Fate Awaits
One Dark Story. Fiction
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. We'll see what fate awaits this night.
The young men fought beneath the lit street lamp. Neither one was right to do so. Swings and punches were mickey mouse to this. These were galloping hooves of repeated strikes against any body part. The sound of bones against bones, feet against anything, a rapid assault of flailing bodies and blood flying. Both used to it, pain, they bit until there, the sound of a broken bone, down one went to his knees that's all his assailant needed to take his boot to the man's head and shove down with all his might the jaw against the curb. Even as he felt his face breaking in several parts and the taste of blood rise in his mouth, even as he heard some unnatural scream-like, agony filled sound escape his bloody head, his inner thought was, "it's ok, the doctors will fix it, they can re-construct, they can replace teeth. I can survive this."
The witches a few doors down swayed in indifference. A lark to meet, to assuage the soul. To call on the unobtrusive. Their chant filled the night. A voodoo alchemist has no hope. No real magic here, no such thing. He needs an aggressor that will hide his demeanour. No one there knew the real work at hand. They read it in a book but their leader knew better. Their insight only that their ego could call on the winds. The rest imagination. They wanted a spirit guide to answer all. Fools. No such thing arose from dark corners where even the wind would not touch it. There is a thing called a collective conscious and in a group such as this, well, you know the rest.
The house was lit by moonlight that shone violet strand through parting treetops. Leaves fell straight down and rolled down the street, winding around the men in fight.
He half sat, leaning upward, staring up at his aggressor. Trying to talk, hysterical, "truce," but jaw broken, there were no words, all that came out was babbling madness. His face covered in blood, his eyes leaking torrents, nose running, he kept making gutteral sounds...to stop.
The assailant filled with a fury uncontrolled looked at the sobbing mess. Adrenaline still unleashed, instead of sympathy, ignoring what were obvious pleas to stop, he pulled out his gun. Held it steadily at the shrieking hulk of a man on the ground, considering whether to put him out of his misery. The mass on the road groaned louder.
The crumpled leaves stopped for a moment, paused. Then continued to turn.
Then suddenly from somewhere deep inside him the man on the ground as if all accuracy in his life held for one moment. One sliver of a second for survival, pulled his gun from his pocket, shot upward and hit the assailant in the forehead with a bullet. He'd never fired it before.
It was if the man standing was struck from behind by an invisible, giant foot and he fell straight forward hitting cement.
A dark cloud at once enveloped him.
It didn't matter that he was beaten at the age of 4. It didn't matter that he was beaten at the age of 10. it didn't matter that at the age of 12 he was made to join a gang. It didn't matter that he was raised poor, went hungry, lost his mother, lost his girlfriend, lost his brother. That he'd been robbed, overdosed once and all this before he was 24. It didn't matter. Because he knew right from wrong. He knew not to hurt something. He knew not to beat someone. He knew not to kill. He knew this from his parents, from his family, he knew this from going to school, from media. He was beaten himself, so how did he not know? To deny it is a different sort of destiny.
Even the doors to the spirit world are closed for those who commit atrocities against humanity. Who break all the rules. The resting of the soul is for those who live well but need faith before they reach the afterlife. As the saying goes there is no rest for the wicked. They drop instantly.
Oh yes, it is a real place. What do you think we are here for on earth? To learn the finer points of life then turn to crime and get to cross pearly gates. No.
We are here to resist all movement against the soul. To turn away from dark matters and matters that meet the dark half way. Get this, we are born with right and wrong ingrained in us. we know by instinct not to harm. That is what sets us apart from animals and even they, they have a conscience. They know love.
Is it only the human mind that can deny it? Or is it evil setting in? How, by emotion? By hatred.
There is no slippery slope, no gradual descent where you learn lessons along the way. For those who strike in self defence is a different outcome, but for calculated cruelty the creatures of the dark rise quickly, and eat the souls alive. Every gnashing of teeth biting into the person is felt. No respite.
The man's face struck dumb with shock as his body lurched and the demon began taking. His destiny downward not thwarted he had a small window of time. You might think pleasant people come to passing by story-hood, that the soul would eventually be exterminated and gone but no, the screams go on for eternity once he gets there.
The black magic group heading for doom continued their dance to a moon they couldn't see, in their living room. The lower energy heightened. Their door creaked open, an un-symbolic welcome for the spirit the demon dragged in. Here is one for you but not a guide, no not one of those.
So don't hate. Don't kill. Some things are forgiven. Some are not. If you don't like the sounds of that figure it out yourself.
Under purple clouds as the full moon lit up the night the other damned soul on the ground turned on his side and grimaced as he pulled his wallet from his jeans. It had a 1000 cash in it. He slid it under the torso of the fallen man with his foot. Then he gurgled into his cell phone after calling 911, his GPS on he knew it would be mere minutes before the 1st Responders reached him.
Copyright © 2023 Lisa A Lachapelle. All rights reserved.
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About the Creator
Canuck Scriber L.Lachapelle Author
Published Poet and Author. Making rainy days feel like Sundays with words.
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Heartfelt and relatable
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Original narrative & well developed characters
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Comments (5)
Impressive 🤩
Whoaaa, I loved your take on the challenge! This was a fantastic story!
You have a knack for vividly setting a scene and making the reader feel like they're right there. Well done.
I was completely drawn into the scene and felt like I was right there with the characters. Your use of imagery is truly impressive. Keep up the great work!😍
Wow, Lisa! Your writing is truly captivating and vivid. Your use of descriptive language and imagery really brings the story to life, and I was fully immersed in the scene from start to finish. One sentence that stood out to me was "He'd never fired it before." This sentence added a layer of suspense and surprise to the story, as it shows the unexpected turn of events and the power of instinct when faced with a life-or-death situation. As for a critic, I would suggest being mindful of the level of violence and graphic content in your writing. While it certainly added to the intensity of the story, it may not be suitable for all readers. Perhaps consider adding a content warning or disclaimer at the beginning to ensure that readers are aware of the nature of the content. Overall, great job! Keep up the fantastic work. If you want to give my take on the challenge a go, feel free to do so: https://vocal.media/fiction/the-purple-tempest