Writing Endlessly [M-LV]

[Claire]

[FONT=Arial]I was finally able to begin the story I was dying to write. It doesn't have chapters at the moment, but I've been working on it for about two hours and I'm eager to post it. It's not exactly horror, but it's definitely dark. I really don't want to give anything away, but...[spoiler]it involves vampires.[/spoiler]

[B][CENTER]ENDLESSLY[/CENTER][/B]
[I]No matter how hard you look, you won?t be able to find it.[/I]

Wolf was standing on the crumbling edge of a cliff, looking over a long drop with a violent river splashing at the very bottom. The sky was pitch black, with no stars or moon to penetrate the darkness. He was shivering with cold, despite his long black jeans, tight grey jacket, and soft black scarf. The cold was infecting his blood and bones.

?What am I looking for?? he asked. There was no one around him. He wasn?t sure if he had actually heard the voice to begin with, if he had only imagined it.

He couldn?t remember how he came to be at the cliff, either. All he knew was that he was indeed looking for something. He didn?t know what.

[I]You won?t be able to find it.[/I]

Suddenly, the river down below began to glow bright red. Wolf found himself staring at it, strangely indifferent to the phenomenon. His insides began to warm up, and he felt as if his blood had pooled in his feet and rushed upwards to the top of his head. The result was a spinning sensation in his mind, causing his vision to blur and sense to dull. His muscles tensed, and he stumbled backwards a bit. His heart began to beat out of rhythm; he was struck with a fear of falling off the cliff.

He fell to the ground, landing on his back with his head lifted so it wouldn?t hit the hard rock of the cliff. All he could see was a velvet blackness that stretched in every direction.

He waited until the dizziness straightened itself out, closing his eyes and putting a hand to his forehead. The skin was burning hot, as if his brain were on fire. He didn?t feel feverish or sick at all ? only confused. He sat upright with a sharp breath, his eyes scanning the darkness for the edge of the cliff. He couldn?t find it.

Carefully, he pulled himself to his feet. Everything had gone black, even the glowing red river at the bottom of the valley. He wondered if this is how the blind felt; desperate and miserable.

[I]What are you looking for?[/I]

It was the same voice as before. Wolf was sure he heard it this time. He thought about what to say, staring into the million miles of darkness before him.

?I?m looking for the edge of the cliff and the river.?

Before he finished his sentence, a plume of fire shot up a few feet before him. The fire generated no heat, only light - but it was fire just the same. The flames had stretched in a straight line, as far as Wolf could see, both to the left and to the right. He knew that he couldn?t possibly still be at the edge of the cliff. The line of fire was the river.

Despite the impossibility of everything around him, Wolf felt no emotion towards any of it. He didn?t care that he had somehow teleported to the very bottom of the cliff. He wasn?t shocked that the river had first turned glowing red, and then caught fire with seemingly nothing breathing life into the flames, and no one around to have set it alight.

[I]No one.[/I]

There was someone. A figure was standing on the other side of the flames, bathed in orange light.

[I]No one.[/I]

Wolf stared at the man, trying to see his face. He knew who the man was, but there was no way he could be who Wolf thought. It was paradox meant to frustrate, but it was received with the same apathy Wolf felt for the cliff and the river.

[I]No one.[/I]

The man stretched his hand out, as if he was asking Wolf to join him. ?I can?t,? he tried to say. The words would not come out. He didn?t care. He wanted to meet the man, to prove that he was or wasn?t who he thought. Wolf stepped towards the fire, determined to make it through. If it doesn?t give off any heat, he thought, maybe it?s not real.

He came as close the flames as he could be without actually touching them. When he reached them, the man?s face lit up, and Wolf could see every feature: silky black hair that swept over his eyes and reached his gauged earlobes, deathly pale skin, dark lips pulled into a smirk. Eyes as bright and orange as the flames between their owner and Wolf.

?Liszt,? Wolf said. No emotion. He knew it the whole time.

?No one,? the man repeated.

