Into The Vortex
The boy looked glum, it was his first job he was only sixteen. He hadn’t had much excitement in his life; the closest he had ever been was writing love letters to girls that just laughed at him, then proceeded to make smutty comments towards him, before shredding his heart and soul which was embedded onto the thin sheet and which easily just blew away in a thousand microscopic pieces. Each thought, each feeling rejected which niggled away at the boy. He wondered if he would ever be able to embrace a girl deep within his arms. Each word he’d say like a soft symphony would flow deep into the girl’s ears and penetrate her heart, where it would create warmth and in return he’d get a smile so bright and wide all his emotions would begin to flutter in a great rush of ecstasy that would leave cold bumps on his tender flesh. But, that was never going to happen for him, he might as well have been invisible to girls. It was like they just saw through him, looking at the object behind him and when he tried to talk to them it was as if a great nail was forced through his tongue impairing his speech. Every word agonising like pouring a combination of glass and razorblades into an infected gash. He was just no good with girls and he accepted this.
But he had a job now and maybe they would notice him. It was his first day as a postman and already he was behind with his work. The sack he was carrying reminded him of a crucifix. It was a great hulking thing that reminded him of marching to the death carrying the mighty cross which he would eventually be nailed to and he would push hard on those nails just to catch his breath. He’d probably wish he was dead, but if he didn’t finish his round he might lose his job and then his mother would castrate him. This bag was what others found important, like a sack of pure gold and rare jewels but to him it was filled with rubbish. He couldn’t care less whose got a new phone or grandma’s birthday card, the only thing that was probably motivating her to stay alive as she sits there shaking in her chair gazing out of the window, her mind obsessed with grasping this letter and holding it close like the loved ones she’d lost.
He trudged along the road to the next house but suddenly this high pitched scream, well at least that’s what he thought it was, bellowed down his ears. It was kind of like the sound of a tortured soul, looking for the way out of the abyss. The sinister noise chilled the boy to his core. He dropped the mail sack on the floor and observed it closely; surely it hadn’t come from here. The bag began to shake and he could hear circus music, but it wasn’t the friendly kind you hear when you go with your parents to the fun fair as you watch the clowns with butterscotch popcorn, each piece oozing with sweetness. No, this wasn’t fun sounding at all.
It was evil, like metal grinding against metal, but he knew it was the old circus tune he could just make it out and he swore he could hear screaming in the background. Out of nowhere, a rather large parcel flew at him knocking him to the floor. It was tatty, black, white and red. It reminded him of a mime’s face covered in blood there was nothing nice about this parcel it gave him a feeling like being locked in a dark room that was cold and claustrophobic whilst summer raged on outside, the sun’s rays beautiful, dancing off the vibrant summer clothes of the children playing. The aromatic smell of each blossoming flower, he couldn’t explain it he feared this packet. He didn’t want to pick it up but he had to and he grasped it, his hands sweaty, his teeth chattering with nerves. Don’t be stupid, he thought it’s only a packet. Then it happened, it was surreal; the packet burst open. The boy hadn’t any time to comprehend what was going on, and before he knew it, a cold grey hand with a blue and green checked sleeve griped him by the arm and dragged him inside the parcel. He flew through a vortex of colours of swirling images; like shadows hard to make out then he landed. It was a hard and harsh landing.
He came to, his post office uniform torn as though a thousand hands had been grabbing him trying to tear him to pieces. He was fine, apart from a few cuts and bruises. He looked around and all he could see was chaos; houses burnt down, old cars burnt out, the air had a stench to it. He couldn’t figure out what it was but it was putrid. The whole town was trashed as far as he could see, it was pure chaos. This wasn’t his world; it was something he read in comic books. He could hear it again, screaming and as he averted his attention to the direction of the noise, he could make out a figure, that of a young girl but she was dressed funny like an old court jester. She wore a hat with seven silver bells twinkling in the light and she was running at breakneck speed. He looked at her face the only emotion he could make out was that of pure fear; her face frozen like an iceberg, it reminded him of some form of abstract art. She was screaming like a banshee then he heard it, he had been distracted by her screams but it was the sound of motor bike engines roaring like a lion that had just made a kill and then he saw it. Ten bikes marching forward like a carefully crafted army he saw their faces which terrified the boy. They looked like clowns, but instead of nice smiley faces theirs were painted mean; jagged jaws, instead of the smile. Each clown with a different colour they even dressed the same aside for the leather jackets and they were brandishing weapons, chainsaws shotguns and a bat encrusted with razor blades. These guys weren’t funny they were like a nightmare you had as a child, one which you awoke from in a cold sweat. The hulking great machines were getting closer and closer. They would kill him for sure and there was nothing he could do for this poor who girl being hunted like pheasant. The boy took flight, sprinting as fast as he could and pushing his body as far as he could, his breathing heavy, sweat pouring from his face. He was going to die and there was no way out. They were getting closer and closer then he heard a shot. It hit the girl in the leg and she fell. Suddenly out of nowhere, two figures appeared dressed in black with white faces, their expressions calm and calculating.
The motor bike gang got closer to the girl but suddenly the black clad man twisted his hand in the air and threw his hand forward. Then, he began dragging his hands back and forth. The boy couldn’t believe what he was seeing; the girl was being dragged across the floor as if an imaginary lasso was attached to her leg. The black cloaked man began pulling faster and faster and the girl zipped across the ground. Bullets were flying everywhere, pinging past the boy and the two men. Finally the girl arrived in front of the man, and then quickly both the men stood next to each other and began putting their hands flat in front of them; as if miming a wall. The bikes were just seconds away from them, bullets still flying everywhere. The first bike came within inches of the two men, but suddenly crashed, leaving the rider twisted in metal. The bikes halted and the man with the shotgun continued to fire shots which just bounced back towards him hitting him square in the chest and knocking him off his bike. The two men lifted the girl and ran and with the boy following, they opened an invisible hatch on the floor. They then proceeded to climb down. Once everyone was inside they sealed the hatch.
The boy was shaking at what he had just seen. Now, it was completely surreal. These mimes, that’s what they must be, just built some kind of force field. They entered a room which was pure white with no material possessions in sight, not even a chair. The room was full of theses mimes and it was a hive of conversation but not in the normal sense. They were all talking with signs and signals, some of them were sat comfortably on invisible chairs. The two other mimes were tending to the girls wounds and the boy began to approach the girl. She pointed to him and began staring at his postman’s badge on his shirt and her face shifted into shock.
“It’s the messiah, he’s finally arrived, the man who fell from the sky, look at the symbol”. All of the sudden everyone’s attention was on him. His face burned bright red, like the sun. He had never been the centre of attention before, only the mere shadow in the back ground and hardly noticed compared to those who beamed bright. And when the situation was dark, he hardly noticed at all. This gave him the creeps. What were they going to do with him? One of the mimes grabbed the boy by the arm and dragged him to a nearby wall and pointed at a symbol. It was exactly the same as the logo on his shirt.
“What the hell is going on here? Where am I, and why is everyone looking at me? I want some answers, speak damn it”, roared the boy. His embarrassment turned to rage and the young girl looked back at him and spoke softly “they can’t reply to you they’re mimes. You are not from this world, so I’ll explain. This world is inhabited by two groups the mimus and circus. The mimus are a peaceful society they use natural energy to create things and live off the land. The circus are a violent being, their purpose in life is to eradicate the mimus, so they can inhabit this land. The war has raged on for many years and one day a symbol from another world appeared and from this the prophecy was made: ‘One man from another world will arrive and bring an end to the torment theses people suffer’. I’m not a mime I’m a jesterious or jester to you. I used to be a mimus before the circus tortured me and forced me to speak and I became their slave”.
“Wait”, said the boy, “so you want me to fulfil a prophecy in this bizarre world? I can’t even make a girl look at me, let alone save the world” he replied. “But you are the profit; we will teach you all you need to learn to lead us in battle”. “My name’s Jezzabella, and by what name shall I call you?”, said the girl. “My name’s Lex and if you can teach me how to do what they can do, I’ll help you”, said the boy with a serious look on his face. These people needed something to believe in and that happened to be him. He wasn’t going to let them down, it felt good to be wanted, a feeling he had never experienced before. His presence inspired hope to these people and they inspired him. They soon got to work teaching him the basics of mimeology; how to form an imaginary rope by focusing his imagination, he had to feel the rope and push all emotions aside and remain calm. He studied for days then finally they taught him the art of stealth but something was different with the boy; he seemed able to push beyond the limits of mimeology. There were basic rules, like you could only form solid objects such as ropes, chairs, boxes and walls, but he seemed able to produce balls of energy which could break strong materials such as steel and he could embed his body in this energy which pulsated through his body making him able to break the same materials with his bare hands and if he concentrated hard enough focusing all his energy he could lift himself from the floor and levitate. In the time Lex had spent there, he had learnt how to speak mimus.
The day was drawing nearer; the final battle for this poor wasted land. It was like a huge meal with all the trimmings left to go cold by some snobbish family, too full to eat it but finally the terrorized would fight back and gain what was rightfully theirs. The next day Lex carefully prepared his army. They were going to attack tonight when the moon was full and the land dark. There was going to be blood; it was a necessary evil that had to be done. The troops assembled on the road with Lex in front, leading his army. He never felt like he had so much control. They marched forward and before long, they’d approach their destination; a giant circus tent that covered half a mile. It was darker than the most terrifying nightmare and it had what appeared to be a human skull on the top. As they edged closer, the tension began to rise as the sound of motor bike engines rumbled and roared like death calling their names. The mimes ran, their faeces perfectly calm and each step silent and tranquil. The ferocious machines charged forward meeting the calm figures in the middle. The battle was blood filled, mimes dragging the bikers with invisible ropes the clowns hacking the mimes apart and riddling their bodies in bullets. Lex ran forward blasting his opponents with energy waves as he ran to the tent. As the chaos continued he hoped the mimes’ walls would keep the creative clowns at bay.
The boy entered, and standing in the middle of a bleak pit was a clown. There was no humour, no smile, just an evil twisted face with glowing red eyes. With black paint as thick as tar and scars that told of many battles, the many times he had tortured and plagued these people like a famine. There was no doubt he was their leader the boy knew what he had to do. The clown drew for a gun and just as he fired, the boy levitated and the bullet missed him by inches. The boy dropped back to the ground and charged forward, knocking the gun out of his grip. The boy threw a punch into the clown’s face, blood poured from his nose they battled for what seemed ages, fists flying everywhere each blow met by another. The boy looked heroic, stood there covered in claret, though the clown looked the same as he had when the battle began. The boy blasted him with an energy wave which imprisoned him in a box. The boy drew for the gun on the floor and shot the sadistic creature in the face. It was over! Their leader gone, now the mimes could lead a free and happy life. Suddenly the boy awoke, he was lying on the floor were he had last been, before he had was transported to that world. His bag lay on the floor. Had he been dreaming? Or had he gone mad? There was no parcel. The boy stood up and began to concentrate, when suddenly he was lifted off the floor…
By Dale Hyde