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Heslowlyinhaled–fillinghis genetically obstructed lungs to their capacity. Once they were full, he held his breath for a moment. Then, he dropped his head forward, as if there were a string upon his forehead and gravitygentlypulledontherope. Hisheadfellforward.Andinthe same manner that his head dropped, the breath that he had held in, began to escape a small slit that he opened between his lips.
Every ounce of carbon dioxide that his body expelled resulted in his body falling forwardoneinchmore.
Voidoftheairthathehadstored up a moment ago, his lungs fell with his body through the clear nightsky.
He was no longer atop the sky-scraping condominium that he was employed to watch over. Instead, he fell beside it as it watched him descend toward its base.
He was a parcel, falling from anairplane.Hewasapen,falling fromadesk.Hewasacan,falling from a grocery shelf. He was helplessly attracted to the paved asphaltthatlaybeneathhim.
As he fell, he held only one thought:“Igiveup.”
His body collided with the road. A boisterous bang rang aloud.
Then he suddenly rose in a panic.
His demeanor quickly transformed from anxious to confused.Henoticedthathewas in his bed. To which, he did not understand.
Why was he not dead? Or is this death? How did he end up here, in his room, after he was surelyatwork?Wasitalladream ordiddeathrejecthim,too?Was his luck so badthat he could not evenbesuccessfulinsuicide?
His dark, mocha irises began to compete in a staring contest withthewhitewallthatparalleled
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his mattress. The white wall dominated the competition. Rage swelledupinsideofhim.
Unsure of his reality, he shot out ofbed,openeduptheupper,right drawerofhisdresserwithhisleft hand, and jammed his right deep initscontents.
He dug to the bottom of socks, some that had their twin flame and others that still searched for their forever match. He dug through boxer briefs, somethathehadsincehewasan early high school student and othersthatwereapartofhismost recentpurchaseofunderwear.
His hand gripped a dark silver, handle that curved like an Olympicsurfwave.Herippedhis handoutofthedrawertoreveala sheathed blade. His carelessness causedhishandtoscrapethetop of the dresser. Some skin was shredded off and blood was drawn– no matter.He paidit no mind.
On the metal-bound exterior was a majestic dragon on a crystalbluebackground. Hewastednotime.Hepulledthe bladefromitselegantsheath.The blade, now exposed, was curved inthesamemannerasthatwhich heldit.Itwasabeautifulartifact.
He brought the sharp edge of the blade to his neck. Again, he enteredadeepstaringcontest;but this time, he competed with himself. Watching himself in the mirrorthatsatatophisdresser,he
He rummaged through this drawer of undergarments. Frustratingly, all he felt was the wood that composed the lower limitsof thedrawer.He knew he had stashed it in this drawer.All hefeltwastheseeminglyendless amount of lonely toe warmers. All he felt was de-conditioned unmentionables. Until his index finger abruptly hit a hard, metallicsurface.Anexpressionof excitement came over his face. Hishandjoltedinthedirectionof theobstruction.Hefoundit!
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franticallybreathedinandout,in andout,inandout.
“It don’t matter if thisreal or not, dream or reality, this blade gone end this nightmare living that I’m tired of pushing through!”heproclaimed.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH HHH!”, he roared, extensively. After 21 seconds, his reflection stoppedscreaming.
Then,asifitwerearunnerin the100-meterdashthatheardthe gunoftheproctorring,theblade ran an uninterrupted course throughhisneck.
It was as if the blade was diamond and his neck Swiss cheese. It sliced through the skin like Obi-Wan through Darth Maul.
It was a greedy blade. So, it continued through his trachea. It continued throughhis esophagus. Itcontinueduntilhisbodyfellto the floor, like the end of a game ofJenga.
Blood rushed to the open wound of his neck. The dragon blade was now bathed in its reward.
As he lay on his bedroom floor, he stared up at the oscillatingfanandchoked onhis blood, “agkuh aaaaa uuuh gah gahgah.”Hecontinuedtochoke.
A few moments later, it started to feel like a hand rose from the pits of his stomach, through his windpipe, to escape into the world. It hurt. Yet, only one thought raced through his brain.
“Igiveuaaaagkuhaa…”
Hisvisionblurredtoblack.
