Accidents Happen
It started out as innocent fun; I was dying to write something, and so I put my hands on the keyboard and watched them work. =)
I'm still wondering whether nor not just to turn it into a full fledged novel. Thanks for that idea, Marina. =)
Read the first part below...I've got some of Part Two done...but I'm working on it. =)
Accidents Happen Part One
It was one of those days when nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. The sky was blue, the sun was blazing, the grass was green, the air was dry.
It was summer.
I slung my bag over my shoulder, a one strap, red and black Adidas, with the black and white stripes across the bottom. It was a sleek bag, real sturdy. I was on my way to the library, to return and borrow another book. The bus was crowded, lurching when it skidded to a stop. It was yellow, plastered in McDonald advertisements.
I would have to squeeze today. With a wheezy creak, the doors opened, and I climbed aboard, since nobody was getting off. After hearing the clatter of my coins reaching the bottom of the plastic box, I managed to squeeze into an emptier spot near the back of the bus. That was when I noticed the man next to me.
He was real punk-like, a middle-aged man, although he had that older look of wisdom and knowledge buried in his green eyes, eyes that seemed to glow even in the light of day. He was big and broad, wearing those jeans that were down so low they threatened to fall off. He had a black, ragged, hand-cut vest worn over a white t-shirt and had a black bandana tied over his hair. His beard wasn't long, but wide and grey-ish white. His skin was the strangest shade of pink, and he had a slight smile on his face, a smile that almost overlooked everything else and made him look...gentle. Or even kind.
For most of the ride, he looked directly ahead into the back of the seat that sat ahead of him, and his seat creaked under his weight, dangerously threatening to crumble whenever the bus lurched, sending him bouncing on it in irregular patterns. It was unnaturally quiet in the back of the bus, although for some reason, I seemed perfectly at ease.
Everyone swayed in unison as the bus slowed to another stop, by a street in the heart of the bustling city. I moved as far as I could away from the big, bulky man; he rose from his seat to depart. If he was big sitting down, he was massive standing up. A head taller than me, his muscles showed with unbelievable visibility, and I noticed, as he grabbed onto a pole for support, that he had at least five rings on each finger. Shining silver or gold, most of them had etchings of skulls on them. As intimidating as they all were, only one caught my attention, scaring me more than its wearer.
It was an ominous shade of green, and made of glass. There was liquid, I think, inside it, as if it were some kind of vial. It was cone-shaped, only narrower and sharper, pretty small, and was placed vertically from the surface of the ring, protruding from it, like a long, dangerous spike. The tip of it was terrifyingly sharp, that's one detail I remember with unforgettable clarity.
I remember it sinking into my skin, too, although that was so short I don't remember the pain all that much.
I remember the bus suddenly moving again, as if by accident, in a strange lurch, before it officially stopped, and his left hand reach instinctively for the red ceiling clutch next to mine, as everyone stumbled. It was an accident, when that ring sunk into my skin and sliced a cut upwards, that searing, sharp pain, and when that liquid leaked out of the cracked glass, transparent and clear, when I felt it seep into my bloodstream, downwards, burning hot, yet so cold at the same time.
Like that feeling you get, when it's so cold its hot, or when its so hot it felt cold.
I remember the horrified look on his face when he realized what had happened, his eyes widening, his mouth falling open, then the short expression of anger, guilt, and finally, fear. It was an impossible scene, how someone as physically powerful as he was, in such a state of terror. I heard his breathing rate increase suddenly, and I watched as sweat began to form on his creased forehead. This all happened in a matter of seconds.
“I...” he began, but it was more of a whisper. “I'm sorry,” were his last words, with his piercing green eyes on me, before he squeezed through the throng, out of the bus. I watched him walk down the road, his head in his hands. He looked so desperate and helpless he could have been crying.
Was accidentally cutting me with his sharp, dangerous-looking ring really such a crime? It was an accident, after all, right? The liquid in the vial...it wasn't really lethal, was it? I would heal, eventually. It wasn't that bad.
Right?
I realized that I'd been so shocked and absorbed by his unexpected response that I'd altogether ceased to notice what it had done to me. That strange feeling, like burning and freezing at once, had spread through me, cold, yet hot, generally very uncomfortable. It spread slowly, through my bloodstream. I tried to shake it off; it was just mental. I'd just been through some shock.
It was just mental.
Think happy thoughts, I told myself. The next stop was my stop, the library.
I felt the ice-hot feeling all over me now, I was internally drenched with it. It gave me goose bumps, even under the blazing heat of the sun. Then, an unexpected dose of it washed over me for a final time, halting my every thought for a moment, before disappearing completely, and then everything was back to normal.
See? I told myself. I knew it was a temporary thing. It passed over, just as I'd expected. Everything was back to normal.
But I'd never been so wrong in my entire life.
The bus skidded to a stop, and I, somehow fully rejuvenated, skipped happily off, swinging my bag lightly from my shoulder. That was when it all started.
I strolled along the sidewalk, whistling some foreign tune that didn't sound half-bad. I looked at various people along the way, their smiling faces. Everyone must be in a good mood today.
I guess I'll have to slow it down here, everything happened so quickly.
The first people I looked at were a couple; a blonde female and a brown-haired male. I only met their eyes for a millisecond before I looked away. No need to stare. I felt another familiar rush of that ice-hot feeling, and cringed.
Then the screams started.
I turned around just in time, just in time to see the blonde trip over something as they crossed the road, the rapid honking of the truck that was approaching much too fast, the horrified look on the male's face...
And the dull thud, a flying body, her spattering blood...the screams of sideline viewers, people calling the ambulance and 911...
Oh, heck. Oh, heck. I'd just witnessed a death scene. Rooted to the spot, I looked around, horrified, at the shocked faces of everyone else. The first person my cursed eyes reached was a shopkeeper, who had rushed out of his shop to the scene. He, like me, was also fixated to one spot, meeting my eyes, mirroring my shock and fear...so vulnerable to his own fate, standing next to me.
Then, I felt another familiar rush...
...and his shop exploded into a million pieces. The glass reached him before anyone else, and although I was standing barely a meter from him, I was not scathed. I watched, as he was impaled, pierced, punctured, the glass shards catching themselves in his flesh as his eyes cast another helpless look in my direction, before they rolled backwards into his head, as blood blossomed all over his shirt, and pooled around him on the ground he was now on. More screams erupted from the crowd.
Another human, dead.
I hadn't even flinched when the building exploded. I looked around me. So many people were now bleeding rapidly, some were lying on the ground, though if they were breathing, I would never know.
A child sat at the fallen body of her mother. “Mommy...?”
I looked around at the disastrous scene...
Holy crap. Oh, my...
It all clicked for me then, all the pieces fit, although I should have realized a long time ago. I knew what was happening.
And so I ran. I kept my eyes on the ground, now dyed a crimson red, weaving through the crowd, hoping that my theory was right, that I had to meet their eyes for...for it to start. I think I was right, but I couldn't be sure. I wanted to throw up, witnessing what I had. I ran directly into the grey, monotonous library building, not even bothering to turn in my book.
I had bigger responsibilities in my hands than a stupid library book. Human lives, for instance. Any human life that dared to meet my eyes.
It was a good thing that this building was so familiar to me now; I made my way directly into the bathroom. It was empty. Good. At least I had that much luck with me. I stood there for a second, still looking at the floor, and sunk down to the floor, my head in my hands. What had happened?
That vial. That stupid, tiny, vial. And that cut. It was all his fault. That punk-man. My mind conjured his face again, after he had cut me, that mixture of guilt, horror, pain, dismay.
“I'm sorry.”
I was a monster. A murderous monster, however involuntary. And there was nothing I could do about it. How many murders today? Two, three, four? Five?
A sudden thought occurred to me. If I looked in the mirror, would meeting my own eyes bring me to my own fate as well? The same, horrific way?
Did I deserve to live anymore? A rapid flashback made its way into my string of thoughts. The innocent couple, laughing, talking. Then, the body of the blonde girl, flung into the air...the spray of blood...The shopkeeper, who had gone outside to see what the commotion was about, punctured and bloodied by the shards of glass from his own shop. His pleading, begging, eyes.
And that little girl... “Mommy...?”
I clung to the sink counter-top, and heaved myself up to see my reflection in the mirror. I hadn't noticed I'd been crying. My eyes were red and puffed up, my hair poofing up in different directions.
I looked like a monster, too.
My eyes lingered on my pale, tear-streaked face before staring directly into themselves. I gasped in surprise, and reeled back, my back slamming onto the door of the bathroom stall behind me.
My eyes. My eyes...they were green.
I waited, hyperventilating, but nothing happened. I was immune to my own curse. Frustrated but cruelly relieved, I turned around and staggered into a stall, putting down the toilet seat and curling up on it. This stall was my captive; I was holding myself hostage. I hated myself, hated the fact that I had to be the one to face this curse.
I wouldn't be able to stay here forever, I knew. I would have to leave, and people would have to die, eventually. Eventually.
I shuddered and lifted my head out of my arms. I stared ahead into the closed, metal door of the bathroom stall.
I stared ahead into my own reflection...cringed as I noticed the green, helpless eyes that stared back. They had an edge of hostility to them. Hostility, that was not mine. A curse, that was not mine either.
I was doomed...
...doomed into a future of inhumanity...that was never mine to choose from in the first place.
