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off-color-darkrai · 4 years

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So I wrote a Urban Fantasy/Self-Help fiction Novel- Chapter 4

Ima is having the worst time, Kriss isn’t doing much better, and it all just goes down from here...

The holiday has been... rough, which is why there’s such a time gap here, sorry

I don’t know how many people, if any, are reading this, or even like it

Please leave feedback

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Summary:

A story about inner strength, mental health, and finding the reasons behind even the worst circumstances. Kriss only wanted to stop the rumors, the lies that followed him into high school; he didn’t expect and innocent action to leave him twisting, falling, changing. Ima just wanted to do her duty, to live up to her family’s legacy, to keep everyone safe; she should have expected it all to slip through her fingers, to fail, for it all to go so horrifically wrong. Their worlds are shattered under the weight of something ancient, something dark, something inhuman, and neither of them know how to pick up the pieces. All they can ask is “why”? There has to be a reason; for the pain, for the suffering, for every broken shard of thought and memory, there has to be. But reasons aren’t always easy to accept, and even then the hurt doesn’t always fade away. It is a long path to fixing your mistakes, and a longer one toward acceptance, but they find that they don’t have to take it alone. Sometimes a curse can be a gift. Sometimes tears can be a blessing. Sometimes to win the day, to fix everything, salvation can be found in the strangest places.

Chapter IV:

The Brown was the most popular bar and grill in the entire downtown area. Good food, a great atmosphere, easily attainable prices, and a healthy night-life helped it stand out far from the competition, not that there was much of that. Open most days from 12:00 PM to 2:00 in the morning, 3:00 on the weekends and Fridays, it was rather popular with both locals and college students from a few cities over. It was always packed, with a line of people waiting to get in out front, and a delirious line of happy drunks loitering against the walls out in the back. The owner insisted that everything about his business always be in top working order, and even if it wasn’t, the doors would always be open at 12:00 on the dot. Right now it was after four, nearing the end of The Brown’s happy hour. As was custom, this was the time that the crowds outside the building were at their largest, and most restless, each person vying for a better spot in line as the other near-by businesses catered to the growing throng, drawing a profit off The Brown’s success.

Today, however, the entire block was silent. Businesses windows were dark, and The Brown’s doors were strangely closed, its crowds conspicuously absent. The news said there’d been a large, ruptured gas-main, flooding the area with gas that, while non-fatal, could cause some respiratory problems. People were to avoid the area, and the whole block, as well as the two next-door, had been shut down so a crew could come in and fix the pipe, as well as allow time for the gas to dissipate. The place seemed like a ghost town, the whistling of the breeze through the buildings the only sound that broke the silence. The absence of people on a street built with crowds of them in mind lent to the illusion, the vast empty space eerie without the hum of life.

Even the cars that usually parked along the street were gone, all except for a single, white workers van. It was parked as close to the curb as possible without being on the sidewalk, blocking the entrance to a service alley. The van had no logo on its side, and the front windows were tinted heavily, making it impossible to see into the cabin. Its back windows were tinted as well, the back doors closed tight. It looked abandoned, out of place almost.

On the other side of the vehicle, leaning against the nearest wall were a couple of men in pale blue-grey workers’ uniforms. They loitered side by side, one with his arms crossed, the other with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, their patched clothing not displaying any logos or symbols, much like the van. Neither of them seemed to want to show their eyes, the man on the left was wearing a pair of dark shades, and the man on the right had a faded ball-cap perched on his head, the brim pulled about as low as it could possibly go and still provide visibility. They were obviously the ones who were sent to repair the ruptured gas-main, but they didn’t seem inclined to do any work. They lacked any of the necessary tools, either on their belts or placed at their feet, and they weren’t making any moves to open the back of the van. They just stood there, looking about slowly, as if waiting for someone to appear. No one did, and the silence continued to stretch on, while both men stood there, unbothered, quietly scanning the area as they leaned against the brick wall behind them.

Suddenly, something changed. One of the men stiffened and put his hand to his ear, tapping the almost hidden device, as his friend’s hidden gaze turned to him. After a stretch of silence that was decidedly tenser than the one before, the first man gave a firm nod in answer to whatever message he was receiving.

“Yes, area’s all clear, we will be with you shortly sir.”

Whoever was on the other end of the line appeared to confirm as the connection was cut and the man lowered his hand. He looked at his companion, their eyes meeting briefly. Then both nodded and pushed off the wall, giving one last look around before ducking into the large alleyway on their left. The alley was wide, meant to allow delivery trucks and worker vans access to the closed-off area behind a near-by bookstore and a modest flower shop. The men walked down it quickly, keeping as close to the walls as possible, not at all bothered by the pair of dumpsters and the occasional pile of trash bags waiting for pickup. They simply stepped around them, avoiding the open center of the alley until they had reached a turn that obscured their view of the outer street. Now they entered a much shorter length of the alley, one leading to a sizable open area, shielded on all sides by towering buildings. What windows they could see were dark, just like the ones outside, and the one security camera that looked over the area hung down, turned off for the time being. A white van, the twin of the one parked at the alley entrance, came into view, its engine idling quietly, its doors flung wide open. The men had to pass it as they entered the open space, neither of them even bothering to look into the empty cabin, or at the young man sitting half in, half out of the back, who took the time to glance up at them from the computer in his lap. He continued to watch them as they moved away, heading for the middle of the area, where a man in dark clothes was standing with his back to them.

“Sir.” They both said as they reached the man, dipping their heads as a small show of respect.

The man turned to them, acknowledging them with a nod of his own.

“The street was clear when you left?” The man asked.

“Yes sir.” The first man answered. “All clear, not a soul in sight. They’re staying away just like the news told them. Should be back in a few hours at the least, tomorrow at the most, depending on when we send them the ‘all clear’.”

“Good.” The man in black responded, gesturing over at the young man in the back of the van. “We can have Jim continue watching through the street cameras, just to be safe, but otherwise I believe we are free to complete our job here.”

The two men in workers' clothes smirked with barely concealed triumph as they followed the man in black’s gaze toward the far end of the enclosed space.

The fifth and final member of their group stood there, dressed in black just like his leader, his shaggy face split in a grin much like his compatriots as he leaned his large form over a much smaller, crumpled heap at his feet. One booted foot came out and roughly nudged at the pile, earning a stifled noise that could have been a whimper, could have been words. He listened, his grin only getting wider as he looked up at the others, shrugging his shoulders a bit. His leader gestured with one hand, urging him to continue where he left off. The man’s thick fingers reached down, snagging a portion of what looked like torn clothing before hauling the entire mess into the air, earning another noise, this time one that sounded suspiciously like a swear word.

The group’s leader allowed his own smile to surface as he approached, but unlike the others, this one was cold, serpentine. He reached his underling and the strange heap he held, stopping just close enough that he could hold his arm out and touch it. This he did, slim fingers brushing ever so slightly, causing a feeble jerk of reaction, another whimper, but not much more. Victory, success, it was so close. His hands moved downward, and another, weaker, jerking reaction followed as he gently cupped his fingers and lifted.

Dulled green eyes, dark hair, a face, slightly obscured by blood, rendered unrecognizable by a myriad of cuts and rapidly forming black bruises. He knew there was more of the same, seen and unseen, decorating the rest of the thin body, all of it showing in the pained, weak movements that were steadily dwindling to a stop. Nothing was broken, yet, but the damage was still severe enough that he was vaguely surprised their captive was even still awake. All this over a lost little girl? He resisted a bitter laugh, after six long, tiring years this had been just way too easy. It was almost painfully so, and he had to wonder why it had taken so long in the first place.

Ah well, it was pointless to think about such things, especially since their mission had yet to be truly completed. Best to finish his task, and then ponder all that had led to it. With that in mind, he looked into those dull, pained eyes, the sharp shiver as their eyes locked not going unnoticed. He saw a shiver playing through the man holding her as well. Her natural defenses were still at work, but despite that, the grip on her didn’t loosen.

“None of that.” He muttered, tightening his own grip ever so slightly. “It will not work.” He looked deeply into her eyes, letting her see just how hopeless her situation was, willing her to stop trying to fight the inevitable. “You know how this ends, how it always ends, and you know what we want. We will get it, just so you know, whether you tell us or not. You are helping no one with your silence, not even yourself.”

The girl stared back at him, her eyes the only part of her face he could clearly see, and they were held in what he assumed was a glare. He false sighed—she was being uncooperative, but what else did he expect? She and her ilk always tried this. It never truly worked though; it just made things mildly more frustrating.

“Where are you hiding it?” He got to the point, no use in beating around the bush.

