn’t long before they had saved up enough for a deposit. Nat had spent months making it into a home.

With Bradley settled into the local school things seemed to be going well.  They had been happy and Douglas had felt at peace.  Everything made sense, it all fit.  They lived in the community and after a couple of years felt like they belonged.

Then the Fosters moved to Harris Gap, and everything changed.

He met the Fosters after Bradley got into a fight with their son Terry.  When he walked into the office, the two boys were sitting in the corner, and Terry’s father was talking to them both.

Both Nick and Doug had agreed that the two boys should spend time together.  Doug had worried about Brad not having anyone his own age in the town; most of the kids were a few years older or younger, and the school ran mixed age classes.  After a few weeks of reluctance the boys became fast friends, something that didn’t surprise either family as the boys had so much in common.

Why couldn’t he just get it out of his head?

Doug looked down at the empty glass.  He needed another drink.

He staggered to his feet and pitched forward out of the dining room and returned to the kitchen. Desperately he searched for another bottle, dropping to his hands and knees to examine the cupboard near the stove. With a relieved sigh Doug pulled another bottle from the cupboard, he stood, almost dropping his precious cargo as he remembered Natalie’s screams.

 “I’m grieving too, Doug! Don’t you realize that I need you? That I need you sober?” She was sobbing, begging him to stop drinking.  She needed him?  Didn’t she realize he needed her? Looking at his wife he poured a glass and  raised it to her as a toast, drained it as she screamed.

Doug had ducked as the lamp sailed inches from his head and slammed into the wall, had stood numb and silent as she walked out.

Doug looked down at the floor where the shattered lamp still sat broken on the floor. . He had meant to clean it up months ago.

There was a loud crash as the wall lost its fight with the laws of physics and collapsed, taking a part of the roof with it.  Timber and brick showered the hall as the wind finally found entry into the house. The lounge and kitchen began to thunder with a roaring wind as it mercilessly picked up the debris in the room and slammed it against the walls.

Unbelievably, the wind increased, picking up larger items and sending them sailing through the dining room wall.  A lawn mower took the table and slammed it through the window into the violence outside.

Doug closed his eyes and poured another glass, took a long drink.  The wind blustered around him, but he didn’t move, feet firmly planted amidst the swirling vortex of air and debris.

He had been at work that day.  All the mail orders went out on Tuesdays so the place was a mess of paper and chaos, bags and bags of orders awaiting shipment.

He was tired and had slept in. Nick had come over the night before.  Doug had told him not to come over on Monday nights but the bugger just wouldn’t listen. He had tried to hint that he was tired but Nick never seemed to take a hint.  That was the problem.  Nick and Donna were both kind and well meaning and Doug didn’t want to seem like an ass. He tried to be as polite as possible.  But it had become more than a joke. If it wasn’t Nick over late, it was Terry coming over for dinner or Donna taking Nat out for “girl time” (watching DVDs and eating chocolate.)

Doug was feeling the loss; every time that he wanted to spend time with his son, Bradley was with Terry or he was over at the Fosters.  Their life had been turned upside down by these people.  Doug felt that he had no chance to just spend time with his family. The Fosters were coming over all the time.

A chair picked up by the wind bounced off a wall and sailed toward Doug, who turned and staggered through the dining room toward the front door. The chair passed through him and smashed against the far wall.

The wind was screaming.  Doug touched the door handle, unaware of the soft glow that was building around his fingers.

He had been in the middle of the second bag, a pile of packages balanced precariously on the counter when the phone rang and a chill ran up his spine.

Turning the door knob, Doug shivered at the remembered chill.

He had been tempted to leave the phone.  The parcels wouldn’t take much to topple. But it might be important.  Doug had sighed, leaned over to pluck the phone out of its cradle. 

It was Nat; nervous, frantic. Had he seen Bradley?  Doug was puzzled by the question. Wasn’t he at school?  Nat was close to tears.  No, he wasn’t at school and the Fosters were looking for Terry so they hadn’t seen him. Nobody had seen either boy all day.  Packages forgotten for the moment, Doug grabbed his car keys, wincing as he heard the order tumble to the ground.

