“It’s 11:55 Ray, we saved a sparkler or two for you.”

Upon hearing this familiar voice, the man at the desk drew a breath. He lifted his head out of his hands at a snail’s pace, resting a tired gaze on the woman in the doorway. Through the tangled locks, he observed his lone supportive companion, the only one who remained. Now the poor being observed the surrounding wasteland through dark, stressed eyes. The paper stacks, books, binders and folders, all full of strange pictures, hieroglyphics, scribbles, proofs, and theories. The empty cups, plastic plates and utensils, all like rotting bones under the humming fluorescent lights. It seemed the anxiety which filled the past three years had now reached a torturous peak.

“I- I can’t,”. His voice was barely audible. “I have to wait.” The standing figure’s face distorted with disappointment as her last-stitch effort fell short. There was loud silence now, as the whirring of the lights continued to fill the room. The pretty woman adjusted her footing at the entrance of the room and bit her lip to keep the tears inside. “I just thought-”. Unable to continue, she slowly rotated and began her exit.

“I’m really sure this time.” said the man with more effort and volume. It caused his friend to halt abruptly and her shoulders slumped. The shaky sigh from his best friend nearly broke the man’s heart right there. As she cracked open the door leading downstairs, there was a resonating flow of laughter. Many voices were audible, merging into a merry melody of enjoyment on the floor below.

“Please Jill, I know he’s coming, please.” His voice trailed off into a whisper, unable to suppress the whelming emotion any longer. He observed as his friend struggled also to hold back the tears. Through blurry eyes he saw her turn, brow bent in furrowed frustration.

“Why can’t you see it? No one knows when he’s coming back. No one. It’s not the end of the world!” She said, unable to continue with the impending sobs. With a quivering lip, the woman quickly began her descent back to reality below. Now the man’s head fell once again into his palms. His hunched back shook with every sob until there were no more drops left to fall.

According to the mechanical time-teller on the nearby wall, it was two minutes before midnight: a time when the eternity of waiting would conclude. The time when all the research, all the late nights, and all the endless strife would be proven either worth it, or a waste. For a trio of years, he had longed for and dreaded this day- the dawn of the 21st century. He questioned the confidence that had built up deep in his heart over these forlorn years. He had given up all hope of a normal life in order to pursue his wild fantasy of a prediction. If the Savior would not return in two dreadful minutes, at the stroke of midnight, he would have no more reason to live. So he sat, awaiting his dubious introduction into the kingdom of Heaven.

Now, however, he glanced hopelessly through the cracked door, left ajar by his closest comrade. He found himself in a limbo of decision, with two paths in front of him. The musty, forsaken scene around him was a desolate landscape of pain and hope, simultaneously. Down the flight of stairs was a place of elated celebration. Celebration of something known, something set, and something guaranteed. Down that single flight of stairs was a party of truth, and a gathering of like-minded friends. He longed for that. He wished for something guaranteed. But he had come too far to give up on his prophecy now… he had to see it through.

It was a little over a minute until midnight, and the bulbs overhead still buzzed a melancholy tone. This was when the memories began flooding in, like a dam had broken inside his mind. A flow of past arguments came rushing, overwhelming the sad, huddled figure. He remembered when he first stopped attending church, and the calls he received in search of explanation. He heard the voice of his father and the words he spoke near the beginning of this madness: Not one man knows when he will return. Give it up before it’s too late. Well, now it was too late, no matter what the greatest influences in his life would say. How many people had called him crazy? How many had abandoned him along the way? All the events leading to his downward spiral of insanity came to him at once.

With straining, he lifted his head to that clock, with its hands of destiny ticking. Thirty seconds remaining. Soon enough, the beings below would begin their chanting, every word bringing him closer to his impending doom.

Twenty-seven.

Twenty-six.

Twenty-five.

Overwhelming doubt attacked at the helpless form, its pangs of dread like daggers in his flesh. He pleaded with the God he thought he knew, asking for Him to once again send down His son. Verses of hypocritical prayer left his lips as beads of sweat dampened his brow.

Twenty-one.

Twenty.

Nineteen.

There were no more words to be uttered, and his focus shifted to the window at his side. The view created from this opening was of hellish darkness and gloom. There was nothing to be seen at the moment, but he sat in expectation of a glorious illumination.

Thirteen.

Twelve.

Eleven.

The chanting grew louder, synchronized in cheerful anticipation.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

This was it. He had not only reached the precipice of no return; he had jumped and now found himself free-falling with no influence on the outcome of this action. The only hope was that there was some sweet relief to cushion his fall.