She didn’t answer as he pulled back a bit, glancing up at the man holding her.

“You checked her belongings?”

“Yes sir.” The man answered, gesturing at the green backpack laying a few feet away, contents were strewn along the ground, seams ripped open, revealing the insides. “We checked her current residence as well. Thoroughly. It wasn’t there. It has to be on her person, it’s the only place we haven’t checked.”

The Leader looked back at the girl, not looking at her face this time, his eyes roving along her beaten form, searching for any suitable hiding places. There was no one for her to pass it to this time, so she had to have it with her. A small glinting caught his eyes, hidden, dimmed by shadow, but still visible, hanging down around her neck. His free hand reached for it, his eyes meeting the girl’s for the briefest instant, catching the fear that flashed in their depths.

Bingo.

Looking away he snagged the long, thin, almost imperceptible chain that had caught his attention. He gripped it firmly, drawing it up until he could see the slightly heavy golden locket dangling from its end. He released the girl’s chin, allowing the trinket to rest in his now free palm.

He felt it as soon as it settled, the subtle humming of power vibrating through the locket’s thin enclosure. The object of their search, so long in eluding them, contained behind such a feeble barrier. Now he did laugh, a short, solid bark of laughter, before holding his free hand out behind him and snapping his fingers.

“The box.” He ordered, hearing a short scrabbling of movement before someone pressed it into his hands. He didn’t thank them as he brought it around, dropping the locket just long enough to unlock the small dull silver box he now held in his hands, and to pull on a set of gloves. Wouldn’t want to touch the thing by mistake, the results could be more than disastrous. With the gloves in place and the open box held in one hand, he scooped up the locket again, the harsh flinch accompanying his movements going unnoticed as he turned the trinket over, looking for the way to open it. After a few seconds of study, he turned it back to face him, his thumb running over the teardrop-shaped gem in the center before pressing down. There was a click as the lock released and the locket came open, letting its contents drop into the leader’s gloved palm.

The hum of power was so much stronger now; he could feel it as he peered at the object of their search. So much power, so much danger, from such a tiny thing, it was unbelievable. As carefully as possible he lifted it to the open box, slipping it inside before hurriedly shutting the lid, the box’s own heavy-duty locks clicking into place.

At that moment his smile became victorious. He held the box up, showing it to the others as he pulled off his gloves. They grinned with him, the one with the sunglasses actually started to chuckle as the Leader strolled over to the van and handed the box to Jim.

“Verify that.” He told him, earning a quick nod, as he turned back to the others.

“Mission success gentlemen.” He told them.

There was a small ‘Whoop!’ and a brief smattering of applause from those around him.

“The Boss’ll be real happy with that, Sir.” The man with the ball-cap said. “You’ll get a promotion for this, and definitely a raise in pay.”

“Yeah.” The man with the sun-glasses agreed. “You’re moving up Sir. Just hope you remember us a little when you reach the top.”

“You’ll have your reward gentlemen.” The Leader told them. “Just as our employer rewards our loyalty to him, so will I reward yours to me.”

Their smiles grew impossibly wider at this, and he took a second to watch before he turned to the man still holding the severely damaged girl. She was slumped over even as she was being held in the air; her injuries must have finally caught up with her. She was practically useless to them now, she’d given them all they needed, plus the little added bonus of that book they’d found among her belongings, she had no further purpose. She was disposable.

Then again, the Leader thought, there might still be a few secrets tucked away in that young mind of hers, something useful to them, to their employer. He was never one to waste an opportunity, even one that may be possibly nonexistent. It wouldn’t hurt to keep her alive, bring her back to base and glean whatever useful information she had from her brain, and once it was determined that she was of no use whatsoever, then they could dispose of her.

It was a good plan, he decided and left them a lot less ‘aftermath’ to hide. Not to mention the advantages of displaying such initiative could have on his own career. The Leader began to instruct the man holding the girl in what to do, to secure her for transport in some way, when he was suddenly interrupted by a shout from the van.

“Sir, there’s something wrong!” Jim called out, sounding panicked.

The Leader turned on his heel, any good mood he’d managed to get into evaporating, and marched over to where the startled young man looked like he was about to have a panic attack. Jim was relatively new to his team, considering his expertise was in the areas of digital tracking and other such things, he’d only been needed within the past year or so. He was definitely not as experienced as the others and tended to come running to his leader when that inexperience translated into stupid mistakes. A growl rose in the Leader’s throat in his throat as he wondered exactly how Jim could have screwed everything up now. All the rookie needed to do was run the box through the specialty equipment they’d brought, that was it, it was so impossibly simple!

“What?!” He barked, looking for the problem as Jim scrambled out of the van and over to him, holding out the box as he did so.

As soon as the Leader saw it his anger cooled instantly, shock making its way across his features as Jim rapidly passed the box to him, fortunately still sealed.

“I don’t know Sir! I was verifying the contents like you ordered me to when it suddenly started reacting!”

Jim looked terrified, to be honest, his whole body quivering with fear, and with good reason. Even he knew they all knew what it was they’d been sent to retrieve, and what it could do if you weren’t careful. They were told as long as it was contained it would be docile, and you were safe. Now though a flashing golden light shone from between the seams of the box, hot power practically vibrating the metal. The box, while small, was built to withstand much more than this, it wouldn’t break, it would hold, but the violent reaction of the object contained inside still set everyone on edge.

“Wh... what’s going on?” Jim shuddered, wisely keeping his distance from the clearly unstable object.

The Leader crushed down his own rising sense of dread as he examined the pulsing glow, thinking back over all he’d been told of this thing when he’d accepted this mission. This sort of occurrence had been explained to him, he remembered but had been declared extremely unlikely, and thus the information had settled deep in the deeper part of his subconscious. Now though he dragged those memories to the surface, flicking through them as the golden light continued to pulse, seeping from the seams.

“It’s calling…” He said, making sure everyone could hear him as he spoke. “It’s calling one of its children.”

He heard a shuddering gasp from Jim and the rigid stiffening of the others.

“Bu—but we have no records of… there hasn’t been anyone infected in at least the past hundred years!” Jim’s eyes were wide as he stared at the box in his leader’s hand.

“It must have happened recently then.” The Leader answered, still examining the box.

“We need to… We need to get out of here!” Jim gasped, turning to hurriedly shut the back of the van. The others saw this and made to do the same—they knew the stories, old as they were, and saw no need to add a modern one to the list.

“Stop!” The Leader ordered, his voice ringing with authority. “We’re not going anywhere!”

Everyone froze as he said this, their faces reading a strong mixture of obedience and shock.

“Sir, we don’t have our weapons. We were only prepared to handle the girl; we didn’t come equipped to handle something like this.” The man in the ball-cap said, his hands fidgeting slightly as if trying to wrap around the handle of his very absent gun.

“Guns are practically useless against things like this.” Their leader calmly informed them. “And besides, even if we left, this thing,” He held up the glowing box. “would still call to it. Its child would be able to follow its call right to us and give chase, no matter where we were, and I do not want to be the one to explain to our employer why his plans have been blown to smithereens by a video of that thing chasing us on the Six o’clock news.”

Everyone’s eyes seemed to fill with fear as this thought finally occurred to them. Whatever the object or the thing coming for it could do to them, it was nothing compared to what their employer would do to them if they screwed this up. Whatever was coming for them was better in every way imaginable.

“We don’t have guns, but I know none of you were stupid enough to leave your knives. There are five of us; if we can corner it here it will have nowhere to run. It is a newborn, so it will be weak. We were trained for this…”

All of the men nodded as their Leader outlined his plan, their confidence, though still rattled, returned, strengthening their resolve. The Leader ordered them to their positions, the two dressed as workmen slipping just out of sight while the man still holding the girl dropped her unconscious body and moved to his own position. Jim climbed back into the van, being the least experienced his sole job would be to help corner the incoming threat. He glanced at his leader as he situated himself.

“Sir, you should hide too.” He said, watching the Leader slip the still glowing box into one of his pockets.

“No, someone needs to lure this thing in.” He replied, checking the knife hidden up his sleeve. “And as you said, there hasn’t been one of these things for over a hundred years; I want to be the first to see it.”

Jim still looked terrified, but nodded anyway, pulling himself deeper within the van as the Leader turned his face toward the alley entrance. He could feel the pulsing hum of the object in his pocket as it called to its child in a voice none of them could hear. The rhythm increased, steadily rising until the pulses became one long heat filled thrum. Then, without warning, it stopped.