He walked to the car, so lost in his growing fear for his missing son that he didn’t notice his shoes darken in the damp grass. Why had it rained the night before? Bradley would still be alive if it hadn’t rained.  The roads were slick and muddy and the grass was absurdly green in the water.  That was why you never bought a car in the rain, the water made it look better.  Bradley had just started getting into cars.

They had told Bradley a million times to not wander too far into the bush.  The boys were always off on some adventure or other in the bush outside of town.  Of course Terry had said it was Bradley’s idea to skip school.  But that was probably just to avoid the blame.

Doug shakily opened the door and it flew from his grip, slamming open and then tearing from the hinges to disappear into the chaos of the storm. The sky was dark and the dim light from the dining room danced into the gloom.

Doug staggered forward, shining like a bright summer day as the glow around his hand spread; still, he didn’t notice.  A cloud of inky smoke swam inside him, staining the light. Large chunks of debris were tearing through the night, passing unimpeded through his body before disappearing into the darkness on the other side.  Off to his left a large house that had been valiantly holding on to its foundations was ripped from the ground and imploded as it blew away. 

Doug had driven up and down each street in the town looking for his son.  He was about to double back and try the roads again, when Frieda Jackson, a woman with too much time on her hands, had seen him. He had made the mistake of asking her if she had seen Bradley.

In her proper, grating tone, she said no, she hadn’t seen him. Why?  Was anything wrong?  Was anything wrong.  Doug wanted to howl.  Instead, he’d tried to just shake the question by saying that he had to go, but of course Frieda launched into recruiting him for the rotary club food drive that weekend. Doug had tried to be polite and excuse himself but she had just kept at him until he simply yelled at her to shut up and drove away, leaving her standing openmouthed and angry in his rearview mirror.  

Doug had headed down one of the back roads out of town. The mud made the car slide around as he looked for a sign of his boy.  He fought the wheel as he quickly checked one paddock and then the next.

He regretted screaming at Frieda and of course later she’d said that it was alright as she patted his hand at the funeral.  It hadn’t been her fault.

His eyes had scanned the grass and bush for any sign of his son. Natalie was calling all the houses seeing if Bradley had been spotted.  If she had any news she would call. He had checked his phone to see if it had power, cursed when he realized that he had left it back in the office.

Doug pulled violently on the wheel, not wanting to drive too far out of town. He heard the squeal of the tires on the road and headed back towards Hill Street, hoping it would be where his son was hiding. The car left the blacktop and tore down the small dirt track some still called a road. Doug’s heart raced in his chest.  Each time he headed out to one of the exits it narrowed down the options. He hadn’t wanted to think of what he would do if he couldn’t find him.  Doug didn’t know what he would do if his son had been taken.

Doug crossed his lawn and staggered toward the main street. A dark shadow clouded his light.  Each step rattled it, the vibration of his pace impacting the smoke pushing it outwards, the dark cluster around his heart expanding until with one final step he reached the road and the stain was swept from inside him.

Doug walked down the main street, stagger gone and eyes clear, a trail of glowing footsteps stretched out behind him. He moved down the center of the road, huge chunks of earth sailing into the air behind him.

A dog, its head hanging limply, flew lifelessly past him. The poor animal brushed against him, almost passing through his insubstantial form before sailing into the blackness and colliding with a chunk of earth that crossed its path.  The violence of the impact sprayed blood onto Doug’s face. As quickly, dog and earth were enveloped by the artificial night.

Doug had headed down Hill Street, desperately scanning for any sign of his son. He wiped tears from his eyes so that he could see the road.  Frantically he scanned each side looking for any sign of his son.  He couldn’t have gone this far. It was just too far out of town.

Doug stopped walking as he remembered seeing the flash from the corner of his eye. He had yanked the steering wheel and then held on for dear life, as he fought the forward momentum of the car. The air around the car was filled with a chaos of green and then again just for a moment he saw the flash of color.  Again it took a moment for his brain to register. He had seen a flash of red.  Was it Bradley?  Was he wearing his jacket?

