JB Lacaden Week 87: Jude

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JB Lacaden’s Picture Choice: 1

Title: Jude

I cleared my throat and looked at her in the eyes. Her face betrayed no emotions and, believe me, I tried to look for any. I felt my hands go sweaty and the urge to run away almost overwhelmed me. Almost. I planted myself deep and remained rooted to where I was. I maintained eye contact.

"So, uhm," I started to say. The words felt clumsy. I couldn't blame them. I felt clumsy doing this. "Sorry," I smiled at her. "I'll be saying 'uhm' a lot. Anyway, uhm, hi, I'm Jude."

She remained silent as she continued to listen to me. We were alone and yet I felt like a thousand pairs of eyes was looking down on me, waiting for what I would say next. I opened my mouth and I gave them what they want.

"I'm of average height and of mediocre accomplishments. I'm twenty three and skinnier than most guys. I don't have a Hollywood smile or a face girls will go gaga over. I'm not the guy some girl will be looking twice at when seen in the streets." I laughed at that. I scratched my head and went back to speaking. "I'm not athletically built. I am in love with books and I love getting lost in stories. I imaging myself laughing with the characters in their triumphs and I feel the realness of their heartbreaks with the tears on my cheeks. I love to write. I write poems and stories and my thoughts. I write to somebody sometimes. I write to nobody most of the times. I've never thought of myself as a great writer. The greatest compliment I gave myself was 'good'. I don't know why. Uhm, hmm...I blend easily. I step out and I get washed away by this ocean of faces and you won't be able to spot me in it. I am as faceless as they are. Am I being too hard on myself? I'm Jude and I am a couple of levels down in the self-esteem category. I have brown eyes and slightly sunken cheeks. I have gigantic dreams."

I felt myself starting to unravel. I felt myself shedding parts of myself. I continue...

"I love to run. I love the feeling of your heartbeat steadily rising. Sweat rolling down your cheeks. I love the feeling of being able to get to one place to another. I love the feeling of my shoes hitting the pavement and pushing me forward. The way I try to catch my breath. I love the feeling of running. It's the closest I can get to flying. Uhm, I'm Jude and I'm all of these things with a sprinkle of awkward and a tubful of clumsy."

Her lips remained a straight line.

"Uhm, I'm not really good at this...feelings stuff. I'm Jude and I love you, Margo. I love you with my insecurities and my blinding imperfections. I love you with words both written and spoken. I love you as I love writing. I love you with each letter I write and with each word I form. I love you in the paragraphs and the pages of my stories. I love you as much as I love running - you make my heartbeat go faster and you make me catch my breath. You're the closest I have to flying. I love you, Margo. Skinny, awkward me with the brown eyes and the average height and the not Hollywood face. Uhm, I guess that's it. That's what I've been wanting to tell you."

The Japanese woman in the painting kept her silence. She looked at me with her porcelain white face and her almond shaped eyes.

"Speechless huh?" I said. "Better than running away screaming in sheer horror, yeah?" I shoved my hands in my pockets and I stepped out of the house. I checked my phone and I see her message. She's already at the party.

***

The party was alive and it screamed and sang and the air was filled with its beer drenched breath. It was an explosion of lights and casualties lay outside on the grass with beer cans in their hands. I parked my car and started walking towards the house, already feeling uncomfortable. I saw her rush out to me and pull me by the arm. I was introduced to faces whose names all got jumbled in my head along with the music and the voices.

"Hey?" I said to her.

"Yeah? What's up?"

"I've something to tell you. Come on," This time it was my turn to hold her in the arm and pull her my way. I led her outside to a space free of drunken bodies and couples whose lips were locked with one another. I took a deep chunk of the night and shoved it deep in my lungs. Here goes nothing...

"Hi, I'm Jude," I started.

"Yeah, you're Jude." She said laughing. "I--"

"There's more," I said smiling.

