Werewolf: The Apacolypse story

2009-12-09T21:29:00.000-08:00

Much as the title says, this is a story I started while reading the Werewolf source book. Eventually, I will expand it into a full-scale campaign. But, for now, it is largely unfinished and unwritten. Here is what I have so far. Hope you enjoy!

-----------------------------------

Happy, smiling faces filled his senses. They were supportive, guiding, sweet, gentle, caring; everything. All was light and joy and he knew, even before he could put it into words, that he would be content to live out the rest of his days in this everlasting human sunshine.

Cold steel bars.

The nights in the sleepy little hamlet of the suburb which he had spent his seventeen years were seasonable. This night was no different, and a balmy wind swept through the roads lined with both sidewalks and street-lamps; the latter of which shone down a comforting orange glow. Not that anyone particularly needed these lights as hardly anyone went out after dark for it was, by and large, a community of early-to-bed-early-to-risers.

Laughing darkness in every corner.

That particular night he lay awake in bed, staring listlessly at the shadows on his ceiling and waiting for sleep to claim him. The orange glow of the street lamps always seemed to creep in between the gaps in his curtains and cast strange, alien looking shadows around his room. He would amuse himself most nights by making up stories about whatever thing the shadows brought into his mind. He had noticed, with unpronounced disgust, what a strange turn those stories in his head had recently taken.
Rending flesh.

He had recently noted that when he would make something up, falling asleep to the story running in his mind, and wake up breathless and terrified. His dreams were on the tip of his consciousness, teasing him and daring him to remember. That night he shuddered at the thoughts which crept, unbidden, into his head at the sight of the strange, hulking shadows. Make-believe people in his head screamed as a giant beast with human eyes rent them limb from limb. The beast would retreat to a huge tree with all-encompassing limbs where it made its home in the huge, roots sticking like unopened coffins above the ground. The monster danced through his mind, spinning and twirling and enrapt with itself and all of the creation which it made and destroyed.

He squeezed his eyes closed tightly in an attempt to block out all these stories, dreams, and, although he did not know it then, half-rememberings.

There is comfort only in madness.

That was the last sane memory he had for many years. He would later remember his parents and siblings and friends all crowded around him with their shining smiles and his mind would coil in on itself, tight with longing and unnamable regret. There was a huge, black gap in his mind which he suspected was created by overmedication.

The first memory he had after he awoke was of being strapped down in a strange bed, with a woman—presumably a nurse – leaning over him. She was checking his pulse, blood pressure, and other such things with a mechanical sort of look on her face. He stared straight at her, and she at him, but she gave no acknowledgement of his intent gaze. After she had finished with whatever she had been doing, she turned to leave.

There was a stale, sour taste in his mouth.

“I need a toothbrush, please,” he had said towards her back.

His words were like lightening to her, judging by how she jumped then spun around. She had given him the strangest look then; a look which he only understood later. It was the look of shock and appall to which he had, in later days, become quite accustomed.

The woman – who was, in fact, a nurse—reached into one of her pockets and from it produced a needle filled with a clear fluid that he could not identify. She rushed back over and promptly injected him.

“Look, lady, I don’t think a toothbrush is such an unreasonable… requ…”

That had been the way of it for many months after that encounter. Soon, after more attempts at talking on his part, the nurses had brought a doctor in to look at him. It was then that he began to piece together what had happened in the time which he had, unwillingly and unknowingly, dropped out of the world.

His mind was still working on un-numbing itself and he had tried in desperation to concentrate on what the doctor was asking him. He was sitting on the bed, clenching and unclenching his fists around the sheets in an attempt to keep himself anchored to the waking world. It was the first real human conversation he had been a part of in so long and his drug-addled mind was making it very, very difficult to focus. Talking proved to be even more difficult and he stumbled and slurred through most of what he was trying to relate. Luckily, the doctor took this into account and administered a series of pick-me-up injections coupled with the appropriate response-gauging tests.

With a patience that only years of dealing with serious mental illness can bring, the doctor again began to question him.

“So, you’re saying that you have no memory whatsoever of anything that has happened to you until very recently?”

The older man continued to stare intently at his patient as he adjusted his thick-framed glasses.

“Yes. I’m not even… really sure what I’m… what I’m doing here,” he replied, still stumbling over words but obviously much recovered from his earlier state.

“I see…” The old doctor jotted down a note quickly without looking down at his clipboard. “Well, let’s start with the basics, then. Are you able to tell me your name?”

“Lucas.”

“Excellent. What’s the last thing you remember before waking up in the hospital?”

“I was in my bed trying to fall asleep.”

Lucas rubbed his temples and closed his eyes against a throbbing that had started inside his skull when he tried to track down any piece of what had happened to him since that night.