Five.

Four.

Three.

A set of bloodshot eyes closed tightly.

Two.

One.

Silence.

There was a sudden flash of light, like the sun had collided with Earth. A ringing shot through the man’s ears as he shrieked in terror. Fading in and out of consciousness, he gripped and crawled along the ground. With superhuman effort, he blinked furiously and stared upwards from his place near the floor. There was a glimpse of a man, wrapped in that light, and then all went to black.

He woke, but kept his eyes glued shut. Disorientation plagued his brain, and he clawed at the ground once more. Then, in a moment of stabbing realization, he jerked up into a sitting position. Blink opened his eyes, quickly adjusting back to the gloom. He had been right. He had succeeded. His years and years of work had proven… worth it?

There was no buzzing of the fluorescent bulbs, and no chanting of the friends below. There were no cheerful laughs and no signs of life at all. Nothing suggested the man wasn’t entirely and utterly alone. There was a pounding, a thumping in his breast. His eyes grew wide and desperate. Another flash ensued, but this one seemed dim and orange compared to the heavenly beam that preceded it. Whipping his head towards the window, he exhaled a sharp gasp. There was the moon, glowing a bright red, and taunting him through the cotton clouds.

It’s not the end of the world!

The woman’s words sprung to his mind instantly, and he cried out in horror. In surrender, the man fell to his knees.

She was wrong. It was the end of the world…

… But he had been left behind.

(Beginning of) The End.

With the bronze illumination of the setting sun flowing in through the rear window, I turned slowly onto Clark Street. The wheels of my car had traversed this same turn thousands of times, with little to no variation. Creeping along past the rows of cute, Virginian homes, I noticed a few familiar figures. There solemnly stood Mr. and Mrs. Maddox, Mr. Franklin, and Ms. Harriet, all conversing quietly in front of my quaint abode. Mr. Maddox, known to neighbors as Pete, noticed me soon after. Motioning to the others, he scuttled out of the drive and into the street. The rest followed. The sound of the squeaky brakes rose, and so did my curiosity. I was half surprised to see Pete walk up the open door of my car with a soft look on his face, for once.

"Evenin' Sean. Did'ya hear 'bout that odd fellow Darren down the street?" There was a slight chuckle before he continued in a more serious tone. "They say he's been charged with a double-homicide of some girls from Culpeper. Poor thangs." He gestured towards the undercover police vehicles parked a few houses down.

It was clear that the scruffy man had expected more of a reaction out of me, or some sort of surprised gasp. The truth was, I wasn't the least surprised.

"Awe, well, I's sure you has. It's spread all over the damn town in 'bout an hour" he said in a matter-of-fact voice. It was then that petite Ms. Harriet noticed Pete and I, and made her way over in a nervous waddle.

"He was such a quiet man." she said upon arriving, "Didn't expect nothing like this at all! He only seemed a little different, don't you think, Sean?" There was a touch of pity in her words, which was clearly to Pete's chagrin. He rolled his eyes.

It was only now that I realized I hadn't said a word since arriving on this worried scene. I was deep in thought, juggling ideas and memories inside my head. So deep was my thinking, in fact, that I ignored the commotion which ensued at the sight of the convicted neighbor Darren being dragged out in handcuffs. I only looked up in time to see the crazed face of that stranger-turned-murderer, and the uninterested look painted on it. I shuddered.

I knew from the day he moved in that something was different about this character. He had ignored my knocking on his door, when I planned to give him a warm welcome to Clark Street. From that moment on, I kept a particularly keen eye on him. That was when things got weird. When I finally heard his voice for the first time, I wished immediately I had never. The slight stutter, the strangely-placed emphasis, and the uncanny charisma which inevitably drew you in. Everything he said was in a slow, smooth, and deliberate fashion, always with some hidden purpose or agenda. Every word twisted, molded into some creation of evil intent. It was clear to me how some clueless girls could fall into the traps of his dialect.

His slicked-back hair, with long, greasy locks, made him appear neat, yet maniacal. There was some eerie aura around his dark, beady eyes and cleanly shaven face. The way he conversed with the unsuspecting mail-lady gave me uncomfortable feelings and judgement for him rose up within me. I suspected some villain-like intention behind everything he did, yet my good-nature did not let the words of allegation ever leave my mouth. I accused him secretly, reported him silently, but never had the guts to publicly raise a red flag.