It was here.

o0o

Gasping, panting breaths filled the still air, interjected every couple of seconds by a low whimpering moan. It was dark and quiet, quiet, save the breathing. Crouched down in the shadow of some random building, eyes closed, hands clasped tight to the side of his head, Kriss tried to focus on steadying his breathing as his whole body quaked, attempting to flush out the excess adrenaline.

He’d run, he’d run hard and far until he wasn’t running anymore. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten here, wherever here was, he only knew that when rational thought had returned he didn’t recognize anything, and that the horrible scene from earlier was no longer in front of him.

Another low noise escaped his lips.

Despite no longer having the scene right in front of him, it was by no means gone. He could still see it behind his closed eyelids, in shockingly clear detail, and he remembered… he remembered everything.

What...what did he just do? What was that? How…how…?

How could he have done that?

He’d stopped shaking so badly, and, while his heart was still pounding, he’d finally managed to even out his breathing. Slowly his death grip on the sides of his head loosened, his arms dropping to instead wrap around his knees, but he still didn’t open his eyes. His body had calmed, but his mind was still working furiously, thoughts and memories meshing, burning, fighting for space. Everything, he was seeing it, was living it all over again, every excruciating detail, like some horrible dream. He was torn between wanting to stop the endless loop that was playing over and over again behind his eyelids and wanting to hide from reality a little longer, to avoid seeing the proof that all this wasn’t some nightmare hallucination.

‘But’, one clear thought whispered, making its way through the jumbled mess, ‘but he couldn’t hide forever’. Someone would eventually see him and start asking questions, questions he didn’t know the answer to. He...he needed to know what happened, and he couldn’t find that sitting here in the dark.

Kriss opened his eyes slowly, almost unwillingly, casting his gaze upward as he did so. Despite wanting to know, he didn’t want to see, not yet, not without preparing himself. His thoughts still churned wildly, drawing him back even with his eyes wide open. He remembered everything, every movement, every instant. He could feel the ghosts of sensation as his mind forced him to relive the whole incident, moment for moment, his eyes blindly staring at thin air.

He remembered the feel of G yanking his head back, the anger and rising irritation at the man-handling and taunts, the fierce pain of his hurt fingers, and the only slightly less painful kicks to his head and his chest. In the real world, he twitched, reacting to nothing. He remembered G crushing his hand a third time, the sheer agony once again burning through his body, and how he’d dissolved into that agony.

That was when the pain had stopped, or at least dulled considerably, swept away in a flood of energy along with most of his thought processes. It wasn’t that he’d stopped thinking, perse, more like all unnecessary higher-level thoughts had shut down, greatly clearing his frazzled, still slightly scattered mind and allowing him a certain amount of focus.

He’d pulled himself up; the ground was too dangerous a place for him at that moment. His death grip on G’s wrist had been a simple reaction, needing the leverage and not wanting to risk more pain. It wasn’t meant to cause harm; he just needed to ensure he had enough time to reorient himself, to pull himself back together. He knew, looking back, that once he’d gotten himself together, that he would have left then, he should have left then, but he’d been so rattled, so confused, and the others had looked at him so strangely. Because of that, he’d forgotten the urge to leave; he’d forgotten almost everything happening around him. That strange emotion, he knew what it was now. Fear, he’d seen fear, and it confused him. His entire life Kriss had never seen anyone look at him fearfully. Sure he’d seen it before, Mark always displayed enough of that, and he’d seen it directed at others, but no one had ever been afraid of him. Their faces flashed in his mind, and Kriss shuddered hard. He didn’t like it, it made him feel sick inside. Wrong, wrong, wrong, the fear had been all wrong. His stomach twisted and he let out a low groan of protest, but the memory still played on.

He felt it all again; the confusion, the blurry thoughts, and the phantom sensation of sickening warmth running down his palm, all of it building up to the point where he’d finally looked down.

He’d stalled. He shouldn’t have stalled. Up until that point, his head had been clearing, slowly, but steadily, and the shock had actually served to speed up the process. He’d frozen up a bit, his fight or flight response whirling, edging decidedly toward flight. But then, when he looked away there’d been the sudden impact to his already throbbing head, and everything had changed again.

There’d been danger still, he’d briefly forgotten, that there were others who wanted to hurt him. He was very tired of pain. Kriss hadn’t thought, he reacted, switching from flight to fight in less than a heartbeat.

Kriss was drowning in the memory, and even though the threat was gone his whole body began to react once more, his heart picking up the pace as his breathing sped up again.

Danger, danger, surrounded! So many of them, they’d wanted to hurt him, he’d wanted to escape. Danger, danger, away! He’d struck at his attackers, and they’d gone down, but there were so many. Threat! He didn’t want to hurt, just defend himself. They’d kept coming, less of them. He’d warned them off, but they didn’t understand the warning. Or they’d ignored it. They’d continued to attack, and he’d reacted, moved, fought until there’d been only one left.

He’d lifted him, his enemy, made sure he could see, could hear the warning he’d been ignoring, so he would know, next time he would know. He’d waited, waited for acknowledgment, and once he saw it in the other’s eyes he’d finally removed the threat. They would wake up and remember, but ‘til then the threat was gone.

He’d relaxed. Sort of. He was safe, so to speak. No more threat, so no more pain. He’d felt… good. Physically, anyway. Mentally could be left to interpretation. The pain was gone, though, and a calm feeling had settled where the restless energy had once been. Without the distraction, he was able to notice the feel of… something. It was all over him, making his skin itch faintly, a small irritation worming its way amongst the calm. His first instinct had been to try and get it off, but even though he swiped at it, it stayed on, getting more irritating the more he’d worked. It had been starting to get on his nerves, he’d just wanted whatever it was off, so he’d looked to see what it was, and…

Red…

NO!

Kriss pulled out of the memory immediately with a strangled yelp, the shaking from before returning full force. No, no, he did not want to see it again! What he’d done? What had he done!? It wasn’t… He wasn’t there, he tried to tell himself, he wasn’t there anymore! But it was still here, all over him. He didn’t want to look at it, he couldn’t look at it, but he really didn’t have to, he could feel it. His hands, his arms, his face, he could feel it there. What did he do? What did he do?! How!? He didn’t mean…

A low, almost growling, keening noise interrupted his thoughts, piercing through the guilt and the panic and drawing him back to the real world with a jolt. The guttural vocalization startled him, easily washing away the rest of his overcrowded thoughts. What...what was that? The choking feeling of drowning in his own emotions rapidly faded away as he allowed his attention elsewhere. He was still staring upward, eyes focused on nothing, his brow knit in confusion. He listened to hear the noise again. For some reason, it didn’t bother him the way it probably should have, but it might have just been that he’d exhausted all of those kinds of emotions during his panic attack. Right now all he felt was confusion and a small amount of curiosity. It had sounded so close, where had that…?

He paused, remembering… What he was remembering he wasn’t sure, but he remembered… something…

A warning. He remembered a warning, a warning no one seemed to heed. He remembered… A noise, a deep rumbling in his ears during and after the fight…

An inkling of realization dawned, and Kriss slowly lifted one of his hands. It was deceptively calm, not even a tremor in his fingers as they came up to brush his own throat. It had—it was from… him…? That...those noises, had come from… him? How… how could…?

Kriss cleared his throat a little, feeling unsure.

“Hello?”

He spoke to the air, a test, and heard his voice, his normal voice. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected, something else maybe? He didn’t know how he should feel about that; that he’d expected something different, or that he’d been mildly disappointed whatever he had expected hadn’t happened. Curious, confused, he tried to speak again, to find proof of…whatever, but he was having trouble coming up with anything to say. Half imagined words kept forming on his lips, the first sounds emerging calmly, steadily, only to waver before so much as a syllable formed. It really shouldn’t have been hard, he didn’t actually need to say anything, after all, he was technically talking to himself, but for some reason, he kept drawing a complete blank. It was quickly becoming frustrating. Without thinking, Kriss released a small frustrated sound reminiscent of the rumbling from earlier, the sound building in his chest and emerging easily from the back of his throat.

Blue eyes suddenly shot wide and his whole body went rigid as he realized what he’d done. What was that!? He’d felt it this time, he’d felt the low vibrations beneath his fingers, so even if he’d wanted to deny it he couldn’t. That noise had definitely come from him, but what on earth!?