Doug’s brain leapt from relief to anger. If it was Bradley (please!) the boy would be grounded for the rest of his natural life.

The car finished its wild spin and Doug slammed his foot on the break, wincing at the high pitched sound of the break pad clamping as the car slid to a stop. The acrid smell of burning rubber filled the air.

Doug jumped out of the car, the door and car forgotten. Now he searched desperately. (Please let him be ok! I’m going to kill him!) He looked again for the flash of red, for anything that could be his son.  It was somewhere in that direction.  He ran forward a frantic fear spurring him on.  Look for god’s sake!  Look!  Then just a small distance away a small figure.  Bradley (Yes!) he had found his son, relief flooded him and then anger. He stormed toward his son, ready to take him in hand.

It was time that his son learned that you didn’t just go running… No wait wrong hair color? It made no sense it was Bradley’s jacket but Bradley had sandy blond hair. Doug’s brow furrowed. It must be the other boy, but where was Bradley, and why was he wearing his jacket. Fear hammered him again.

Doug continued along the road. Not much remained of street. There were random patches of road that still stood. The pub was still half standing. A hand hung limply under the wall, sheltered by the only surviving part of the old building. A tree that had been hidden from the wind by the crumbling wall was suddenly caught by a chunk of land and disappeared into the artificial night. Each new step Doug took glowed as he continued down the main street of Harris Gap.

Doug had run towards the small figure. He was frantic and confused, heart pounding as he grabbed the boy and yelled at him. “Where is Bradley?!” Terry! it was Terry! It didn’t make any sense.  ”Why are you wearing Bradley’s jacket?!” The boy looked blankly at Doug.

Then their eyes met and a look of confusion, then relief and then finally fear painted Terry’s features. As Doug yelled the boy started to cry. “Fell, it wasn’t my fault.” Doug looked widely around. Where was his son. Was he somewhere back there out of sight?

He grabbed the boy and shook him. “Where is Bradley? Did he fall off something?” Terry didn’t answer, just shook his head and pointed behind him. Doug stopped shaking the boy as his eyes were wide with fear. Terry’s voice was broken, sobbing, as he just repeated “f…fell!” and shook his head over and over.

He had dropped the boy and run into the trees. He could hear Terry sobbing in the background, stuttering. ”I..i..it w w wasn’t my f…f…fault, fell.”  Doug  looked around, seeing only trees. Nothing but trees.  Terry was crying again.  All the boy could say was “fell!” over and over between great sobs.

Doug ran through the trees. “Bradley!” He screamed out, eyes wide. “Bradley!” His bright wonderful boy, where was he?  He had to be somewhere.  Frantically Doug looked around, scanning the bush, left, right, hoping for some sign of his son as he called out over and over.  He has to be here. If only it wasn’t so dense.  If only the boy’s footing had been surer, if only there had been a tree near where he slipped. If only.

Doug ran down the street. Most of the buildings were gone.  Then suddenly the wind died and the air became calm. The sun appeared from behind the dark clouds and the wet ground glittered in the sunlight.  Everything was eerie and still.

A rushing sound began to build behind Doug. He slowed his run and walked off down Green Street. The rushing sound continued to build until with the street exploded violently. A truck plowed into the wet ground, filling the air with sodden earth.

Doug had searched the trees and bushes without finding Bradley. Where was he? After a few moments he raced back to Terry. The boy was rocking back and forth, still sobbing. “Where is my son?” The boy was babbling “fell” over and over. Doug grabbed him and dragged the boy into the bush. “Show me, damn it.”

Terry wasn’t seeing. All he did was cry and shake even as Doug dragged him along. He tried to shake the boy again, but it didn’t have any affect. Just “fell!” over and over. Finally Doug lost all patience with Terry. The blow landed squarely on the boy’s jaw. I shouldn’t have hit the kid. Terry had staggered back.

The impact had an immediate effect; the boy stopped crying, blood trickling down from his mouth. His eyes focused and he managed to look hurt and surprised all at once. Doug looked at Terry for a moment. “Where is Bradley?”

