Third chapter of the story.
Audio at the bottom.
First Chapter here.
https://steemit.com/writing/@ralph.clayton/monday-morning-scifi-full-chapter
Second Chapter here.
https://steemit.com/writing/@ralph.clayton/bed-of-roses-chapter-2-tuesday-evening-scifi
Chapter {3}
{The Majestic Moment of Truth}
It’s one of those days, when the frosty ice is melting on the streets. The dirty and muddy snow inevitably gets inside your shoes. Your old feet, unavoidably get all wet and tired. It’s like you walk and you walk with no direction, until you desperately feel like you’re about to instantly die on the asphalt. The sky is gray and cloudy, not one ray of sunlight shines on your face. The very much dark, gloomy and depressing atmosphere slowly corrodes your soul and eats you from the inside. One little bite at a time, munch, munch.
This is your life, suck it up and smile.
Take it like a man, you have to own the moment. Every little and pathetic instant of it. There is no glorious fate that will magically appear in front of you. Nothing is going to save you from this misery, but yourself. You’re your own heavenly savior.
It’s all in your hands, your destiny. You have to create it out of your own free will. Materialize it with every last breath squeezed out of your struggling lungs.
Wake up, wake up little man.
This is the time to shine like a precious star.
The moment before the moment, when the butterfly flaps its wings. The magical and beautiful moment when destiny unfolds. Are you ready for it? To choke destiny with your very own two hands? What if life itself could be something else? It’s all you, the choice to change reality. Close your eyes and see it very carefully, the majestic destiny in front of you.
Take it, do not hesitate. It’s all yours, this beautiful and unadulterated moment of pure freedom. Blissful clarity is right there, in front of you. Precarious destiny unfolding…
Grab it and suffocate it, until it stops breathing.
This is you. In all your pathetic glory, created by your own will. Enjoy every little second of it, like there is no end. Bask in it like a wanderer in the desert under the scorching sun, you’re getting wiser and wiser by the millisecond.
This is it, the moment before the moment...
Here I am, standing with my hands high in the air. Perhaps I’m about to start a magic trick, waiting for the audience to clap their hands. Or in this case, to maniacally shoot their guns until I’m done. This is not how I imagined that I would eventually meet death.
I imagined myself an old man with 66 grandchildren, living somewhere in the French Riviera. I’m by the pool drinking a Margarita, carelessly sunbathing looking at the horizon. Then quietly I fall asleep and just like that a sudden heart attack kills me. An epic and peaceful death, which unfortunately I’m not getting. So long my majestic fate.
Curse you destiny, where’s my damn Margarita.
“Well, well, well, Mr. Pickles.” The old man says. “It seems this is the end of the road, at least for you.” He slowly points his gun at Mr. Pickles getting ready to shoot.
“Where is the package, you know the one you stole.” He asks.
I’m staring at the ceiling, there is a black fan spinning. It goes round and round without ever stopping. Why would anyone ever put a fan in a basement? That’s a very good question, but out of context indeed. I should worry about my very own precarious situation.
Here I am, hands high in the air. I’m cornered and about to get massacred by these thugs. Natasha, my love. They will pay for what they did, in this life or in the next. Life is but a dream, and I’m about to abruptly wake up.
The Octanitrocubane is my right hand, behind my back. One little push of a button and the whole building will instantly combust. Sweet revenge will be all mine.
Popovsky the pig will pay.
I smile, my big Cheshire smile shines bright.
“Well, hello there gentlemen.” I say. “Do you like fireworks? I’ve always been a big fan you know, especially during the winter holidays.”
The room is silent, nobody knows if I’m bluffing.
“What are you talking about little man, you wouldn’t dare to do it.” The old man says. “It’s actually more likely for me to find a polar bear in the garden, than you pressing the button.” Ha-Ha-Ha, he laughs.
Mr. Pickles looks at them with a very serious face, the moment of truth is coming. It’s time to perform like a real Broadway actor. This is the moment to play drama and tragedy.
“Listen carefully, this is my speech, my manifest.” I say. “Just kidding.” I laugh maniacally.
All it takes is a small instant of courage to be able to choke destiny with your very own two hands. Until it suffocates and reality itself changes forever. All done by your very own will and desire.
Mr. Pickles pressed the red button.
“Natasha my love here I come.” A very honest smile is on my face. Peace at last perhaps, or maybe something else. This is it, the butterfly flapping its wings.