For some reason, he wasn’t having a panic attack this time. Was he startled? Yes. Frightened? A little. Confused? Understatement. But panicked? No, he wasn’t panicked. He guessed that was a blessing, maybe. It unnerved him, his own calm about this, and the feeling only increased when another noise escaped him and he realized how startlingly natural it felt. His conscious mind warred against his subconscious, the latter one trying to tell him that everything was alright, that this was normal, but it wasn’t! He knew it wasn’t; people didn’t make those sorts of noises, at least not naturally. He’d been growling at G and the others during the fight, growling! Like an animal. And he’d done all those other things…

Oh, look, the panic was back, but this time it brought with it a sickening dread, one that only grew worse when he couldn’t stop the low whine that bubbled up from deep within him. Had he… had he meant to…? No, he gave his head a hard shake. No, he’d been trying to warn them off. He’d been warning them, but they’d still attacked, and then he’d been defending himself. He’d been angry, but he’d only wanted them out for the count, he’d never wanted…that.

It was too much. Anxiety, confusion, shock, terror, guilt, anger, fear, it was like Kriss’ mind couldn’t settle for which emotion to experience so it had decided to bounce between all of them at once. This needed to stop before he drove himself insane, it was all too much! He was growling again; he didn’t care, his eyes tightly shut as he grabbed the sides of his head again. The memories were trying to overwhelm him again. Too loud, too close, too much. Stop. Stop!

“STOP!” The last came out as more of a snarl than a word as he suddenly surged to his feet, the noise tearing from his throat to echo in the otherwise quiet surroundings as Kriss forced out every single ounce of his inner turmoil. It dissipated into the air around him along with the last of the echo, leaving him feeling drained and empty, standing there, arms hanging limply at his sides.

He just stood there, panting, his mind now forcibly clear. He focused on taking deep breaths, calming his racing heart. He needed… he needed to think this through. No matter how much he didn’t want to, he needed to go through this, before he sent himself into another panic spiral by accident.

Kriss sucked in another long breath and let it out slowly.

Okay, he needed to think this out. What was his problem? His problem wasn’t the fight, at least not the act of being in a fight; fights were something he was used to. No, that wasn’t his issue here. It wasn’t him fighting back either, or even his reactions during the confrontation really, though that could be a secondary issue. But no, it wasn’t all that, he knew that wasn’t what was sending him into these emotional attacks every time he saw a flash of memory or felt the irritating itch running along his arms. His problem wasn’t the fight, or that he’d been in the fight, no, it was what he had done to G and the others, even if it was unknowingly. The damage, that amount of damage, how could he do something like that? He hadn’t meant to hurt, but somehow… somehow… It was awful, he didn’t understand, was having trouble comprehending. He’d done that, how had he done that? He needed to know…

His arms itched, as did parts of his face where the proof of his crime was smeared. He was wary of looking at it, he didn’t want to start another panic attack, but he couldn’t hide from this if he wanted any semblance of peace-of-mind. He would just need to face it, no matter how sick it made him feel on the inside. Kriss drew in a breath and let it out, steeling himself. He could do this, seeing wouldn’t make anything worse, and it couldn’t change what had already occurred. He would be fine, well maybe not fine, but he could still do this. He clenched and unclenched his fists, finalizing his resolve, before lifting them up as his gaze dropped down.

The sight of crimson almost sent him over the edge again, but he fought it back down, forcing himself to focus on what he was looking at. He didn’t fight down the rising feeling of sickness wringing his innards, however, a part of him actually relieved that all of him knew how wrong this was, even if it had been an ‘accident’. The crimson color wasn’t as vibrant as it had been before, and that thought made his stomach churn even harder. He forced himself to stay calm as he rotated his arms and wrists, looking them all over. There was a lot, though that could have been due to the smearing caused by his ‘cleaning’. How did this even happen? All of them had only been using their hands to strike at each other, nothing that should have allowed for this. Even if noses had been broken, which he was pretty sure there weren’t any; there wouldn’t have been this much. So how did this happen?

Kriss continued to examine his red-stained hands with a sort of morbid curiosity, and as he did so he had a brief flash of memory. Sick warmth running, small, pained, gasping noises, looking down at red pooling. It all passed in an instant, leaving him reeling a bit. He remembered, when he’d held G’s wrist, he’d drawn blood. He hadn’t meant to, he’d simply grabbed it, not even all that hard, so how had he managed to do that? He turned his hands over, palms up, letting his fingers curl gently as he tried to see what could have done all that. Something seemed off, not quite right, aside from the blood. He looked closer, closer than he was really comfortable with, and after a few beats he realized what it was.

Shock, horror, fear!

He pulled his hands back away from his face in surprise. Not what he expected, not what he expected at all! He didn’t want to freak out, not again, but this made it so hard to stamp the rising emotion down. Calm down. Calm down! Look at it, don’t panic, look! Kriss took a few deep breaths, calling on his confusion and bizarrely present curiosity to help crush out the rising emotions. Answers… Focus on getting your questions answered, just that, yeah.

He raised one hand, the previously injured one he realized, and stared at it. Before, he hadn’t noticed what had changed, because the solid red coating his hands had taken most of his attention, masking it. Now though, now that he knew what was there it was hard to miss, drawing his eyes along the length of his hand, stopping at the end.

Long and sharp, hard, emerging from the ends of his fingers, he didn’t realize what he was looking at, at first, simply because they were so out of place. Impossible, improbable, people, unnatural, normal people didn’t have…impossible.

Of course, normal people don’t growl like an animal either, he reminded himself, but that being the case, then why was it so impossible that he had …?

Had …

Horror, confusion...

Claws. Might as well say what they were, they were claws.

For some reason, acknowledging them like that didn’t make him want to freak out. Well, he did, but he’d felt a cold numbness setting in in its place. He looked over at his other hand; the claws were there as well. The blood, the growling, now these, it was all a little too much. Every answer he seemed to get just dragged up several more questions. He just… he couldn’t take all this at once; stuff like this doesn’t—shouldn’t—happen in real life. It made his head hurt, trying to figure this all out. He needed to know, needed to figure out what on earth was happening, and why.

Why?

His head throbbed, like before, when everything had still made some sort of sense. It forced him to grab the sides of his skull, some noise of protest leaving his throat as he tried to ease the piercing ache. This felt like before, first the headache, then the numbness, and then everything had gone insane. He wanted this to stop, he did not want to even think about what might happen if this continued.

A chill wound its way up his spine, and he could feel a slight buzzing in the back of his head. What was that? He looked up; he could almost hear it vibrating in the air around him. Where was it coming from? It made him feel…dazed a bit. Where was it coming from? Where? He faced the opening of the alleyway he’d secreted himself in; it seemed like it was coming from there. He took a step, unsure if he should be following this strange noise. It would only lead to trouble, he reasoned, and he shouldn’t go looking for more of that today, or ever. Despite this, he took another step forward. He shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, but the buzzing was becoming louder, and his still present headache was making things difficult for him. Don’t, don’t, don’t… don’t… maybe… Maybe if he found whatever was causing the buzzing then maybe he could get it to shut up and quit aggravating his headache.

Something was…

Was...

He made his decision the same time he reached the entrance of the alley. The buzzing was louder here, and it was coming from off to the right. Kriss stepped out to follow it, any possible attempt at caution completely escaping his mind. Just… follow, find what… what is…? Only after he was several yards from his original hiding place did it finally occur to him that he hadn’t heard a single sound besides his own steps, and he was walking down the sidewalk covered in…well… He glanced around, an uneasy feeling building in his gut when he discovered he was the only living thing on the street. Everything else was dark and quiet, which would explain how he’d gotten here without causing any alarm the first time. This was not right, wrong, wrong, something was wrong… He kept moving, but now he did so with much more wariness, keeping his movements as quiet as possible.

The buzzing kept getting louder until it brought him to the mouth of another alley with a large white van blocking the entrance, the only vehicle on the street. If Kriss wasn’t on edge before, then he assuredly was now, moving closer to the buildings beside him as he peered down the alley. Keep going, keep going… He didn’t see anything, but the buzzing was definitely originating from deeper in. Cautiously he moved into the slightly darkened space, giving the van behind him a quick look. Forward, keep going forward... He couldn’t turn back, even if he wanted to, the call was too strong now. That didn’t mean he would just go running in there, however. Wrong, wrong, something was wrong here... Instead he pressed himself as close to the walls as he could, moving with a purpose, every step silent. He could see a bend up ahead in the alley, the buzzing becoming deafening the closer he moved, but it didn’t stop him from hearing the barest sounds of voices coming from the direction he was heading. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. He could sense the danger radiating from those voices, but he kept going.

Something was… was there...

