Short Stories

Floater The mists of time wash over me as I sit here, wandering. I’m trying to remember how all this happened. My celestial mind clears and widens as I think. Pictures start to form in the back of me unreal mind. I was walking home from college. I was eighteen. I had gone the long way round so I could have a smoke without anyone seeing. The sun was so hot that it was practically cracking the flags. A hot breeze moved my hair in my face. There was no body about so I lit up. I’d stood in that god knows how many times before and no one had been about. I always presumed it was safe. I stared about looking at the green trees and red rose bushes. I had never noticed the rose bushes before, but now I saw them, the red so bright it seemed to gleam like liquid. I walked over to one and touched the petals they felt wet and sticky. I quickly pulled my hand away. I looked at my fingers and there was a red streak. It was blood. Suddenly a voice from behind me made me jump. “You have been chosen by the blood of others. You will comply. Your body belongs to Nethma now”. “Who is Nethma”, I asked shakily. ”And what does he want me for”? “Nethma is the fourth servant of Satan. We are his slaves. We do his bidding. Your body and soul belong to him now”. All at once, what felt like a thousand pairs of hands grabbed me. I was tied, gagged and a sack was put over my head. I was carried for about five minutes. Then all the hands put me in what felt like a van. They all got in too. We travelled for about an hour but it seemed like ten. I was dying for the loo. The hands picked me up and carried me somewhere, I think down steps, a lot of steps. I was propped up against a cold hard wall and chained. The chains felt like handcuffs attached to a chain hung from the ceiling, the only difference was that on the inside of the wrist piece where spikes that cut into your flesh and made you bleed. Everything went quiet for a while apart from the slow breathing of my captors. Finally one of them spoke. “Pain is a gift to be appreciated, the pain we give to you will set your spirit free so that Nethma can take your body for works of his own choice”. There was a searing hot pain across my back and they took the sack from my head. In his hands one of them was holding a hot iron spike. Again he moved it across my back. I tried hard not to scream but I had to. The pain was too intense. One of them moved forward with a knife. I struggled thinking they would stab me with it. They cut off all my clothes. I stood there embarrassed at my nakedness. Now the hot iron was passed across my bare skin. The smell of my burning flesh filled my nostrils as I screamed for mercy. No mercy was given. I was then stretched over a table and pulled so tight on it that my skin felt like it was burning. I could only imagine that this was like the medieval torture instrument, the rack that we had talked about in history lessons in high school. They kept pulling and pulling, my joints screamed at me. My voice was hoarse so much that I could only screech. One by one my joints popped out of place, dislocating. I was taken off and they all advanced towards me. Something reflected the light in each of their hands and through my blurred vision I managed to see the knives. Each one was identical. A curved blade with two spikes on the end and an evil pattern running round the blade. I struggled to move and one of them hit me across my eyes. When I opened them again everything was red. My eyes where bleeding. All at once a thousand cold blades slashed and cut me. The cuts burned. I was left to die then. I watched them and they watched me. Till the darkness came. That’s how I came to be what the lucky people in heaven call a floater. You see I died an untimely, satanic death. Both of those things prevent my entry to heaven. So you see I’m doomed to float here forever, doing nothing. At least I cannot feel pain anymore, and no one can hurt me. I’m safe, happy, comfortable. It’s just that, well, there is no one else to talk to so I have to talk to my self. I’m just a celestial floater. Garbage.







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