She raised her hand to her lips and zipped it and I told her everything I told the Japanese woman in the painting. The words stumbled after the other and I felt lightheaded and strange and I just couldn't stop. I watched her face changed expressions. I finished and the night waited with the stars and the leaves and the grass for her answer. I felt my hands go sweaty so I wiped them on my pants. She cleared her throat. Then I heard something from her like a laugh caught in a tight place.

"Wow," Margo ran a hand through her hair. "And I thought I was drunk. OK."

Silence.

"Hi, Jude," Margo said. She smiled at me. "I'm Margo and this is me..."

I listened to her. I grabbed hold of every word as they float out of her cherry colored lips. I held her hand and I felt fragments of insecurities and doubts dissolve into a puddle of nothingness. I listened to her and I started to see Margo in different ways. I saw a kaleidoscopic Margo, a rainbow Margo; each one of them truer than the last. Each one different and yet similar at the same time. I loved each one of them.

The night released its breath and the stars seemed to have grown brighter.

"Come on," she said after a while. I followed her as she ran to the car. We got inside and I turned on the engine.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"There!" She pointed straight into the darkness of the street.

"There's a good place," I said.

And so we drove away.

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JB Lacaden dreams of someday being a published writer. He currently resides in Manila, Philippines. He's a lover of comic books, science fiction, and high fantasy. Check out some of his works at http://www.jblearnstowrite.com/ and follow him at @jblearnstowrite.

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JB Lacaden Week 85: The Lights

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JB Lacaden’s Picture Choice: 2

Title: The Lights

He wrapped it
Around the pole's
Narrow body.
Smiling,
He stepped back into his
Home
Of cardboard and
Broken dreams.
John, the cat,
Purred at him
At it snuggled beside his
Body.
Homeless Mike
Watched snow
Fall all around him.
He could feel himself
Slipping away.
The cold pulling him
Farther.
As his eyes
Dropped to a close,
He thought he saw
The lights
Come to life.
Homeless Mike
Laughed
Before giving himself
Up.

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JB Lacaden dreams of someday being a published writer. He currently resides in Manila, Philippines. He's a lover of comic books, science fiction, and high fantasy. Check out some of his works at http://www.jblearnstowrite.com/ and follow him at @jblearnstowrite.

#DailyPicspiration

JB Lacaden Week 83: Her

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JB Lacaden’s Picture Choice: One

Title: Her

She lay sprawled
On the blinding,
White snow.

Her
With her blue lips
And her bruised eye,
And the words,
Sharp and pointy and...
The words still clung to her.

She lay sprawled
On the blinding,
White snow
Making a
Broken winged angel.


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JB Lacaden dreams of someday being a published writer. He currently resides in Manila, Philippines. He's a lover of comic books, science fiction, and high fantasy. Check out some of his works at http://www.jblearnstowrite.com/ and follow him at @jblearnstowrite.

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JB Lacaden Week 81: Psionic II

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JB Lacaden’s Picture Choice: Both

Title: Psionic II

The salty smell of the canal brought up memories of his days as a field agent. Stephen climbed up the stairs and onto the stone bridge. A red gondola carrying tourists drifted past him, below the bridge, and out the other side. All around him, daylight was slowly being withdrawn by the retiring sun. The sky was a fiery orange streaked with thin strips of gray clouds. For three months Stephen had undergone medication and rehabilitation in the Psychic Headquarters and it had allowed him to regain the strength of his legs. He was still far from how he was fifteen years ago but it was better than being bound to a wheelchair.

Stephen adjusted his helmet for the umpteenth time. It felt awkward but he knew without it he'd be bombarded by thoughts from those all around him. It was a gift from M after his little incident back at headquarters.

He remembered he had fallen asleep on the trip from his underground lab to Psychic HQ and upon waking up he was greeted with a gargantuan of a headache. It seemed as though thoughts all around him came flying in like knives and he felt they were slicing through his skull. He could hear and see the thoughts around him.