“It was Friday. I got home kinda late, but my parents weren’t too upset about it. I called beforehand to apologize and let them know I was running behind. After I got home, I went straight to bed. I was really tired from everything that happened earlier, but I couldn’t fall asleep right away. Then I woke up here.”

“Okay.” More notes, then, “What year is it and what is the last date you remember?”

“2006. The last day I remember was May ninth 2006.”

“I see. Lucas, this will come as a very big shock to you, but today’s date is September thirteenth 2008.”

He blinked a few times, still rubbing his head gingerly. Slowly, the realization of what the doctor had just said dawned on him.

“I’ve been here for… over two years?”

Lucas stared at the aged doctor with obvious confusion. He could feel a kind of caged panic writhing in him and it must have shown.

“Why… why was I brought here? Where’s my family? What happened?”

The questions poured out of him in such a rapid-fire stream that the doctor frowned very slightly; a frown of disgust which tugged at the corners of his mouth. It was obviously a knee-jerk reaction and, from the tight pursing of his lips, one which he had professionally tried to maintain.

“I think that’s more than enough for today. We don’t want to over-stimulate you on your first day awake. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Disgust. But it was more than just that. Somehow he could feel the acute tension in the man as he stood and began to walk towards the door. Lucas’s body tingled as his senses heightened. It was fear, too, in the old doctor’s eyes. Lucas could smell the scent of unspoken fear seeping out of the man’s very pores. He had to keep a firm hold on himself to keep from snapping at that fear, lashing out at the doctor and forcing him to answer every single question revolving around his brain.

Very slowly he nodded and dropped his gaze.

“Sure. I guess I’m not going anywhere…”

The doctor cast a strained smile back at him as he left the room and locked the door behind him. Lucas could fairly smell the relief after the bolt clicked into place. He wondered at that for a moment before slumping back onto the bed.

To Be Continued...

New blog, new story

2009-08-19T01:38:00.000-07:00

So, I've tried this blogging thing more times than I'd care to admit. I suppose one more try won't necessarily hurt.

I intend for this to be a writing blog to showcase my talent and help me build up a portfolio and body of work. I write what I feel and what I consider important; this includes, but is not limited to, works of science fiction, fantasy, and essays on myriad subjects.

So, I suppose I shall post a little something to get me started. It's something from a story I've been mulling over for quite a while but have only recently (within the last few hours, in fact) started writing. It stops in a rather awkward place, and for that I apologize. I will continue working on it as time permits.

Untitled Project
The sun beat down, unrelenting. Its face shone at a slight angle in the clear sky. Not directly above, but slightly to the left as if it was tilted, questioningly, on an invisible neck. She couldn’t help but feel its inquisitive glare and share the feeling.

Unblinking, she gazed directly up into the seemingly endless blue sky. It was not the sun she was looking at (she deliberately tried to avoid staring at it since it was so terribly bright) nor was it the blanket of the heavens above at which she looked. A point far beyond that attracted and held her. This point was so far beyond sun and sky, in fact, that it was deep inside her mind. The fact that she was lying here in this strange place was unfathomable.

She was slowly aware that she was lying on her back, stretched out on something very soft and warm. Wind stirred all around her so that she was unsure as to which direction it was really blowing. In the wind little particles danced all over her prone form.

Stretching out her arms, she plunged her hands into the velvety substance upon which she lay. It gave, shifting under her fingers in a way that made it extremely hard to hold onto. Her brain raced as it tried to find the right words to describe the sensation; the sensation of warmth and lying down and looking up and what this stuff in her hands was. Her head felt foggy, even as her eyes were staring upwards with complete clarity.

Sand.

It washed over her suddenly, an epiphany of the greatest importance. The stuff she was laying, that was being blown over her, and that she was slowly being covered in was called sand. At the realization she sat bolt upright and looked around, bewildered.

A desert. Surely, it had to be for nothing was around for as far as her probing eyes could see. The line of the horizon stretched around her, empty, and she felt herself to be in the very epicenter of this strange new universe.

She drew her knees up and at the same time let her right elbow rest against one while her hand carefully covered her face. The sand on her fingers grated against her forehead as she rubbed it and tried to suss out exactly what she was doing here. However, something seemed wrong about the motion of her legs as she had drawn them up. They felt inhibited somehow. Looking down she quickly discovered the source of this strange sensation. A long skirt of gold so deep that it nearly matched the sand fell in loose waves around her lower half. Upon further inspection, she found herself to be wearing a matching corset with a plunging neckline; its boning was black, which complimented the golden color very nicely. The corset and skirt were of a strange, light material that had an intricate design running throughout.

Pushing herself unsteadily to her feet she cast another look about at the landscape.

Autumn Sky

Werewolf: The Apacolypse story

New blog, new story