Wolf lifted his hand and reached through the flames to touch Liszt?s arm. The fire was cool and felt like wisps of air, licking Wolf?s wrist like the wind in a rainstorm. Liszt frowned, seemingly angry that the flames didn?t burn him.

The fire suddenly exploded in every direction, blasting Wolf with a cold gale and sending him backward a few feet. He shut his eyes against the wind and drew his arm up to his face.

The silence erupted into the whispers of a thousand invisible children, speaking poetic lines of betrayal, death, love, despair. Wolf knew what the words were, though he couldn?t distinguish one from another. They burrowed into his heart and poisoned it with sorrow. They etched themselves into his mind so he could not forget them.

?No one,? Liszt said. There was finality in his voice.

Wolf opened his eyes to see him surrounded by the fire, still reaching out. His face was riddled with fear. Wolf wanted to run to him, to save him from the swirling flames. He couldn?t move his legs.

?Liszt!? he cried, struggling to move any part of his body. He was hopelessly frozen.

The flames swept over Liszt, hiding him. Swallowing him whole. They approached Wolf with a malevolent vigor. He knew he was going to be devoured by them?


He burst awake, sweating and gasping for air. He found himself in his apartment bedroom, swaddled by thin bed sheets. It was only a dream.

He sat up and massaged his temples, trying to calm down. Dreams don?t mean anything. They aren?t real. He pushed his bleached blond hair out of his face and glanced at the clock. 3:04 AM. He sighed; it was too early to get up and call Liszt.

It was only a dream. Dreams don?t mean anything. They aren?t real.

Still, he had an irrepressible urge to talk to Liszt, to make sure he was okay. Wolf knew that Liszt would be fine. He would yell, ?Why the hell did you wake me up to tell me about a dream?? from the other end of the phone. He would be angry that Wolf called in the middle of the night for such a stupid reason.

It was only a dream. Dreams don?t mean?

Wolf grabbed his cell phone off the dresser and flipped it open. He thumbed in Liszt?s number, even though it would?ve been faster to access it from the phone?s address book. He pressed the send button and put the phone to his ear.

It rang. It rang again. And again.

He expected to hear a click, then ?Do you have any idea what time it is?!?

It rang again. An automated message played. ?Thank you for calling. EZEKIEL LISZT is not available. Please leave a message after the tone, or try your call again at a later time.?

Wolf closed the phone, cutting off the connection, before the recording could finish playing. His stomach was tying itself in a thousand separate knots, each one tight and painful. He began to rationalize silently. Liszt turned his phone off before he went to sleep. He?s done it before. Why can?t I believe that he?s fine?

It was only a dream. Dreams don?t mean anything. They aren?t real.

Wolf pulled himself out from under the sheets and climbed out of bed. [I]Liszt is fine.[/I] He walked to his closet and pulled the door open, then grabbed the first pair of jeans and shirt he saw. [I]He?s going to be mad at me for bothering him this early.[/I] He got dressed and walked outside his apartment, not bothering to lock the door behind him. [I]I won?t be gone long, I?m just going to go see him, I?ll be right back.[/I] He walked down the hallway, glancing at the empty roads and orange streetlights that dimly lit the sidewalk outside the apartment building. He descended two flights of stairs with a bounce in his step, and broke into a run as soon as he reached the parking lot.

Liszt lived in a small house about twenty minutes away from Wolf?s apartment. He had saved up every bit of money he ever found or earned from the time he was fourteen years old ? ten years ago ? just to buy his own home. [I]He has to wake up to go to work in two hours, anyway.[/I] Wolf ran the whole way, fueled by worry induced adrenaline. He kept repeating ?dreams don?t mean anything? in his head. Each repetition gave him a small energy boost. The mantra did nothing to calm his mind.

He became even more concerned when he found the door to Liszt?s house standing wide open.

It was only a dream. Dreams aren?t real. They don?t mean anything.