"Gaaaah!!!" He looked at M pleadingly. "Stop!" He watched M's lips move rapidly but he couldn't hear what the words from all the others that came flooding his senses. Stephen thrashed around as M and the medics tried to restrain him. He felt something pierce into his skin. The thoughts started to quiet down. He felt every ounce of strength leave his body. Darkness started to fall down on his eyes. Before he submerged into unconsciousness he saw an image of a building covered in ivy. A statue of a hooded man seated on a chair stood by the entrance. Above the statue, placed on the wall, was a plaque that showed the building's name. Stephen tried reading it but he felt himself completely slipping away into the cold, dark arms of sleep.

He woke up in a square box of a room with one wall a two way mirror. M stood on the other side. It wasn't until a minute or two after that Stephen noticed that the thoughts had quieted down.

"Where are we? Somewhere deep underground?" Stephen asked. No, he knew they were still above sea level. Then why couldn't he read the thoughts of others? He couldn't even read M's.

M knocked on the glass wall with his knuckle. "These square box is a prison custom made for Psionics of B-class and above. Blocks psychic energy from going in and out. Took us three years to build it. We have ten of these currently in the underground level of Steel Penitentiary. Five of those are already housing prisoners."

Stephen wheeled his wheelchair backwards and ran his eyes on the walls of his room. He couldn't see anything special about them.

"How-"

"Sorry, Steph," M said. "Can't disclose to you that info. Head honcho would have my head."

Stephen stared at M. Fifteen years ago there were no information withheld from him. What happened? M did say that there were new faces leading the Psychic Division. New rules? No. There was something else, Stephen felt.

"Good thing we have in HQ eh?" M said. He took out a stick of cigarette from his breast pocket and placed it between his lips.

"Thought you had quit smoking," Stephen asked.

M peered at Stephen as he lit up his cigarette with a silver and gold lighter. M sucked in a lungful of smoke and blew it out in one long stream of white. "Like what I told you, Steph. Times have changed. God knows I'd be losing my head if it weren't for these to calm me down." He said looking at the cigarette caught between his index and middle fingers. "How much control do you have over your powers?"

"I cannot tell," Stephen replied.

"Right," M reached into his pocket and retrieved a remote control. "I'll turn off the psychic dampeners and let's find out, yeah?"

Stephen gave an almost imperceptible nod. He concentrated and put up a psychic wall around his mind. M pressed a button. The walls started to hum, followed by silence, then, like a dam breaking, the psychic wall cracked and crumbled as thoughts came flooding in.

Stephen let out a scream as he fell from his wheelchair. Concentrate! Focus on M! He repeated the words to himself. He looked at M and tried to single out the man's distinct psychic energy. At first he felt he had it but the torrent of information coming at him was just too strong. Stephen was washed away and he rolled on the floor, his head felt close to bursting. He forced himself up on his knees and looked at M who was shouting something at him. Stephen felt blood trickling down his nose. He started to rebuild his psychic wall again brick by brick. His body was shaking violently and he could feel consciousness slipping from underneath him. Stephen could taste blood. He had subconsciously started biting down on his lower lip.

Ste--this--ate! They came in fragments but Stephen could finally separate M's thoughts from the others. He continued on strengthening his defenses. Focus on me! came the clear voice of M in Steph's head. His ears were ringing and his head felt it contained a thousand shards of broken glass but he was able to do it. Stephen smiled as he fell down, unconscious, on the floor.

***

Stephen was walking down the bridge and towards the scent of freshly baked bread when his phone started to vibrate. Stephen answered it by pressing a button in his helmet. It was M.

"How do you feel about a little practice?" M asked.

Stephen opened the door of a small bakery. A small bell rang above him. "What do you mean?" Steph replied.

"There's a small incident involving a Psionic a couple of blocks away from you. Subdue him and bring him in," M said.

"Consider it done," Stephen answered.

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Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

JB Lacaden dreams of someday being a published writer. He currently resides in Manila, Philippines. He's a lover of comic books, science fiction, and high fantasy. Check out some of his works at http://www.jblearnstowrite.com/ and follow him at @jblearnstowrite.

