Morella
By J. L. Young A knock came at my door. I threw a sidelong glance at it. “Just a minute.” I issued my frustration at the caller’s audacity to disturb my solitude. My character on the screen died before the next save point. The knock came again. “Just a fucking minute. Fucking ass fuck!” I paused my game, tossed the controller on the couch, and took to the door. Light from the midday Sun was bright through the peephole. The person on the other side, dressed in a black lace-up top and a shiny latex skirt, danced. The pleats swayed back and forth as she moved. She somehow sensed my presence at the door, then smiled and waved. Her adorable nature was nauseating. I rolled my eyes as I unlocked the door. She glanced at me and entered. Her combat boots thumped on my hardwood floor. “Ya giving ass fucks in here?” She winked as she reached into her bag and produced about twenty large and put them on the runner by the door. Then she grabbed the controller from the couch and resumed my game. “Morella, what are you doing here?” “I need product.” She swept back one of her waist-length ponytails. I did a quick count. It was all there. “Hey, Scythe Master and her undead heads.” She slaughtered the artfully grotesque monsters on the screen. “I gave you product three days ago.” “Sold it.” “I see. You don’t move that much in a week. It arouses suspicion.” “Good week,” she replied. Her delicate hands aptly moved my character past the checkpoint. Something I struggled with for some time. “Regardless, Morella. Come back next week.” “C’mon, Hearse!” She looked utterly pathetic, something I had never seen in Morella. My eyelids tightened. The pause gave me time to devise a solution to the problem. The bills look well-circulated, with stains, creases, and tears. Not the cash cops used to bring an operation down. I took a deep breath. Somehow, Morella had ways of control over me as no one else had. “Alright. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Stay here. Don’t touch my game.” In the back room, a safe buried beneath the floor housed the product. I returned to find her halfway through another level. I shook my head and held out the brick. “Go home, Morella.” “Be careful of the plague rats on this level. You’ll contract the sickness if you get too close. You have to suffer permadeath to get rid of it or you’ll spread it.” She said as she stuffed the brick in her bag. “Reaper’s Pact was released today. How do you know about this?” I asked as I was about to open the door. “I was a beta tester for Skulsoft. Good gig.” Morella skipped down the sidewalk with the bag of marijuana swinging and got in her car. With every encounter with her, I find myself stricken. I returned to the game. The smell of burnt sage and rose lingered.
0 Comments
Peregrination of Hope
By J. L. Young It feels as though I walked twenty-some miles today and the cold is cutting through my coat. Fire is but a dream. I dare not risk them coming for me. By chance, this old road has led me to the town of Worms. It was ravaged, its people dead. They have already been here, so this is a safe place to rest. They broke through wood and concrete to extract life from the people here. Monster is a word that comes to mind when I think about them. No, I don’t think they are monsters. They are something else entirely. There’s a reason for their killing. It’s not to spread fear, something random, or out of desperation. I don’t know what it is, nor do I know how to end it. At last, I found a structure with minimal destruction. Along the paving stone path separating two overgrown patches of a yard, a child’s tricycle is slowly returning to the earth. I could see where a grouping of vines hardened to form a ram, used to make entry, and then tossed aside. I climbed the steps, pushed the door open, stepped in, and closed the door behind me to forestall the cold. The stench of rotting corpses had abated. A white-haired woman sat coldly staring at an unpowered television. Fear was left indelibly fixed on her face. A thick blanket across her lap. “May I?” I politely asked. I removed the woolen cover and offered appreciation while wrapping it around my shoulders. She did not mind. After a search of the house, I found a couple of fresh pairs of sweat socks folded neatly in a chest of drawers, along with other clothes. They still smelled of fabric softener. Respectfully, I continued searching through the house. The kitchen pantry remained well-stocked. I stuffed cans into my rucksack, leaving one on the table to eat before sleeping. Luckily, this house was supplied with natural gas, making cooking and a hot bath possible. Morning light flooded the bedroom. It had been almost six months since I had slept in a bed. I layered on clothes for my continued peregrination to find what remains of humanity. I hope I’m not it. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
May 2024
Categories |