He reached the bend, the buzzing rising to an unbearable pitch, before suddenly cutting off. It left an almost ringing silence behind it, and the sharp chill Kriss had felt earlier returned. The voices had stopped too, and he really had to wonder what he was getting himself into. Slowly, he peeked around the bend, spotting the back end of another van, but no people. There was a serious feeling of foreboding in the air—wrong, wrong, not right—making the hairs on Kriss’ body stand on end. He moved into the shorter section of the alleyway, focusing on his expanding view of the open area at the other end. He still didn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anyone there, they could just be hidden from his range of sight. He knew he’d heard voices, not just one, plus there were two vans, someone had to drive them there. Whoever they were, they knew he was coming. How he knew this, he didn’t know, but he was sure of it.

Waiting, waiting, waiting for him, to hurt...

The end of the alley came up fast, and Kriss was forced to shield his eyes a bit at the sudden glare of sunlight, halting just within the alley mouth. He was so distracted for a second that he almost missed the sound of someone shifting. But he didn’t, and when his eyes finally adjusted he was able to see a man standing in the center of the open place, staring straight at him. His first reaction was to freeze in place, all of his muscles tensing under the man’s gaze. Their eyes locked, blue on brown, and they entered a sort of strange staring contest. The man didn’t say anything, but he didn’t break the stare either, somehow managing to slowly examine Kriss without breaking eye contact. Don’t look away, don’t look away. Kriss tried not to move, to focus on what the other was doing, but then a small breeze that had somehow made its way into the enclosed space blew past him, wafting a strange sickly scent by his nose.

All of his attention turned to it against his will, it was familiar, nauseatingly familiar. He actually broke the bizarre staring contest to try and find where it was coming from, his whole head turning away as he followed it back to its source.

There, lying against the far wall, a small heap of torn fabric, scarily still, aside from letting out small, ragged breaths that he could somehow hear, even from where he stood. And all around the form, in the air of the space, the sick smell of blood.

It was on the man too, Kriss realized as he slowly turned back to face him, it was on his hands.

Sick, sick, sick!

Blue met brown again, and Kriss felt his world haze over.

o0o0o

First chapter is Here:

Second Chapter is Here:

Third chapter is Here:

Link to buy full Novel is Here:

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cosmic-drifter · 6 years

Text

Harbingers

Tammy hated trains. They were always too bumpy, getting tickets was always so stressful, and if one more person reminded her to “mind the gap” she felt like she might lose it. So suffice to say, yes, Tammy hated trains, and equally hated train stations, such as the one she found herself in now. She pulled her long coat closer around herself as a December breeze whipped around her ankles, pulling her scarf to one side, and gaving her hair that genuine frazzled look (maybe she was born with it?), whilst she entirely regretted the decision to wear a skirt instead of jeans.

She was the sole person on platform six that morning and, apart from a disgruntled starbucks worker and an incredibly sleepy cleaner, she felt like the only person in the station as a whole. She glanced at the glowing amber board and saw her train listed, due in less than a minute, and triple checked for her ticket. Not in that pocket, nor that one, nope, that was her phone, a used bus ticket, purse, no, wait, yes, there it is. That was the issue with winter. Too many layers means too many pockets, and soon enough the entire sorting system for things being in one of two pockets is thrown in the air. Anarchy reigns supreme. But she had found it, so all was well.

After one trip to the bin to dispose of unnecessary pocket debris, and a few foot taps, Tammy heard the train approaching the station and moments later, heralded by a gust of wind, stood the London St. Pancras-bound train. With a hiss the doors opened and, minding the gap, she decided to go into the car on her left, stepping through the sliding doors that apparently seemed to be stuck in the “open” position. As she sat down in the nearest seat available (which, due to the whole train seemingly being deserted, was not very hard to find), the train started up again, and began gliding down the rails. She spent the first ten minutes or so of the journey idly looking at her phone, reading the multitude of adverts plastered on the train’s wall, and flitting through leaflets she found on seats. Of course, she eventually found this tedious and resorted to staring out of the slightly fogged window, which dampened her coat sleeve as she wiped away a small area to peer through. The sights weren’t very interesting outside the train either, just blurs of green, blue, and the occasional black as they entered a tunnel, although she did notice that they were speeding through quite a lot of stations that she could have sworn they were meant to be collecting people at. Before she could ponder this thought through, a low rumble started further up the train and seemed to creep its way towards her seat, getting louder and louder. As it got nearer, Tammy’s tensions heightened, and she focused on in on the cacophony. There was an assortment of noises: bumps, jingling, rustling, and what she thought to be someone shouting. Then suddenly, bursting through the open doors came a tall man dressed in a crisp, black two piece suit riding what Tammy recognised to be the snack cart, and who looked to be having, quite honestly, the time of his life. His childlike glee came to an abrupt end though as he noticed Tammy, and the two sustained a surprised eye contact as he came to a slow stop in the middle of the room, and then sheepishly dismounted his steed.

“Uh, heya. Didn’t think anyone else was, uh, meant to be on this train.” The man had a strong New York accent, and Tammy could hear the apprehension in his voice.

“Well,” she said, “Here I am.” They looked at each other a little more until the man spoke again.

“Okay, right, I need to quickly go and talk to some people further up. We, uh, really were quite sure no one else was on here.”

“What do you mean? Why were you on the snack cart? Am I on the wrong train?” Tammy was, quite understandably, confused by this point. Some answers would be appreciated.

“Oh god, no, don’t worry. I mean, kind of. I don’t know, I’m - I’m not too sure. Wait, listen, I’ll just be a second.” He darted off back up the train looking quite flustered, and when he was roughly two cars ahead Tammy heard him shouting up to some other unseen people. After a little delay, the black-suited man came back with two more equally dapper-looking gentlemen; one a younger man, no more than twenty, dressed in a pristine white suit; the other an older gentlemen with short greying hair, a solid jawline, and adorned in a rich red suit. The red-suited man offered his hand to Tammy who shook it, his grasp very firm, and introduced himself.

“Why hello there ma’am, the name’s Red, and these are my colleagues White n’ Black. Don't take much thinkin’ to figure out which is which,” He chuckled softly to himself. “And, as I’m sure Black tried to explain, we are on quite the important business trip, which after a small bit of dilly dallying on our part led to us ‘acquiring’ this here locomotive. You ain't in trouble or nothin’, we were just wondering what brought you to this train today, and how’d you get on.” As Red was talking in his smooth southern drawl, Black had slowly wheeled the snack cart over towards the four of them and was slowly unwrapping a Mars bar. “I have some work for the weekend in London, that's all,” she explained, “I got on at Leicester, I’d been staying with a friend. Sorry, I’m still confused - did you like, hijack this train? And again, why was he riding the snack cart?” Red side-eyed Black, who happened to conveniently be looking the other way, and then the the man in the white suit spoke up.

“We - how can I put this - we have a very important job that we need to take care of, and our usual mode of transport was, let's say, unavailable. Ineffective? Either way, we needed a way to get from point A to point B quite quickly, and this train seemed to be a decent alternative - with a few modifications that is. And as it had no passengers when we found it, it wasn't like anyone would be inconvenienced - not that that will matter in a few hours anyway - but I’ll be frank with you, we… we aren’t going to London.” White’s accent was, as opposed to those of his companions, very British. It was the British accent that you get from living with the queen and eating nothing but scones, and it felt like every word he spoke was carefully crafted and chosen. “Actually, reflecting on the situation, we did have a pit stop in Leicester to - hmmm… To ‘drop off’ the driver… I suppose she could have got on then.” Red nodded slowly, and then muttered something about telling the boss as he walked back up the length of the train, leaving Tammy alone with Black and White.

“So. Can I offer you a snack? We got all sorts of things. We got -” Black slowly bent down and rummaged through the jumble of food in the bottom of the cart, then surfaced with a huge handful of packaged goods. “We got Mars bars, chips, couple cans of Coke, and - ooh cheeky - some very small bottles of alcohol.” He waved an undersized prosecco bottle enticingly.

“I’m okay, thanks. So, do I get to know what you guys do, or should I be calling the police right now? Weirdly enough, I’ve never been in this situation before.” The two men exchanged glances and conferred between themselves. “C’mon! We may as well. It’s not like it’ll matter by the end of the day. And I bet she’s dying of curiosity.” said Black.

“We have direct orders not to let people know our identities or goals.” responded White, slowly shaking his head, “What if she somehow messes up the plan Black? We’re late as it is.”

“No I don't care, I’m bored.” He turned back to Tammy, “how familiar are you with the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?” She looked at him quizzically.

“Oh wow, real smooth, my guy,” said White.

“Well, I guess I know a little. There's Death, War, Famine, and Pestilence, and I know tha-”

“Conquest,” butted in White, a slight edge on his voice, “The fourth horseman is Conquest. Not Pestilence.” Tammy gave him an odd look, and then continued,

“Okay, yeah, whatever, Conquest, and I- oh wait, no, I get it. There's four of you guys, assuming there’s one of you driving, and each one represents a horseman.” She looked at them and sighed, “Like in Now You See Me. Which was really bad. Not to like, offend you.” White clapped his hands together,

“Well great. Now she knows!” he said. “Well, sort of.”

“Yeah, I agree,”chimed in Black “Jesse Eisenberg was unappreciated in his time and- ”

“No, I mean she’s sort of right about the horsemen thing, she hit the nail on the head about the film. It’s awful. But as I said, only partially right about the… Okay, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but we are - and this may be hard to get your head around - we are actually the horsemen. Well I guess trainmen now. And quite frankly, we’re running a little late to the apocalypse.” Tammy laughed at White, then saw his deadpan expression.

“Wait, really? Like the actual forebearers of the end times? And you’re on the National Rail?” A grin started to spread across her face as she realised how stupid this whole thing was, and White’s cheeks reddened.

“Listen, do you know how socially acceptable it is to just ride a horse through the middle of Northampton? Not at all. And, no matter how cool they look, a train is just so much faster and more efficient for us to-”

“And the chafing,” Black interrupted, “can’t forget the chafing.”

“And the chafing! So actually madam, you have no right to judge us.” He crossed his arms in a huff. “You’re going to be dead in about four hours anyway, so ha.” Tammy was slightly taken aback by this, and went a little quiet, then after a few moments turned to White.

“So is this... the end? God. There’s so much stuff I need to do. And I spent so much time doing things I don’t even care about, like, like yoga, or eating healthy.” She wasn’t sad, more just disappointed. Black looked at Tammy, who was now staring at her feet, then pulled out a Twix from the cart and threw it to her.

“Heads up!” She caught it mid air, and if it wasn’t for the whole armageddon thing she probably would have mentioned how cool it was. “Well,” said Black, “we got a couple hours until we’re there. Why don’t you tell us about yourself. Who knows, maybe we’ll be able to make things easier for you on the other side,” He tapped the side of his nose and winked. “We got contacts you know.”

#I hate how tumblr removes italics when copy/pasting #how else am I to express my sass #comedy #writing #horsemen #apocalypse #funny

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peakwealth · 5 years

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From Kampala: THE BLIND SPOT

Don’t worry, be happy, or is someone to blame for the runaway population in sub-Saharan Africa?

Crowded minibus station in Mbarara, Uganda. (February 2019)

Squeezed into the back seat of a beat up Toyota Corolla with six other passengers (including two small children), it is hard to avoid the issue of demography. Up front, three burly men take up the premium seats while the driver's head is sticking out the window. How he manages to shift gears, I cannot see or imagine. Thus we make it to the next town, two hours away, across the mountains.

At home, I am used to being more or less invisible. Being over sixty-five now, I am part of a rapidly growing demographic. No one pays any attention to me. It's a different story in Africa where the population over sixty-five is vanishingly small. I have curiosity value, all the more so in the back of a shaggy taxi from another century. Even people over fifty are relatively few. The median age in Uganda is just under sixteen years.

Sixteen.

By way of comparison, that figure is almost 27 in India and 37 in China (ageing quickly). Germany is near the top of the European range at 47.1 and Japan maxes out at 47.3. The average for all of Africa is a shade under 20.

What does this mean? It means the majority of Uganda's population is not made up of adults but of children and teenagers, something that is hard for westerners to get their heads around. It means that many girls become mothers at fifteen and grandmothers at thirty. I realized this talking to a young woman in Fort Portal. A five year old boy was wandering nearby. "Is that your son?", I asked. "No, that's Anthony, he's my grandson." I turned around and asked her how old she was: "Thirty-four", she said, giggling.

It means that one generation is piled on top of the previous one, without pause, weighing down society with cascading poverty and a structural lack of prospects. Frustration and inequality go up as ever more young people, connected to the internet as they are anywhere else, see their hopes and ambitions go unrealized.

It also means that pressure on resources and on the land is increasing at an alarming rate. I have no idea what Uganda's ecological carrying capacity might be, but it is an important consideration because most of the population continues to rely on subsistence farming, meaning they need their own plots to grow food. In only ten years’ time the population density has increased from 140 to 230 people/ sq.km. (It stood at 34/sq.km in 1960.) These are not mere 'indicators'. Habitat encroachment is visible to the naked eye as the expansion of housing and subsistence farmland stretches further and further into the distance.

In the end it may not matter if Uganda runs out of resources since it lacks the economic base to support this expanding population to begin with. The economy generates neither sufficient growth nor enough formal, steady employment. Much of the growth is already gobbled up by debt servicing (1). For too many young people there is little real future.

Actual output per person has lagged behind the overall expansion of the economy. Per capita GDP now stands around a sobering USD 700 (in current dollars) or roughly USD 2000 at purchasing power parity (assuming such parity can be calculated in a largely informal economy). That is lower than in Zimbabwe. Kenya, the neighbour to the east, is way ahead with over USD 1500 (in current dollars). Rather than progressing towards becoming an emerging economy, Uganda looks more like a structurally stalling country, held back by demographic incontinence.

Back in 1960, before Uganda became independent from Britain, it had less than 7 million people. It was called the garden of Africa. Today it has 45 million and is projected to reach 106 million by 2050. In 1960 its fertility rate stood at around 7 children; in the nearly sixty years of development since then it has declined by only one child (from 6.95 to 5.82) giving Uganda the second highest rate of population growth in the world (2). This year alone Uganda will add 1,4 million new citizens and that number will rise to two million a year, even as the rate of population growth softens. In polite African company, this is still referred to as the "demographic dividend".

Staggering as the figures are, they are fully matched by what can be observed while travelling around the country. Destitution and idleness remain pervasive. Electrical power from the grid is rare in rural Uganda, as is piped water. Even where power lines exist, people don't have the money to pay for the hookup. Children carrying water in yellow jerrycans are still a defining image of this country (as they are in many African countries). It was a nightmare when I first travelled in East-Africa, decades ago. It continues today as new generations get trapped in poverty, rather than being 'lifted' out of it, and human capital goes to waste.

This does not mean all of Uganda is a mess or there is no progress. There is: literacy and life expectancy are rising (as is a measure of contraception through Marie Stopes centres, among others); basic infrastructure is improving. But at 4 to 6 %, the annual increase in economic output is not enough to catch up with the growing population. Millions of people are standing around, doing little or earning next to nothing as they work the land or do such (hard) labour as pushing bicycles uphill loaded with green bananas or bags of cement. Even the official poverty rate, determined by the Ugandan bureau of statistics and set absurdly low as it is (a daily personal income of a dollar or two), is now actually going up. As elsewhere in the world, growth tends not to be inclusive, meaning that wealth creation for the few (mostly in Kampala) precedes poverty alleviation for the many (in the countryside). Stunning inequality results.

It need not have been like this. The fertility rate in much of South-East Asia used to be almost on par with Africa's but has fallen steadily. By now it is only slightly above replacement level. Not so in Uganda. Ever since he seized power in 1986, Yoweri Museveni, now in his thirty-third year as Uganda's president, has shown little interest in limiting the country's population (3). African insouciance? Dereliction of duty? Sleepwalking towards disaster? Museveni is not alone in having this blind spot. Many domineering African leaders have a weakness for large populations. Some are more upfront about it than others. Last September, Tanzania's president John Magufuli urged women to abandon contraception. There was no need for it, he said.

Not only is fertility deeply rooted in African tradition, large families are a matter of prestige, a patriarchal fantasy. Women's education, rapid economic progress, urbanization and female empowerment, generally the keys to containing fertility, have not taken root or not nearly enough to drive home the message: fewer children equals a better life. (4)

Uganda is also overflowing with Christian propaganda, glorifying "the joy of the family". It has been targeted by evangelical fundamentalists from the USA who have poured money into the country to promote their biblical worldview. Eradicating homosexuality has arguably been more part of their agenda than population control.

The results are, by any rational standard, troubling.

Firewood and charcoal market on the shore of lake Victoria in Nakiwogo, Entebbe, Uganda. Both are used for cooking. An orange coloured tray in the foreground sells for 5000 Ugandan shillings (USD 1,36). A small tray costs 2000 shillings. (February 2019)

Rwanda, the tiny neighbour to the south, has a population pushing thirteen million. It prides itself on being the display window of orderly and effective governance in East Africa. And indeed, few if any African countries can match Rwanda for organization, seriousness and just cleanliness. Crawling through Kampala's suffocating traffic jams, the neatness of Kigali is hard to imagine.