So, as my eyes followed the police vehicles containing that murderous lunatic, rolling down the avenue, I felt some semblance of guilt. My brain made me believe there was some way to blame myself for the death of two innocent girls. Yet I knew there wasn't.

As the last sliver of the golden star slipped behind the horizon, I drew in a deep breath. Along with the rest of Clark Street, I would eventually forget the murder, and the story of the two victims would be lost to time. But I wasn't convinced that the memory of such a deranged, demented human could ever leave my mind.

Now from this cold cell I write.

I write so that I do not forget my dearest neighbor, Sean. The only one who knew, the only one who could have made a difference. Of all the stupid people I found on that doleful street, he was the least stupid.

But alas, he was just not brave enough. I imagine he is sitting now, feeling that beautiful mountain of guilt. If only he would have told someone, and warned them about me. Rising suspicion would have brought about caution. Maybe, just maybe, the lives of those two lovely ladies would have been saved.

But probably not...

Darren S. Leonard, #2334.

Central Virginia Correctional Unit, Cell 38B, 2/23/21.

This is an outrage.

I should be cruising the open ocean with my container friends, on a grand transport vessel. I am sure this is not my true purpose, it simply can't be.

At least it is for a good cause. I appear to be on the border of two nations, "countries" as the Little People call them. The side I am able to see is called Arizona, and they sure do love their guns over here. I always see groups of these people walking right past me, crossing The Border which I am evidently a part of. I can't understand some of the words they use. Something about immagrans, and protecting Arizona from "those varmints". I'm not sure what any of it means but it doesn't sound friendly.

I have come to the conclusion that the country of Arizona is at war. I wish so badly I could see what happens after these dangerous people cross The Border. I hear such an awful commotion whenever they see those immagrans. Their guns make such loud bangs and zips, as if little explosions are going off left and right. They don't hurt when they hit me, and I know it isn't on purpose.

It has been nearly 2 years now and this war is at its peak. I have been given reinforcements, probably more containers, but I still cannot see them. I have sunk into the sand now, about a foot by my judgement. I seem to be staying here for a long, long time.

I still dream about the day when I can finally fulfill my purpose, and cruise the seven seas as the greatest shipping container out there.

But at least I'm being used for a good cause.

I think...

Has your heart one time been broken,

Has is chipped in two?

Has it hurt from words once spoken,

Words once yelled at you?

Have you ever felt as though

Your world came crashing down?

Or like there was no place to go,

No way to get around?

A cloud of sadness followed you,

And soon it turned to spite.

Which soon turned to depression too,

Just as you thought it might.

You should have seen it all the while,

As to avoid the pain.

She found it easy to beguile,

Your young and naive brain.

Looking back on all the mess,

I hope it shows quite clear,

That breaking up was for the best,

Despite of all the tears.

There’s not much to be said in a time like this.

I’m happy.

It has been almost a year since she told me I was stupid, told me I was nothing to her. Without words she beat me to dust in an insensitive flogging.

Now I’ve found another. This newness I feel is as an aura of hope. I no longer yearn for the typical teenage dream, but have simply stumbled across this rainbow of a personality. I won’t think of all the things that could go wrong, because frankly it won’t help. They say ignorance is bliss, and right now, ignorance is my best friend.

I’m hoping she will be too.

So I’m happy.

So.

So.

Happy.

So I had made it. The place I dreamed of really did exist. It was unreal. Simply unimaginable. At the time I would not have been able to put it to words, but now I’ve found them.

When I crossed the golden-green clearing between the forest and the sand, the smell of fresh oak leaves and cleanly dirt began to fade. I gazed upward slightly, squinting to allow my eyes to adjust to the sun. Then I froze. It was incredible. About fifty feet in front of me began a straight staircase. This crenelating creation stretched up to the heavens, until it merged with the blistering sunlight at the top. But that wasn’t the half of it. The whole thing was made of shimmering, white sand. It glistened and gleamed gloriously in the rays, showing every ridge and spiral. From the perfectly squared steps to the winding, twisting rails, it was beautiful. Majestic, even. And all too much to take in.

After at least a minute of silent awe, I noticed a faint dark blot that blocked some of the sun’s splendor. Hand on forehead, I stretched my gaze as far as possible, in hopes of seeing what glory lied above. At that moment a breeze whistled in from the north, blowing my hair slightly back and cooling my gaping face. With it came the smell of an unknown ocean, so saline and blue that it could be made of diamonds. I breathed it in and attempted to take in the moment. But I couldn’t. Something about this made it impossible. The unknown. What was at the top? Was I even dreaming? Dead? This seemed to me like heaven, but cooler somehow, and more magical. I didn’t know what was at the top of that staircase, but something tells me that my simple mind, and the minds of men, should and will never know.