#DailyPicspiration

JB Lacaden Week 79: Psionic

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JB Lacaden’s Picture Choice: 1

Title: Psionic

"You were always the talented one."

I placed the brush down on the table and wiped my hands on my pants, smudging the blue with green. I gazed at my finished painting. It was that of three Vietnamese women standing waist deep in the sea, holding fishing rods taller than they are.

"I would definitely buy that. Too bad it's not real."

I turned around and there he was, smiling. He was many years older but otherwise he looked the same as the last time I saw him. He was leaning on the doorway, a cane in his hand. Him being here meant my time of running was over.

"Hello, M," I said.

He stood up straight and started walking towards me, the sound of his cane hitting the wooden floor filled my small abode. The pain on his face every time he had to use his left leg was very visible even though he tried to hide it with his smile. He stopped beside me and raised four fingers.

"You can paint exceptionally well, you're a prolific writer, you are a monster at hand to hand combat," he started enumerating them, putting down one finger for each one, "and you're the best Psionic I've ever met."

I could see the wrinkles that ran all over his face, like tiny roads that intersected and met, and his hair had started thinning. Fifteen years definitely did a lot on him. I wonder what fifteen years did to me.

"Amazing," M said, his eyes on my painting, "you know you made it pretty damn difficult for us to find you. You're very good at hiding yourself." He looked at me for a moment then his gaze wandered all over my house.

"Apparently not good enough with you being here," I sat down on the table and watched him explore the place.

"It's been what? Twelve years?" He asked.

"Fifteen," I replied.

He laughed. "You've been keeping count."

"I didn't mean to."

"You know I almost thought this wasn't it. That, when I first arrived here, it was another dead end. Then I started walking, and walking, and after ten kilometers of traversing through a dense forest I knew we've found you. I walked all the way here. It wasn't an easy task, mind you, walking twenty kilometers with this," he said, giving his injured leg a pat. "I'm sure this place is much larger than that. Hell, I haven't even explored the sea! How far it goes, how deep it is," he looked at me, his eyes showed awe and pride and...fear. There was always fear when people looked at me. "You made all of these. How long?" "How long what?"

"How long did it take you to create this place?"

"Three years. With the help of Exceed."

"Three years..." M was now by the window.

Outside, everything looked serene. The sun had just broken free from the horizon and was shedding gold all over the gray sky. The sea was like glass, transparent and flat, and beneath it were the seaweeds swaying left and right, dancing a dance only they know of. From somewhere distant came the sound of a rooster announcing the arrival of a brand new day. My last day here.

"We need you back," M said. A look of seriousness had taken over his face. His blue eyes had become steel.

"No," I said.

"You don't know what it's like out there," M said.

"And I don't want to know. I'm happy here."

"And how long do you think you can stay in hiding, huh? I found you. We found you. It won't take long for the others to do the same."

"I'll just go deeper, create a much larger place. I'll hide better," I said, meeting his gaze.

M laughed. "You're one of the greatest Psionics, I'll grant you that. But even your mind has its limits. You can't possibly think you can create a world much larger than this and hope to sustain its stability. You'll destroy your brain."

"I have Exceed," I was trying hard to keep myself from shouting. I knew M was too. Behind M, past the window, I saw a ripple disturbing the calmness of the sea. M was making it hard for me to focus.

"What happens if you run out, huh? What happens then?" M sighed. "We've allowed you to play your little game here without any problems. You announced you were retiring and, as much as we didn't like it, we allowed you to. You were our best guy and we allowed you to walk away. That was then. Times have changed. There's this Psionic killer on the loose and our best agents are being killed like they're damn trainees. We need you back, Stephen."

Fifteen years of being away, of solitude and peace. Fifteen years of being free. I looked at M and the world behind him, a world I created with my mind. "How many has this killer killed so far?" The moment the words left my lips I saw the sky outside crack and splinter into a thousand pieces.

"Sixteen and that's only our agents," M replied.

I sighed and the sky shattered and the sea started to fade. The house began crumbling to nothingness all around us and in a heartbeat we were standing in a vast place filled with nothing but darkness.

"Thank you," M said.

I gave a nod. Bright light enveloped us and it consumed us.

***

I lifted the visor off my head. The sound of machines beeping and wheezing filled my ears. I was back in my lab and M was standing in front of me, leaning on his cane with a smile on his face. I proceeded on pulling wires out of the sockets implanted all over my arms.

"Welcome back, M said.

My body felt cold. I took one step and my knees buckled at my weight. M caught me.

"Fifteen years of not using your body will do that to you," he said. "We'll have the medic team fix you up in no time."

I tried speaking but it was as if I've forgotten how to use my mouth. M helped me back to my feet and on to a waiting wheelchair.

"The Company has changed a lot since you left," M said. "But I'm sure they'll all be relieved to finally see you back."

Back. I closed my eyes and allowed my mind to drift. I felt everything around me. I felt the Psionic energy emanating from M, I felt the machines behind us back in my lab, I felt the city throbbing with life above, and from the very edge of my mind's periphery I sensed something dark and powerful waiting.

Welcome back, it said to me.

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JB Lacaden dreams of someday being a published writer. He currently resides in Manila, Philippines. He's a lover of comic books, science fiction, and high fantasy. Check out some of his works at http://www.jblearnstowrite.com/ and follow him at @jblearnstowrite.

#DailyPicspiration

JB Lacaden Week 77: Footsteps

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JB Lacaden’s Picture Choice: 2

Title: Footsteps

He madly scrambles inside his head,
Searching for the letters,
Piecing them together
Haphazardly;
Puzzle pieces that refuse to fit.
He tries to form out the words
To make her stay.
He speaks them out
And they sound wrong.
He tries again
And again
And the sound of her footsteps
Receding
Echoes in his head.

The words spill from him
Through his eyes
Through his sobs
But they sound so wrong
And the sound
Of her footsteps
Continue to reverberate
In him
Long after she’s gone.

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Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

JB Lacaden dreams of someday being a published writer. He currently resides in Manila, Philippines. He's a lover of comic books, science fiction, and high fantasy. Check out some of his works at http://www.jblearnstowrite.com/ and follow him at @jblearnstowrite.

#DailyPicspiration

JB Lacaden Week 75: The Changing Room

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JB Lacaden’s Picture Choice:

Title: The Changing Room

The moment I stepped off my ship, I knew that there was no turning back. I was really doing this. I looked around and everything looked different to me - shiny, foreign, enticing. The dock was filled with ships coming and leaving. Mine, I noticed, was the smallest (and badly needed a good washing and scrubbing). I wasn’t that far off actually. The blue in my overalls was fading, dirt lay snug beneath my nails, and my skin was leathery and toasted from the hours toiled beneath the merciless sun. I suddenly felt conscious and...ashamed of how I looked. Everyone was in dark suits and shiny shoes that reflected the world around them. All of them walked with urgency and a destination. I couldn't help but let out a laugh. I felt lost - not a spatial kind of lost, but one of sense of being. I laughed at myself. I'm becoming too philosophical, I thought.

"Your key, sir," I heard a voice say.

I looked down and saw a mousy looking Caropian looking up at me with an open hand. He looked disgusted. "Your key," he repeated.

I looked around. Was I getting robbed? Caropians were short, tallest one I saw only reached four feet. The one in front of me stood at three. I probably could take him on. "Look, I don't want no trouble," I said.

He sighed and looked at me like how we looked at our dog, Mickey. Mickey was autistic.

"I'll be parking your ship, sir," I noticed he was saying the word 'sir' as if it tasted foul, rotten.

"Oh..." was all I said.

He took the key and walked past me and I heard him grumble the word 'Humans'.

"Hey," I said after him. He turned around and looked at me with one eyebrow raised. "Be careful of my cargo."

"Yeah, sure," he said. He hopped on to my ship and I watched as he brought it to life. The engine sputtered and wheezed before stabilizing. I watched him fly it off into one of the many numbered tunnels on the far off wall.

***

I found myself staring up at a metallic staircase. I couldn't see where it leads to. The walls on either side were a metallic green and I could see my distorted reflection on them. I stepped on the stairs and was caught off guard when it started to move up. I held on scared. I straightened myself and forced myself to relax. If I'd be Changing myself I knew I had to get used to all of these stuff. I kept on telling myself to calm down on the entire ride up. The top was shrouded with bright light. I'll pass through that light and I'll be Changed, I'll be better, I thought to myself.

***

The room was all white - the walls, the ceiling, the floor, the chairs bolted to the walls. I was the only one there that day. In my hand I held a photograph I took of my wife and four kids. I'm doing the right thing, I kept on repeating to myself. I'll be better.

The door swooshed open and a Vuveian wearing a dressed that hugged all her curves stepped in. Her obsidian black skin was a stark contrast to the whiteness of the room. Her green eyes found me and she smiled - flashing sharp teeth that could tear apart even the strongest of metals, I've heard. In her hand was a holonote. She passed a hand over the translator worn around her throat. It blinked green.

"Good day," she said, her voice coming off robotic and unnerving. "Thank you for visiting The Changing You. Kindly fill out this form and we will be back with you shortly. Please, if you have any questions regarding our process do not hesitate to ask. One of our representatives will be situated outside for your inquiries."

I nodded my head and took the holonote from her. She made a slight bow and walked out of the room. There were eleven questions on the form. My eyes rested on the eleventh one. "What species would you wish to be?" It said.

I held on to my family's photograph a little bit tighter.

***

In the Changing Room I was met by a Toreese. He had a suit on that looked as though it can barely contain his severely obese body. He licked his lips as he saw me walk in.

"Ah, there he is," he said in English thick with Toreese accent. "Yes, yes, I saw your application form. Nice choooice." One of his four eyes winked. "And how will you be paying, sir?"

"My payment's in my ship. It's the cargo I brought. They're--uh--they're in deep freeze right now but otherwise in perfect condition," I said. "He--here." I handed him a list.

His eyes scanned them and his fat lips curved into a smile. "Oh ho ho," he looked at me. "Yes. These will do perfectly. Yes. We'll be able to make use of them."

"So, we're good?" I asked.

"Oh, of course, of course!" He snapped his fingers then pointed to someone. "You, kindly guide this fine young man to his Changing Room."

Another Caropian, I realized. He bowed at me and asked me to follow him. I turned and took one last look at the Toreese. He waved me goodbye. "Enjoy your new life," he said.

***

The "Changing Room" was a cylindrical glass container halfway filled with water. Disparate sized tubes were attached on its lid and on its bottom. Beside it was a console manned by someone in a hazmat suit. He turned to us and gave a thumbs up. I noticed he only had three fingers.

"You must remove every piece of clothing and climb inside, " the Caropian said to me.

I did as I was told.

The water was cold and felt sharp on my skin. I had some kind of breathing apparatus attached on my face. The glass was thick and when the lid was put on all sound from outside faded. I could hear my breathing growing heavier. The pounding in my chest grew stronger. Water started to pour out of the tubes and it steadily rose. I started to hyperventilate. The water kept on rising. I wanted out. I changed my mind. I pounded on the glass again and again. The Caropian just kept on staring at me. The one in the hazmat suit kept on pressing on the buttons. The water engulfed me fully. I felt myself blacking out... I tried to hold on but it was hard. I let go.

I closed my eyes and everything went away.

***

My skin was smooth and white as the snow we had back home every winter. My body was filled with muscles and my senses had grown many times sharper than when I was still human. I opened and closed my fists.

"You look good," the Toreese said to me.