Critically, Rwanda has rebounded from the genocide of 1994. Despite being a caricature of colonial, almost farcical Christianity (or maybe because of it?), the country appears to be stable under the no-nonsense presidency of Paul Kagamé. Clever development policies are in evidence. Order prevails. Drivers stop at pedestrian crossings and traffic police hand out fines with printed receipts. Such things are not exactly standard practice in Africa. Yet some of the problems facing Uganda in the future are already perceptible in Rwanda today. The minute you cross the border, you clearly see the much higher pressure on the land. The figures confirm this: Rwanda's population density (520 people /sq. km), is on par with South-Korea's and greater than that of Holland, two of the most densely inhabited (and industrialized) countries in the world. Industrialization is wafer thin in Rwanda, as it is in Uganda.

Progress and sound policies notwithstanding, Rwanda remains a desperately poor country, especially in rural areas. Uncontrolled deforestation, so long a telltale sign of demographic distress, continues as Rwandans (or refugees) cut whatever trees they can get their hands on for firewood or charcoal. As in Uganda, the underlying problem is that Rwanda's economy is not nearly robust enough to provide for all its people. Although the fertility rate has been halved since 1960, it is still a burden. And the gap between the modern, landscaped capital, Kigali, and the shockingly dusty countryside is such that a massive population shift to the big city will be hard to avoid.

In Asia and in Latin America, poverty alleviation converged with a rapid reduction in population growth. One is logically difficult to achieve without the other. This is what facilitated the elimination of extreme poverty in so much of China, in South Korea, Thailand, Malaysia, etc. Unfortunately this is not happening in Nigeria, Chad, Niger, the DRC, Uganda...

The problem is not merely one of firewood, or water supply or electricity. Sub-Saharan Africa seems stuck in the same rut as decades ago. Heavy trucks of the UN World Food Program rumble through the towns, the UNHCR, IOM, WHO, USAID shuttle from one refugee camp to the next; global aid agencies like Doctors Without Borders rush medical crews to new emergencies (where they do save countless lives). Both the African Union and the UN are engaged in peacekeeping missions that seem without end.

As slippery as this terrain may appear, the demographic backdrop to Africa's development ailments is hard to ignore. It is the elephant in the room. And the elephant is unlikely to go very far as long as a significant number of African states show little or no interest in containing their runaway populations.

At different levels, both Rwanda and Uganda prefigure the demographic reckoning that awaits Africa and, by ricochet, the world beyond. The pressures to escape poverty and to migrate will exacerbate other challenges already rising across much of Africa: the competition for resources, food security made unpredictable by climate change; regional armed conflicts; theocolonial interference and the ascendency of religious fanaticism including Islamist insurgencies. Those are a few of the issues that are set to rock Africa's boat and dramatically change the face of our planet as the century unfolds.

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Factual sources: tradingeconomics.com; indexmundi.com; CIA Factbook; Uganda Bureau of Statistics (www.ubos.org); World Bank; UNICEF; PricewaterhouseCoopers: Uganda Economic Outlook 2019 ( www.pwc.com/ug/en.html ); The Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, Goalkeepers Report 2018.

(1) https://www.reuters.com/article/us-uganda-economy-gdp/ugandas-economy-must-grow-7-percent-a-year-to-service-rising-debt-central-bank-idUSKCN1HD16S

(2) Niger has the youngest population in the world with a median age of 15.3 years.

(3) Museveni's perspective on Uganda's development can be found on the official presidential website: https://www.yowerikmuseveni.com/address-national-state-affairs

(4) In 2015 Uganda's new National Development Plan (NDP II) called for the reduction of fertility to 4.5 children per woman by 2020. Clearly this target is not being met.

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strapcats · 6 years

Text

Thicker than Water (Part 10)

↬ Genre: Gang au, angst, drama, eventual fluff

↬ Pairing: Jeongin x Chan

↬ Word Count: 2,482

↬ Description: Dépaysement- (n.) When someone is taken out of their own familiar world and pushed into a new one.

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Yang Jeongin is a young Busan runaway with a sharp tongue.

Bang Chan is the easily-offended leader of a crime syndicate.

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Part(s) One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten

“God you’re an idiot. It’s only been five months and you’ve already forgotten the shit that I’ve been drilling into your brain since middle school?” Woojin spoke clearly, roughly wrapping his leader’s shoulder in higher quality, cleaner gauze after he stitched up his gunshot wound better than he had on the bus. Chan rolled his eyes and winced a little as the medic’s hand brushed the injury again and again. He grimaced.

“Oh god and that poor boy! He saw you get shot and he honestly thought you were in bad enough shape that he needed to save you! I won’t complain about it, but now because of your recklessness, we’re going to have to help him move past the mild PTSS and he’ll be afraid to pick up a gun, and every time he sees you he’ll probably wince at the memory, you won’t have the same relationship ever again…” Woojin rambled on in concern for both parties involved as he bustled around gathering a glass of water and a couple different types of pills. He handed them to Chan and the leader took them in silence before sighing a little.

“What am I supposed to do about it, Woojin? He’s the idiot that jumped after me, I didn’t ask for that. In fact, I asked him specifically to stay out of sight but now Ring knows we have him and they also know he’s stupidly impulsive. I should’ve just left him here. No, actually, I should’ve left him in the snow.” The leader was fuming with frustration, spewing acidic words without thinking first. He started to get up from his seat on the bed but was stopped harshly when the back of his best friend’s hand collided with his cheek. He hissed in pain, as he had a couple scratches already and shifted his jaw before looking back up at the slightly older man. He was furious, and Chan had only seen him this way a couple of times before, so it shook him a little bit.

“You disgust me. Your emotions are so out of control and you don’t even see it. That boy is worth so much to you that you’re pushing him away because you don’t want him to get hurt. In doing that, you’re hurting him more than you realize, Chan. Get your act together, and start acting like the leader we all need, especially him.” The taller man spoke angrily, spitting his venomous words at his leader before moving away and opening the door to the medical room, then stepping aside and motioning for Chan to get out. The black haired man groaned as he stood up, the sling his arm was in swinging a little bit, then shooting daggers into Woojin as he walked out the door. He heard it slide closed behind him and sighed a little bit.

What does he know? He’s not the leader of Korea’s best crime syndicate. He doesn’t look out for 8 other men every single day. He just patches people up when things get rough. He doesn’t know anything about my feelings, especially towards Jeongin. I’m giving him tough love! It builds character… Chan’s thoughts were loud as he walked towards his bedroom. He mumbled a little bit but as he rounded the corner into the hallway, he heard light laughter coming from the first room. The door wasn’t closed, which was odd, considering the youngest member’s door often was. The leader peeked his head in, and what he saw made his heart simultaneously do somersaults and sink to the floor. It was an odd sensation.

Jeongin was giggling loudly, trying to cover his smiling face with his hands, acting a little shy about the size of his smile. He was sat cross-legged on the bed opposite Felix, whose eyes were sparkling with wonder at the younger boy in front of him. Felix’s eyes were a little crinkled up, as he was smiling just as wide as his younger counterpart more at him than at whatever joke had just been made. Chan’s body moved without thinking and he knocked lightly on the open door frame. Jeongin looked towards the sound, and his eyes went hazy when he saw Chan. The shorter boy slowly got off the bed and walked to Chan, his hazel green eyes looking him up in down in inspection, his eyes staying fixed on Chan no matter how he moved. Felix had turned around and now seemed a little stiff, his posture straightening itself and his smile dropping immediately. Chan moved his gaze away from Felix and back to Jeongin, who was now rather close to him, with tears in his eyes. He reached a shaking hand out and lightly touched his leaders injured shoulder, causing the taller man to flinch a little bit, but not away.

“Is it hurting?” The youngest member managed to whimper out one sentence in question of his leader, and in response, Chan nodded solemnly. Jeongin’s hand darted away from the injured shoulder as soon as he had his response, fear of hurting his elder. His hazel eyes dropped to the ground, studying the pair’s feet like they were the most interesting things in the world. Chan sighed a little and used his good arm to grab the younger boy and pull him into his own body, hugging him close and letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as Jeongin’s arms wrapped delicately around him as well. The smaller boy was shaking and he felt a few tears leak into his thin thermal shirt. The youngest clearly hadn’t ever dealt with loss firsthand. Felix slid past them and out of the room, casting his eyes down as he did and closing the door behind him.