A bright flash of red light covers the entire area as the Octanitrocubane instantly combusts. The steel and concrete that make the building rapidly melt like chocolate fudge in an oven. Popovsky’s mansion no longer exists, everything is engulfed and consumed by unstoppable flames and fire.
It’s all so quiet, the muffled screams can’t be heard. The instant combustion is consuming all available oxygen, it has created a temporary vacuum where the mansion used to be. The burning corpses scream as they burn yet, it’s all so quiet. Just like in space your voice can’t be heard.
The explosion keeps expanding.
Flesh and bones are obliterated into nothing, those who were… are no more, they all ceased to exist forever.
It’s all pitch black and sparkles.
Mr. Pickles is a space monkey.
There is a beautiful lush garden with a gothic fountain in the center of it. Tall red roses are growing next to it, large spiky thorns grow freely on their vigorous stalks. The water is still and quiet, the reflection of the blue sky can be seen on the surface. Right in the center of this fountain there is a purple lotus growing.
This flower is waiting for the night sky.
This special flower will bloom under the moonlight, under the light of the full moon. The red moon, it’s an eclipse. There is a voice moaning, a high pitched sound. The voice says…
“Help me.”
Mr. Pickles is floating in the darkness.
“Where am I? Is this paradise or what?”
Deep in my thoughts I wonder, how did it all come to this. I used to be a happy little boy who played videogames in the basement of my house. The good old classics, on my console. I could play endlessly online, until I fell asleep or pizza ran out. Or until finally I got bored of it and decided to do some homework.
Good old times, happy times.
What happened to that little boy? I’ve become a big man playing with explosives, perhaps this is like a videogame but in real-life.
Now it’s all so different, Natasha my love. This is all my fault, I’m a criminal and this is my fate. Perhaps, this is what I deserve. We all reap what we sow.
You can’t escape fate, nor karma. Everything eventually catches up with you.
“Curse you cruel life!” I shout as loud as I can. My voice echoes in the darkness, there is only a pitch-black void. I’m floating in space.
Space monkey to earth. “This is Mr. Pickles, over.”
No reply.
…
Life is but a dream, and I’m just waking up.
I stop floating, there is a bright purple light on my face. My head hurts, I feel like I’ve been hit with a sledge hammer. This feels exactly like a hangover, the problem is that I haven’t had any drinks lately. Or have I? Perhaps I’m just too drunk to remember. My legs, I don’t feel my legs, what’s happening?
“Well, hello there. You’ve finally woken up.” A strange man with some fancy looking black shades says. “I was afraid we might have lost you there, fortunately for us you’re still alive. I congratulate you Mr. M.M.” He smiles
“We had to quickly pull you out, you were stuck deep inside your consciousness.” He checks my left eye as he pulls my eyelids. “We were forced to initiate the Dream Eater Protocol, which might have caused some permanent psychological damage. I sincerely apologize for this, but I’m afraid we had no other choice.”
I must be in shock, I don’t know what’s happening. All I see is this crazy man in front of me telling me nonsense. Perhaps I died and this is hell indeed. All I know is my head is killing me, I need a doctor or a very hot nurse with big bubs to take care of me. Smile, smile.
“Who are you, why are you telling me this?” I say while staring at him with a very nasty look.
He smiles again.
“My name is Construct Karl, we have already meet.” He says. “I suppose there’s no need for further introductions, all you have to know is that you’re in good hands.” He smiles again with his big old white teeth.
He thinks I’m stupid or too drugged to notice that I’m strapped to a medical chair. I’m in limbo and I don’t know the way out. What is this place? Damn it all!
Construct Karl forcefully puts his hand on my forehead.
“Now stand still, this might hurt a little bit.” He says while pointing a syringe with a very thin needle straight in to my eye. “This is for your own good, do not resist.”
I shout and scream in pain as the needle slowly goes through my eye straight into my optic nerve. A strange green liquid solution is being injected.
“This is called, Orpheus Juice.” He laughs. “Actually, I helped to develop this in one of our facilities. It puts you into a very solid chemically induced comma without any nasty side effects. See I told you that you were in good hands Mr. M.M.” He tells me all of this while joyfully smiling, like if none of this is happening and we are actually best buddies.
This relentless maniac.
I struggle and violently shake on the medical chair, but it’s all futile. There is no escape from this, my vision is slowly becoming blurry. I’m floating in space again, my body is limp and numb like a cloth puppet.
Space monkey is back, where’s my helmet?
Natasha my love, are you still alive? Perhaps in another life we shall meet again.
Remembrance is the key, for all of us…
I’m eternally free. From all.