Slowly, still shaken by the blow, Terry led Doug into the bush. They headed away from the car and all that was sane and real, deeper into the wilderness, a beast that had somehow claimed his boy. He would get him back. Bradley was his boy. He would not be claimed by some nameless beast. He would get his boy back.

Doug was lost in memory as he slowly continued down Green Street, where the older, more run down houses had traditionally stood. Now it was just a flat expanse of earth. The sky started to darken again and the wind returned.  An old wooden power pole that had fought valiantly against the storm was tilted at an impossible angle. The wind slowly began to rebuild, its increasing fury hammering the pole until it finally collapsed, snapping the power lines and sailing off into the chaos. The lines threw up sparks for a moment before they too were swept away by the storm.

A man appeared on the street staggering against the wind, head caked with blood.  He desperately made his way woozily across Green Street, fighting the building fury of the storm until, unable to push forward any longer, he lunged for a fence post, hoping to save himself from the savage wind. Doug turned away from the man and headed toward the cemetery.

Terry had continued to sob fitfully as he led Doug deeper in to the bush. Their footing precarious as the ground sloped down a hill, feet not finding much to grip, Doug followed the boy. It was like being led into some primeval hell by a gatekeeper who had faced the fires and now wanted to be as far away from them as possible.

Doug could hear the boy murmuring under his breath as the sobbing returned. Every now and then the boy would stumble and fall but he would just climb to his feet, the sobbing and murmuring continued.  Doug suspected that the boy was in shock, but he didn’t care. Bradley was still missing. That was all that mattered. Doug listened, straining to hear any sound over the boy’s crying and the echo of their footfalls.

Then on the edge of his hearing he had heard something. He could almost make it out, something just out of his reach. In his distracted state Doug wasn’t minding his step and his feet slipped. The sky tilted and then he landed on his ass. Terry turned at the sound and, seeing Doug fall, screamed and ran over, grabbing at him.

The cemetery gates had been twisted by the wind into a thing of jagged metal. They loomed before Doug as the wind buffeted the iron, yet the stubborn gates held, battle-scarred veterans that just wouldn’t die. They were misshapen, twisted like a broken angel, a toy smashed by an angry god. Doug slipped between what was left of the gates, the iron the only thing he had encountered that offered him any resistance.

He walked slowly through the twisted metal and entered the graveyard. Once he passed the threshold the world went quiet again.

Doug looked around at the graveyard.  Without the wind it felt as if all sound had left the earth. It was then that he realized. This one place, this single patch of land that had stood for so long was untouched. The storm had been turned away by the consecrated ground, afraid to disturb the sleep of the dead.

Doug climbed to his feet, the sound on the edge of his hearing suddenly coming into focus. He could hear water, a river running, the sound now clear and more defined as he concentrated on it. Doug looked back. Terry was crying his head still shaking. He pulled his arm from the boys grip. It was hard to catch anything but a snippet over Terry’s sobbing. “….Didn’t believe what…Not my fault…Fell.” Doug hadn’t understood what he was saying.

Doug rubbed his eyes, the strain of desperately looking was taking its toll and he was finding it difficult to focus. He looked at the ground to give them a rest. It was then that he saw something odd. There was a small footprint with a “B” on the soul. Doug stopped and looked again. Yes inside the shape of a small shoe was a B. Those bloody shoes that the boy had wanted. They were made by some company or other. Bradley had loved them because they had his initial on them.

Terry had gone quiet. The crying had stopped. He looked around at the bush, as if seeing it for the first time and then began to speak softly.

“Mum always said that I should be careful. I never believed her.” He looked at Doug, his gaze intensely focused. Doug had never seen a child stare at him like that before. His voice was still soft. “He was running and fell. He just fell. It wasn’t my fault.” Then his voice began to build. Doug looked past the boy at the track that they were following. “He fell and I tried to stop him.” He could just make out a line in the mud; the B was elongated in the mud. Doug could almost see his son trip as he ran down the hill. The line sharply curved off to one side of the track. Doug looked back at Terry as he noticed a tear in the sleeve of Bradley’s jacket.