“Fox, you didn’t really think I would be gone from a hit like that, did you? You should have a little more faith in me than that.” Chan chuckled out, making Jeongin laugh sadly. Woojin hadn’t informed him of the shock that he was in, probably for a reason. Jeongin pulled back a little and Chan ruffled his hair playfully, making Jeongin smile forlornly.

The younger boy looked to be in rough shape. His eyes were red from crying, and not just from the present situation. His black hair was messed up, but significantly more tangled and knotty than it would be if he had tousled it intentionally. He had on a pair of gray capri sweats and a tight v-neck tee with ¾ sleeves. Chan could see the outline of massive industrial-level bandages on his sides, though he was sure there were some on his legs as well. He also had a small cut on his cheek, very similar to the one the younger had given his leader previously. The cut looked deeper than just skin deep, and had two butterfly bandages across it to keep it closed. Chan felt sorry, he had caused the young boy’s pain. Woojin’s words started to ring in his ears, but he pushed away the thoughts, as well as pushing Jeongin away lightly and stepping back from the boy. Hurt flashed in his eyes but he smiled softly to cover it up and then walked away, Jeongin following until they hit the door where he shut it after the leader left. Once outside Chan let out another invisible sigh before straightening up and heading to his office.

On the other side of the door, Jeongin drooped his head against the cold sheet metal, his forehead hitting it a little harder than he anticipated, but he didn’t react. He was expecting more from his encounter with the leader, though at the same time he wasn’t expecting anything. The man was complex and contradictory, but it seemed like everything he did was purposeful in some way, like he was playing towards an endgame. He caused a whole slew of emotions every time he encountered the youngest member, from infatuation and wonder to endless frustration and angry isolation. It seemed as if anything he said would later be turned against him, whether positive or negative. It was absolutely infuriating to Jeongin, especially when he had people like Seungmin and Felix who stood by him and trusted him, despite his inexperience and youth. They were truly his friends, even people like Woojin and Jisung had grown on him and had become something more like friends than Chan; who was supposed to be his first mentor and most trusted colleague. Instead, Jeongin never looked to him for guidance and often found himself blindly following him like a lost dog. The young boy had no idea what to do about his emotions or how to handle his leader.

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Minutes passed into hours and before he realized, the light filtering into Jeongin’s dusty room shifted from sunlight to moonlight. The young boy had just been resting since his encounter with Chan earlier. He phased in and out of consciousness while watching TV shows, he was very relaxed, as he was ignoring any problems with BC. He checked the time and was about to roll over to fall back into light sleep, but then his stomach began to yell at him, cursing him out and begging for food. Jeongin rolled his eyes and rolled out of bed lazily before opening his bedroom door and wandering into the kitchen. Once there, he was surprised to see Chan on the couch, lazing about much like Jeongin had been earlier. The older man didn’t move from his place, nor did he turn around to acknowledge Jeongin’s presence, he only lifted a hand lightly a waved as the youngest entered his space.

Jeongin felt out of place. Chan was laying on the couch reading a book as thick as a pillow. The words on the white page were in English, so Jeongin couldn’t even pretend to understand the book. The older was eerily silent, seemingly not caring that Jeongin was now making a ruckus in the kitchen to get hot chocolate and some leftover tteokbokki, though it didn’t reheat very well. Jeongin chose to ignore his leader, much like how he thought the elder was doing to him. He was dead wrong.

Chan was doing anything but ignoring his maknae. He was studying him silently from behind his book, observing his movements and finding himself nearly in awe at the way he simply moved. He stood on his tiptoes to reach a mug on the top shelf, though he really didn’t have to. His delicate fingers ripped open the hot cocoa packet and then shuffled around the pantry for marshmallows. He poured hot milk into the cup and mixed his drink thoroughly before plopping the small sugary cylinders into the steaming mug. He reheated the meal in the microwave, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he waited for the timer to end, yet he stopped it a second early so he wouldn’t have to hear the beeps. The curly-haired man was so lost in his thoughts that he hardly heard when Jeongin offered to make him some hot cocoa as well.

“Hyung? Are you in there?” the maknae spoke softly, a playful tone riding on his words. Chan nodded a couple times and Jeongin turned back to the counter. He got out the marshmallows once again, and Chan decided to stand up. The older male reached the kitchen and then grabbed his favorite mug from the top shelf just as Jeongin was about to, leaving the two standing very close face to face. Chan kept his eyes locked with the gradually reddening boy in front of him and handed him the mug before stepping back. Jeongin nodded a little in thanks. Chan sat on a bar stool at the island in the middle of the kitchen, returning to his state of Jeongin observation. Except this time, Jeongin felt the older’s deep chocolate eyes burning into him as he moved.

The air was thick with unknown tension and Jeongin felt under pressure. He turned around with his leader’s cocoa made, sliding it across the island before leaning on the side opposite BC. They sipped the cocoa in silence, seemingly doing nothing but staring at each other. Jeongin eventually tucked nito and then finished his leftovers, breaking the eye contact in order to place his dish in the sink. Chan thought he was going to return to their previous position, but instead he went and sat on the couch, casually leaning into one corner and placing his mug on his leg lightly like he was inviting Chan to sit with him. The oldest obliged.

“Chan, why do you treat me differently?” The young boy seemed to lose all his confidence once he had to actually speak to his leader, his gaze immediately shifting to the cracked cement floor underneath the sofa. Chan shrugged.

“Because you are different.” His answer wasn’t one Jeongin was hoping for, nor did it give any level of clarification to the situation. The youngest rolled his eyes a little and sighed unconsciously.

“If you have something to say, Yang, then say it. I don’t have time for games.” Chan spoke again, cooly, sharply. His tone startled Jeongin, who wasn’t expecting such a harsh response from his superior. He took a small breath to collect his thoughts before responding.

“I want to know why I’m different. I’m just another bullshit castout runaway who fell into the wrong kind of business, just like everyone else in this god damn warehouse. And yet, you treat me like dirt one night and like your best friend the next. You’re up and down and every time I try to understand you I feel like I’m running in endless circles. I can never get anywhere with you so at this point I’m ready to give up trying.” Jeongin spoke gravely, his voice a bit scratchier than it normally was. His eyes were still cast to the floor but the emotion in his voice was enough for a million facial expressions. Chan’s heart ripped a little bit. He knew his mistakes, of course he did.

Chan didn’t speak. Jeongin didn’t either. After about two minutes of silence, Jeongin finally worked up the courage to look at the older man. And not just view him, but really, really, look at him. His eyes were tired. He had purple circles under them and his lids drooped slightly. His hair was in disarray, he had a bandage across his nose where he had been scratched by the asphalt. He had a form-fitting white tee on, close enough to his body to see the faint outline of his toned abdomen muscles, but more importantly, the outline of the massive bandage across his shoulder. His arm should be in a sling but Woojin wasn’t here to scold him, so it sat alone on the coffee table. His black sweatpants sat low on his hips, exposing the hem of his Calvin Klein boxers, and his white socks covered his feet, save a few holes from overwear.

He was beyond beautiful, and Jeongin felt like he could begin hyperventilating at just the thought of Chan being more than a mildly psychotic gang leader. Any other way, and Jeongin was sure they’d be together. Chan could be a barista, making lattes and sending out kind smiles, or he could be a college student that Jeongin crashed into one day on the way to class. He could be a wrong number text turned right, or a long-forgotten penpal that Jeongin happened to remember. Instead of all these things, though, he was a cold, calculating, blood-thirsty druglord, and Jeongin was his runner. Not his regular at the cafe, not a cheeky underclassman, not a handsome stranger discovered over text or an old spark relit. He was insignificant and replaceable, and Chan was high and mighty. He was a genius, always knowing the right moves to make and always having a backup plan. Always having an escape route. Jeongin didn’t have one of those, so he was walking right into a trap and he was accepting it willingly. Deep inside, he knew Felix liked him. He knew Woojin cared for his wellbeing a little more than the other members. He knew Changbin and Jisung really enjoyed his presence under all their tough. But with Chan, his doubt still chewed away at his psyche like a shark.

“You think too much, Fox.” Was all that Chan said before leaning to get his hot chocolate, wincing as he went. Once he sat back in his regular position Jeongin looked him dead in the eyes. The younger’s hazel orbs had an oceanic storm raging within them, a flurry of every emotion Chan was too scared to understand. The storm seemed to stop all at once though, and before he knew it, Jeongin’s soft lips were on his cheek. Then, the younger got up without looking back and walked back to his room, muttering a ‘goodnight, Chan’ as he went. The boy’s hot cocoa was still sitting on the table, slowly losing heat. And for the first time in a very long time, Bang Chan blushed.

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