(This is just my entry for fun and will obv not be considered to win when it comes time to pick a winner.)

“Four minutes in and I knew I had made a colossal mistake. The book was real, there was now no thread of a doubt in my mind. Those dubious incantations did quench my wandering curiosity, but their effect might not be fully uncovered. I never really believed in demons, but they believed in me. That’s what they’re telling me anyhow…”

The screen went white and that familiar circular motion began in its center. The WiFi in that house always struggled to keep up, but rarely buffered this late at night. I assumed that I was the only member of my family still awake and scrolling endlessly. My seat in the beanbag often became my dwelling after the daylight hours, when all the others' eyes were shut and all the lights killed. From here I gazed up at the door, cracked open, allowing the faintest strip of yellow to spread across the floor. I had forgotten to turn the stove light off once again. With my head leaned back against the wall, directly below the window, I sighed. Soon enough the screen switched to the all too familiar sign which read “No Internet Connection”. It was then I heard the footsteps.

It must be known that the house I lived in was elevated slightly from the ground, meaning the floors shook a little when walked on. This made late-hour excursions quite noisy to the sleeping family. But this minute, creaky bumping seemed to be an attempt at stealth nonetheless. So, someone else was awake. As it often did, my brain calibrated in mere seconds the possibilities of who could be doing what, and for what reason.

My brother.

My mom.

My dad, although I recalled hearing his droning snore a few minutes ago.

They could be getting a drink…

Using the restroom?

Perhaps that stove light was bothering them, in which case I would probably be confronted sooner or later.

That last guess looked to be spot on. I kept my eyes on the door in case anyone appeared. Then the stove light switched off…

click

Ah, so it must be my mom. She hated the faint light and she didn’t even have to see it for it to bother her. Expecting the footsteps to thump their way back to the other side of the house, I directed my eyes back to the screen, sliding the cursor towards the refresh button. The black, pixelated arrow glided over the white like a blurry little airplane through the sky.

I didn’t hear any footsteps.

Thinking it was odd that anyone should remain standing in front of the stove stationary, my eyes were once again drawn to the opening in the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the same loading screen with the circle spinning round,

and round,

and round…

The footsteps resumed and I realized my heart had begun pounding. Throbbing, almost. It seemed odd, then everything stopped. The loading screen disappeared and I didn’t even bother to gaze down at the same error notification. My globes were fixed like glue on the door, adjusting to the new darkness. I folded the laptop screen half-way in order to aid in the adjustment.

kreeeeaaak

The floorboards outside my room strained under something’s weight. I was going to get that confrontation that I deserved. At 1:18 a.m., too. Yet none came. I squinted, raised my line of vision, then froze.

I was stuck. My temples thumped and throbbed as my heart pumped double time. I drew short, nasally breaths as the figure grew more visible to me. My mouth remained ajar and I felt my fingers drop in temperature. No doubt about it, that was a face. But it wasn’t my mother’s.

I blinked speedily, trying to clear my eyes and focus. What was it? What was going on?

The figure was dark and shadowy up until the top of the door. There I saw a pale palette holding a glowing eye. The pupil was small and dark. The eyelids seemed nonexistent. I could see what I thought was a mouth. Not smiling. Emotionles…

The longer I glared the harder it stared back. I felt like screaming. My chest felt like it would explode, my body stayed paralized. For what seemed like years my gaze never left the unsettling horror.

It slowly moved its pupil. Uncannily, eerily it slid its pupil in an upward direction, as if looking out the window behind me. When I thought the bulging eye couldn’t have gotten any wider, it grew. When my heart couldn’t beat any faster, it accelerated. I heard scratching on the door. Then it smiled.

A slow, crazy smile. That blazen, drunken smile.

The one visible eyeball once again made its way down to my poor frame sitting in the beanbag chair. I was frozen solid, trapped in arctic ice, having been there for thousands of years. And now it was smiling at me.

At the same time, I heard a little clank of metal from somewhere behind me. Not daring to let the grinning creature out of my line of sight, I gripped the sides of my laptop with claws of iron. Behind the door I heard another aoft kreeeeak. My teeth clenched and my breaths became heaves as I listened in horror. The familiar squeal of the window opening behind me filled the room as I felt the chill autumn night’s breeze sweep over the top of my head.