Frantically, Doug rushed forward. In his mad dash he forgot how slick the ground was and felt his foot slip forward on the muddy ground. He landed hard on one knee and hand, the impact jarring his wrist and stretching his groin. His hand had wildly grabbed a tree to stop from stumbling off his feet. He clung for a moment on the edge of the path, managing to prevent himself from toppling forward. Terry screamed and again clutched at Doug’s arm.

Slowly Doug walked the rows of graves. A faint glow radiated from him as he walked past the stone markers. The rain had begun to fall again, apparently unimpeded by whatever had kept the wind at bay.

As Doug continued deeper into the cemetery his clothes began to melt and run until finally the rain washed them completely away, leaving him naked. The glow was now deeper, stronger. It illuminated the air around him. The lighted reflected off the rain, outlining him eerily in the night. The eldritch glow shone brightly against the darkness of the storm. The wind was held at bay by the cemetery gates but the sky was dark even here in this refuge.

Doug had looked into the overgrowth along the edge of the path. He held the tree and Terry clutched at his arm, the boy’s fingers digging hard into his flesh.  All that Doug could hear was Marvin saying “the bush around town is riddled with abandoned mineshafts.”

Doug walked deeper into the cemetery. Before him the land rose up into a small hill with a view of the town. He walked over the hill, the storm raging in the distance behind him,  to the black marble tombstone glistening wetly at base of the hill, reflecting the steadily growing light surrounding Doug. .

Light bled from Doug’s fingers as he read the silver words etched into the stone:

 “Bradley Douglas Fall

May God’s angels

care for him as he deserves.”

Natalie had written it.  She’d always had a way with words.

Doug had looked at the edge of the path, fingers digging into the bark,  and saw a dark hole that had been hidden by the growth on the side of the track. A fern sat on the other side of the hole. He saw one of the large leaves of the fern hanging broken from the stem. Looking up at the tree, Doug could see the jagged end of a broken branch just above his head.

Slowly and carefully, with Terry clinging to his arm, Doug had looked into the mouth of a small mineshaft, the beast, the thing that had consumed his son.

Doug looked down at the tombstone, tears tracing paths down his cheeks and evaporating into the air. “Well Brad, I managed to really screw it up. Your mother’s gone and I’m a pathetic drunk.” He absently wiped his eyes with a hand more light than form. “I miss you so much Brad. I love you so much. I just can’t ...” Doug stopped, lost.

He had looked over the edge into the mine, Terry wailing behind him. The shaft dropped down about four meters, to a hole about half a meter from the bottom, which was mostly covered by a branch, and something . . . else.  It took a moment for Doug to realize it was a little hand in the water. Tears welled in his eyes and slowly a scream built till it exploded from him in a burst of sorrow and pain.  “God NO!!!!”

But it was too late; even closing his eyes didn’t help.  The image was already burned into his brain. It was something that would never leave him, a moment no parent should ever see.

Doug tried to shake what he had seen as he collapsed. His hand still clutched the tree, stopping him from falling into the hole with his son. All the evil in the world sat right there three meters below him.

The branch didn’t completely cover the bottom of the mine. It had been broken when his son, (No!) had fallen through it and landed on the ground beneath. Some of the branch lay under him but most of it sat above him. But the horror that would not leave him, the thing that would cause him to wake up screaming and leave him shaking and crying night after night, was the sight of his son’s broken body not three meters below him.

The police had told him what had happened, and only deepened the horror. His son had slipped and fell.

But he had survived the fall.

What had killed his son was his leg. Doug shook his head, remembering the officer who had spoken to him the next day, his voice low and deep. He remembered each word as he cried before his son’s tombstone.

Bradley’s leg broke in the fall, tangled by the branch, exposed bone pushing through flesh and clothing.  Doug remembered that crimson shard, webbed in dark gore. The rest of his body had landed on the bottom of the mine with his leg stuck half a meter above him. There was already water on the bottom of the mine, but it kept rushing in through the hole.