He disregarded his fear that an intruder might be inside and stepped over the threshold. He reached into his pocket and realized he left his phone in his apartment. He wouldn?t be able to get help if it was needed. [I]Damn it.[/I]

The house was dark and still. Nothing seemed out of place, as far as Wolf could tell. He squinted at the rugged couch in the corner by the window and saw Liszt?s guitar leaning against it. Some books were thrown across the coffee table. Everything was in order as far as order went with Liszt.

The bedroom door was open. He peeked inside, his heart pounding as if someone was drumming an urgent alarm with it. He could see the red glow of Liszt?s clock; 3:36 AM. The bathroom door was open as well. Liszt was not in his bed.

It was only a dream. Dreams don?t mean anything. They aren?t real. It was only a dream. Dreams don?t mean anything. They aren?t real. They aren?t real. They aren?t real?

He cautiously moved into the room, trembling and scanning every nook and cranny for anyone. Liszt definitely wasn?t there. Still repeating his mantra, he slowly walked into the bathroom. Fear instantly tickled his spine and made his heart beat so fast that it began to ache. There was a faint smell in the air; Wolf couldn?t determine what it was.

He stayed in the doorway and groped along the wall for the light switch. When he found it, he was reluctant to flick it on. He was afraid of what he would find. No matter what it was ? even if it was nothing at all ? it would be horrible.

He flipped the switch.

A folded note on the counter.

A razor blade.

Something red on the floor.

In the sink.

Mingling with the water in the toilet.

Dripping down the side of the bathtub.

Pools of blood.

[I]Everywhere.[/I]

His stomach lurched aggressively, and his whole body tensed and shook. He
swallowed as much air as he could and backed out of the bathroom. Tears stung his exhausted blue eyes. This can?t be happening. This isn?t true. I?m still asleep. This is a dream.

He knew it wasn?t a dream anymore. It was made obvious when he fell to his knees and was stricken with debilitating dry heaves. He doubled over in pain, wishing he had something to vomit so the gagging would stop. He laid on the floor until his stomach finally calmed down, and he began breathing normally again. Shaking uncontrollably, he gingerly pushed himself to his feet.

The blood was still there. He couldn?t ignore it.

Without moving his feet, he grabbed the side of the doorway and leaned over the puddles on the floor. He reached for the note. The suicide note. That thought sent the tears streaming down his face. He grasped it and saw that it had eraser sized blood drops on it.

Stuffing the note into his pocket, he took one last look at the surreal, horrible scene. He found it hard to move again. He watched the blood dipping into the grout and the cracks in the tile. It was too much for his system to bear. When he felt his stomach tighten with aspirations of having a violent seizure, he turned around and ran out of the house faster than he had ever been able to run before.

Once outside, dizziness took over. He couldn?t stop moving his legs, and they sent him flying to the ground. He didn?t feel the collision. He became rooted to the cement of the sidewalk, sobbing hysterically. He couldn?t breathe. He wept until his body shut down from the shock, misery, and horror. He had no dream this time ? reality was nightmarish enough.

He finally knew what he was looking for. It was Liszt. Liszt was dead.

Dreams don?t mean anything. [i]What a lie that was.[/i]

[center]-----------[/CENTER]

There's more to it, of course, but this is a nice place to stop for now. Please enjoy. =D[/FONT]

[2010DigitalBoy]

Wow! This was pretty cool so far! The whole beginning part with the river and cliff and stuff was very strange, and I had a little bit of a hard time getting it (Im prolly just dumb ^^;;) but it still seemed pretty cool.

I liked the waking part more, though. Wolf's constant repetition of 'dreams aren't real' was neeto and the ending note that it is a lie made it tasty somehow :animesmil

I like how you described Wolf's reaction to the blood-drenched room (and, of course, I liked the blood-drenched room). Both very well deailed. I find your story to be reminiscent of a survival horror game.

Also, my favorite part is probably when Wolf was terrified to turn on the light -- that sense of unsurmountable fear is always fun :catgirl: