Wednesday, November 4, 2009

The Creators part 2

    A single track of clean skin formed on his cheek as the tear rolled down. Every morning when he awoke, he would say his name aloud, afraid he would forget it if he didn't. Tom. He couldn't remember the last time someone referred to him by that name. He was called bum, derelict, wino and those were the nice ones. The memory of how he became homeless did not exist. He didn't have any vices that he could remember. All he knew was that it was not fast. It was a slow, painful process that had no details.

    The dry leaves rustled under his weight as he began to stir in his make shift bed while the Sun's rays wound their way through the entanglement of shrubs he called home. He waved his hands around his head to shoo the sound of a tiny buzzing fly to no avail. The fly became increasingly louder as if it were entering his filth encrusted ear. Startled, he sat up. The buzzing was not coming from a fly, it was emanating from down the alley in which he laid. He could see a man facing away from him, a glow growing around his feet. The air began to flutter and dance, lifting the dust of off Tom's clothes. The glow grew brighter, the buzzing louder. Tom held up his hands to shield his eyes that felt like they were looking at the Sun. With a searing flash, the light and the man were gone, replaced by a loud roll of thunder and a blast of wind that sent Tom flat on his back.

    Thoughts flowed through Tom's head, memories, old and dark. He searched his mind, straining for pictures of past but all he saw were muted colors and moving blurs. Sounds and voices by the thousands began swooping in. His fingertips brushed them as he reached out to grab them and drag them back as they escaped into the darkness. As fast as they came, they were gone, leaving no clues. He knew he should have been afraid of what he just witnessed but that thought never crossed him. Why wasn't he afraid? What happened inside his head? He felt deep inside a push of something trying to breakout but he did not know how to help it.

    Tom sat up, a new track of clean skin forming next to the old one, this one for joy instead of sadness. A sliver of hope began for the first time in what seemed forever in finding out who he was, who Tom really was.


  1. What happens next? What happens next!

  2. Your story is slow and torturing.. I am hooked.

  3. Mike, woe just caught this on your profile thingy, what a great story, now I got cats and Tom to follow as well.
    Now if this damn storm doesn't give us more rain here. We aren't flooded right here it's just the power lines run right along the wash out. it really is stoopid.

  4. Hi Tina, Not sure what happens next. This page is an experiment for me. Just trying to knock some of the rust off of my head. :)

    Farila, did no one tell you, I'm the king of torture writing. LOL

    Hi Bob, I haven't been to sure about this site yet so I haven't advertised per say. Stories From An Innocent Owner has taken up most of my time but eventually, I have a feeling this site will pick up more

  5. Michael, the owner of cats :-) I just wanted to drop by for a visit and found entertainment in your stories! Great job. I hope you stop by and see that I have given you an award for your endeavors. Keep up the great work. And thank you.