He had probably been stunned by the fall, but once he had recovered he had tried to keep his head above water.  But each time he pulled himself up from the bottom of the hole, the pain had forced him to drop back into the water. The leg had killed Bradley. With no way to keep his head above water, Bradley had drowned in 50 centimeters of water twenty meters from the river bank in a mine shaft that some idiot had dug near an old walking track.

Doug’s body had started to fade, consumed by the light.  The glow got brighter as the rain started to wash his form away.  He placed his hand on his chest. “I can’t live without you, Brad.”  His hand merged with his chest and passed into it, came out holding a glowing orb, brighter than the sun. His legs had begun to fade as leaned down and placed the globe on the grave like a bouquet of roses. “I love you Bradley. I’m sorry that I didn’t get to you in time.”  His voice started as a sob, but firmed, calmed.  “Goodbye, Brad.  I was always proud of you.  You taught me that love can exist in a way that means that it never ends.” Doug slowly faded as he let go of the globe. Slowly, it sank into the earth, into the grave.

With one final burst of wind the storm died down. That final gust of air worked it’s way along the streets of Harris Gap until it reached the graveyard,  slipping past the cemetery gates like a thief and dancing along the grave stones, kicking up dirt and leaves in it’s wake. Then it finally reached Doug and wrapped itself around the grieving father. As he was swept away, Doug’s final words drifted softly into the air.  “This is all that I can give you.  I will love you forever.”  Then with the final syllable he was blown away

The next day, those that had survived the chaos would be counting the cost and staring in disbelief at the utter destruction that had been visited upon their little town.  Some looked at the mysterious footsteps, untouched on the wind ravaged ground, and were left in wonder.

But when the people of Harris Gap counted the missing and dead few realized that they had also gained something amazing.  On that tragic day of death and destruction, when so many lives had been lost and so many homes had been destroyed, something miraculous had happened. On a day when a storm had taken so much from the people of Harris Gap, they discovered that it had also given them something back. For when they walked with blinking eyes into the light and took stock of what was left of their town, they found that Bradley Fall had returned.

© 2013 Karl Knight

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Untitled

By Karl Knight

The woman entered. This was the beginning. I could feel the air that lightly teased her skin. My mind hesitated feeling the rush of intrusion.

I sat still on the bed, barely breathing as I felt her proximity. My eyes caressed her body. My mind devoured this, goddess before me.

Man had worshipped woman for centuries. There hands aching to explore the flesh warm against their fingertips. I could feel my ancestors eagerly on my shoulder speaking softly of desire.

Desire for this, an unknown that could excite and confuse. In every aspect this other before me sang to me of places that I had not touched.

It was now as she entered the room that I ached. I could hear the songs from gardens that I had never seen singing from her form. There were places that she could take me, that none before had tried.

This was the home of magic, this moment. The world had stopped and something incredible had slipped through the cracks.

Everything just hung in the air. The universe painted the world in a room on my mind. Each color, shape and texture combining into an image of a moment frozen in my head forever. Her entering the room.

Then with a sigh time recommenced, the world started again.

She stopped in front of the door. Her eyes flared as she took in the sight of me sitting enraptured on her bed.

It was as if her thoughts were half heard conversations. Just by looking into her eyes I could feel the flow of her thoughts wash over me.

© 2013 Karl Knight

She saw beauty in my form and felt desire. I could almost taste the passion from her mind in my mouth. Each image and feeling from her sent sensation through my body. I had discovered a connection to another that I never dreamed could exist.

She could see my form sing out to her. Each wave of desire sent deeper and stronger pulses of need through me. I had become her instrument. She could play my form with her mind.

As our eyes locked she became compelled toward me. Her body moving outside of time. Creating a rhythm that the universe had regrettably missed.

It seemed forever in a moment as she crossed the floor to the foot of the bed. I became lost between heart beats. My mind slowly falling into the roar of my pulse.

It was then that she smiled. Her eyes made her mouth suggest all things sensual. I painted her face that smile on to my mind. Using broad strokes to extend the thoughts with need. I was the centre of her focus and I was held by tight cords of desire.