“…aaauuuhgahgahgah,”he felt the life from his body, drifting away. He heard himself continuingtochoke.
“agkuhaaaaa—”
All of sudden, he heard a noise in the darkness. “
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It was indistinguishable –almost extraterrestrial. But, the tone of the sound was definable. The cries seemed to imbue concernandworry.
He could not detour his concentration from the disturbance.
It, then, clarified. Now clear, he heard a voice calling out to him, “FAEROH FAEROH FAER--”
Before the voice could finish the third iteration of his name, a boltofenergyshotthroughevery atom of his being; instantaneously, his eyes shot open.
“Ohgood!You’reawake!I'm gladyoucouldrejoinusforclass. Now that you’re well rested, tell me all the characteristics of a tragedy that Aristotle outlines in Poetics.” A voice proclaimed withrelief.
His vision became clear. His environment became distinguishable. He was in his
TheaterHistorycourseanditwas his professor, who called out to him. His professor repeated an altered version of his last retort, “I see that I have bored you into deep REM sleep. Since you are sowell versedin the specifics of Ancient Greek theatrics, tell me the characteristics of a tragedy outlinedinthe Poetics.”
Faeroh answered, without hesitation, “Plot, Character, Thought, Diction --,” then he stoppedhimself. Wait!
Why was he now in class? Why was he not dead…again!? Or, is this hell? How did he end up here, at school, after he was surely dying on his bedroom floor, only moments ago? Was it all a dream or did death reject him,again?
Immense confusion took over every inch of his face. His eyes shifted, left to right, right to left, lefttoright.Hecouldnotfathom thepresent.Heknewnotifanyof
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it was real. He had no clue what was reality anymore. The class was but background noise now. He picked up his backpack, but he did not gather any of his belongings that were scattered acrossthedesk.
“HEY
FAEROH, WHERE
ARE YOU GOING!? IS
EVERYTHINGALRIGHT?”The professor exclaimed, worriedly. However, Faeroh was unmoved by his professor’s words of concern.Hewastransfixedonthe phenomenon of his continued draw of breath. He could not comprehend what was going on. He was bewildered by his continuedlife–despite,now,two attempts to end it – and his sporadic,locationaldisplacement.
Hesloppilyslunghispackon his left shoulder. He ran full speed through the halls of the building. Papers flew out of his still-openedschoolbag.
His heart raced. His eyes and head panned the vast campus ground.
After several repetitious views of the red-bricked campus and green grassed lawns, Faeroh beganrunningoncemore.
Behind the building was a main route for cars to traverse through the school grounds. It was often the scene of accidents, as students substituted speed limits for earlier arrival times to theirnextengagement.
Today was no different. The streetwasbustlingwithcars.
A red pickup truck sped by. The country music spilled from itsopenwindowslikefogfroma witch cauldron. A 2014 Dodge Challenger raced by, in the oppositedirectionof the truck.It roared like a Tyrannosaurus Rex chasingitsprey.
He burst through the metal doors. They swung open with such force that they slammed againstthebuilding’sfacade.The windows they held nearly shattered.
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Back on the other side, a small white sedan bounced up and down as a group of sorority girls sang every lyric to the faintly heard pop song that was imprisoned within the car’s rolled-up windows and four-door frame.
Faerohhadevery intentionof becoming an impromptu speed bump for the unconcerned drivers.Ashisrightfootbeganto lift from the ground, he heard a voice, “I won’t be able to save youthistime.”
It sounded like someone whisperedinhisear.Itcausedhis bodytoturnaroundinstinctively.
Upon seeing what towered over him, his heart raced ten times faster than before. His eyes opened wide like the roof of ChaseFieldonaclear,sunnyday.
Infrontofhimstoodahooded figure,7feettall.Undertheforest green gown, the figure wore a gray complexion, a sharp chin, and five glowing eyes. Again, it
spoke to Faeroh exclaiming, “If youtrytokillyaselfagen,Iwon’t be able to save you this time? If you die now, then so does everybody’s last hope. Do ya reallywanttotakeyalifebefaya fulfiya destiny? Lemme azz yadis: wah wuld ya do, if I toldcha:youaremeanttosavethe Universe?Wuldyoustillstepoff datcurb?”
ENDOFCHAPTER1