She began to slowly, gracefully make her way smoothly up the bed. My body ached  at the ever dwindling distance. My pulse wracked my body as my mind longed for a physical connection.

It seemed that her eyes arrived at my body before the rest of her did. My being felt as if it was under those eyes well before her body reached me.

Touch!

A word that cannot begin to describe the connection. She fed my skin with sensation that bypassed my mind and travelled back through my body.

I had to close my eyes. My mind was reeling from sensory overload. I was loosing my grip on the world around me. I heard my voice distantly call out.

Her hands started to softly mover over my leg. I could feel her fingers as they played across my skin. My whole body was being drawn into her hands. It was as if I was being pulled toward the sun. There was no escape, yet I was held to the bed by a paralysis of sensation.

Her lips began to play softly across my foot. I felt each caress and soft brush of warm flesh as my back slowly began to arc. It was as if my spirit was trying to leave my body, but was trapped within by my lovers touch.

My breath began to shorten as her mouth travelled up my leg. My mouth parted drawing in heady air. My voice began to softly call out to my lover in a moaning chorus. My body began to move slowly accentuating my desire.

Contact!

I was within her mouth. The world fell away, all was sensation. My hands convulsingly explored her body. I opened my eyes not realising that they had been closed.  I felt surrounded in an aura of pleasure. My toes stretched away from my body. It was as if the pleasure had filled my form and was trying to escape.

It was now that I heard my voice. It was clear that I had been wordlessly calling my lover, but now I knew it was my body hopelessly trying to stop me from rupturing from pleasure.

Now softly she began her ascent up my form. I cried out at the loss of connection until her kisses overwhelmed me again. I was being compelled to respond to her passionate lips.

As her mouth moved up my body I could feel her hands exploring me. Touching my flesh, running streams of sensation over my skin. My hands had become hopelessly lost in her body. I was mindlessly feeling this other.

As her mouth passed over my chest she stopped just below my nipple, her tongue finishing the journey. Lightly teasing me, increasing the sensation, exploding next to my heart. Her teeth softly caressing me.

I could feel the only reality in my life travel up my neck, each kiss followed by her body moving more and more into mine. Her lips searching, devouring more and more skin. I was awash with a passionate assault.

And then we kissed.

As our mouths met I fell completely into the chasm of our connection. At first our lips played hungrily against each other until the only thing remaining was our tongues fiercely exploring each other. My head moved frantically, each connection deep and true.

Our bodies were entwined. Our legs exploring the other as enthusiastically as our arms. There was no me and her, there was no separation of form. We were entangled in shape.

The taste of her mouth on mine edged all my sensation. I felt consumed in all senses. My ears had been robbed of all sound but her passion. My eyes were dazzled by the beauty of her form. My nose was filled with the bouquet of her hair. My touch was enchanted with her body. My tongue was bombarded with the wine of her mouth.

I drew my goddess in closer, tighter to me. My kisses harder, deeper, stronger. It was then that I heard her desire. Felt her body writhe against mine. I was infused with her desire. Her hands desperately moved across my body.

Her lips left mine and covered my cheek and worked towards my ear. I began exploring her skin with my mouth. Her neck was laid bare before me. I could feel her lips gently caressing my ear. I could hear and feel her desire combined.

My mouth began to explore her neck gently. My lips covering the skin as my tongue worked delicately over her flesh. I was tasting the sweetness of her skin. Her body began to respond, curving and softly twisting.

I felt a shift in the balance as our roles gently changed. I began to explore her body as she lay softly beneath me. I felt our forms gently detached as I began to feel this goddesses’ skin travel beneath my fingers. I had softened my touch. Gently exploring her skin.

I looked down at her laying below me. Her eyes desired me as her mouth smiled. Her hair flowed across the bed as she lay naked beneath me. She looked into my eyes and I gently smiled.

My gaze softly left her face as I started to travel down her body with my hands. I watched as my fingers played across her form. I felt like a sculptor moulding clay as I began to construct her form.

I began the process of sensual construction. Each stroke and movement travelling deeper into the form of this masterpiece. I started to work muscles feeling them form between my fingers.

My lips were drawn magnetically to her skin. Dancing across her warm freshly formed flesh. She was my muse, my sensual memory was filled with her presence.

I found myself exploring her skin, feeling each inch being consumed by my mouth and tongue. I was upon her breast. My mouth dancing upon her flesh as her response increased. Her voice began a verse of wordless desire.

Once I felt her body coursing beneath my mouth. I began to descend her form. Each kiss lower more passionate than the last until I arrived at the seat of her desire. Her skin danced beneath my tongue.

Slowly I began to kiss her deeply more passionately. I reprised the kiss that I began before. I heard her voice call loudly to me dancing in tempo with my desire.

I felt her fingers tango across my hair as her body writhed. My mouth was deep within her pleasure. I could taste her excitement increase as my tongue delivered my passion.

Then as if she was seized by forces beyond her, my lover grabbed my hair and drew me up to her mouth. Our lips met and our mouths exploded with desire. My body was being drawn into hers as the universe sang. I could feel the world shifting below me.

I closed my eyes as I melded into her. My hands working softly over now familiar flesh. My kisses betraying the fire in my soul. The primal inferno of desire burned hotly within me. I had energy exploding from my mind.

Slowly with threads of amazing contact I began to join with my negative. Softly I broke our kiss to look into her gaze as we connected. Flecks of sensual explosions played across her soul. The reflection shone on the irises of her eyes.

We were joined.

There was no longer her or me, only us. I was lost in a labyrinth of connection.

Her arms, her legs, her desire our mouths. We were one.

Then in a beat as golden and as pure as the sun our forms moved. My sight irrelevant. Her breathing in my ears. Each deep movement greeted with sound from within her soul.

My body was singing, the voices of angels intoning to the beat of our sacred lust. My form worked as one machine, each part dedicated to the continuation of her pleasure.

I looked down at her as my body moved above her and I saw her soul rise from the flames of her desire, like a phoenix. The brilliance of her spirit was almost blinding.

As her spirit soared. I felt mine being drawn toward hers as it raised itself from within me and began to soar.

My soul had began to fly on the liquid air of pleasure. Then as a bird cries at the joy of flight. I began to weep. I could not contain my emotions. My lips kissed her deeply.

I felt her mouth gently on my neck as she worked herself slowly up. We rolled around softly as she worked her way above me. Then as we lay there she gently brushed my face and smiled.

Now she set the rhythm as she moved her self above me. My lover rocked her body, as she threw her head back grasping at the sky. Her form was layed bare above me. I closed my eyes adding my dance to hers.

Slowly beat by beat, her voice now moaning began to crack. Her breath shallow like a softly skipping stone. Each movement working her closer to exhilaration. 

And then she exploded.

I could feel the body above me becoming completely consumed with pleasure. Her voice sobbing with sensation. My arms held her tight.

And then weakly she lay atop my form. Her body limply hanging from mine. My hands softly moving delicately over hers. My voice soft in her ear.

Then with my desire still burning fiercely I lowered her gently to the bed. My form rising slowly above hers. I ran my tender fingers over her burning skin as I looked down at her angelic face.

My form began to dance above hers. The music of desire and need slowly getting louder and stronger. Each beat driving deeper and truer into me. Devastation my world.

I was no longer aware of myself, I was but a thing of sensation. Trapped within the haze of sensation. My movements straining my frame. Muscles stretching, fingers needing, breathing deeply. I was drinking, drowning from the sea of pleasure.

Now slowly my sensations turned golden. Each movement buring my blood a deeper shade of crimson. My body existing trapped within soft fingers of pleasure. Reaching stretching toward the burning fire of total pleasure.

Flying.

The ground of reality disappeared below me and I burned. My body was consumed as I soared. Climbing higher and higher as the heaven opened to kiss my cheek. My fingers stretched briefly touching the sky, holding the universe, and then I returned to earth.

I slowly sank into the arms of my lover. Her form and mine enclosing each other. My lips played across hers as I searched for a way to convey my gratitude and then as my body began to float away. I smiled at her and held her closer as I drifted off.`

© 2013 Karl Knight