"I feel good," I replied. My voice had grown deeper and though in my head it sounded like I've spoken in English I knew that the words coming out of my lips were in Caropthian.

"We'll have your documents ready and a new ship will be waiting for you at the dock," the Toreese said. Then he fished out something from his pocket and handed it to me. "This belongs to you, I think. A little something to remember your past life. You could throw it away if you want to though." He said smiling. He licked his lips then bade me farewell.

I looked at the crumpled photograph in my hand. I folded it into squares and placed it in my breast pocket.

I stepped out of the doors and into my new life.

***

Epilogue

"How's his vitals?" Mar T'Ak asked.

D checked his holopad and keyed in some commands. "Stable." He answered.

Mar T'ak studied the human floating inside the Changing Room. The human's arms twitched, must be something he was seeing. Mar T'ak wondered what kind of dreams they're having. The ones in the Changing Rooms. She folded her arms over chest. "One look at this one and you'd find it hard to believe he'd be able to do something so...coldhearted," Mar T'Ak said.

"Humans," D simply answered.

"Would you have done what he did? Sell your own family to get a better life?"

"Gods no," D replied with a throaty laugh. "Floating in water while you're being pumped with chemical inducing dreams until you die is no life."

"They don't know that. In their heads they're living their ideal life," Mar T'Ak retorted.

D looked at his partner. "Would you?"

Mar T'ak gazed back at the human. He was smiling now. "No," Mar T'ak simply said.

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Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

JB Lacaden dreams of someday being a published writer. He currently resides in Manila, Philippines. He's a lover of comic books, science fiction, and high fantasy. Check out some of his works at http://www.jblearnstowrite.com/ and follow him at @jblearnstowrite.

#DailyPicspiration

JB Lacaden Week 73: Sagada

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JB Lacaden’s Picture Choice: 1

Title: Sagada

The moss covered

S

T

 A

   I

R

  S

Led us to a gaping mouth.

And it swallowed me whole.

I wake up in

Darkness;

With all sounds

Muted

And the silence,

Slimy on the skin,

Was filled

With the hushed whispers

Of the dead

Hanging from above.

(Inspired by my trip to the Hanging Coffins of Sagada)

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Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

JB Lacaden dreams of someday being a published writer. He currently resides in Manila, Philippines. He's a lover of comic books, science fiction, and high fantasy. Check out some of his works at http://www.jblearnstowrite.com/ and follow him at @jblearnstowrite.

#DailyPicspiration

JB Lacaden Week 71: Three Days

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JB Lacaden’s Picture Choice:

Title: Three Days

There were four of us that day in the beach – me, George, Sammie, and of course, Henry. The beach was hidden behind a veil of jungle, which we went through while carrying surfboards over our heads. It was a mile long of white sand that burned even whiter when splashed with the rays of the sun. George led us there. Their family owned the island and he said that we would be able to spend the day there undisturbed. It was how each one of us wanted it.

Even before we saw it we knew it was there. The roaring of the waves gave it away. We pushed through the last of the foliage and there it was in all its beauty. The stretch of burning, white sand, the endless number of waves that came and went, backdropped by the infinite blueness of the cloudless sky. For a brief moment, we believed the day would give birth to another one, that what we heard the other day was not really true. For a brief moment we believed that this was just another out of town trip for us. For a brief moment...

“Isn’t that something?” George said.

Henry howled and rushed towards the water. I planted my board in the sand and watched him get on his board and paddle.

“Come on!” George shouted as he went off running after Henry. “This here’s how it’ll all end, ladies and gents!”

Sammie and I stayed. I looked at her looking at the other two. She had her hair tied into a ponytail. Drops of sweat had formed on her forehead and one was sliding down her chestnut colored cheek.

“This is how we’ll go huh?” She said. Her eyes remained trained on the waters.

“You have other plans?” I asked. “Maybe just you and Henry?”

“No,” she smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “No. This is nice. Us four together is nice. Wouldn’t have it any other way.” She then looked at me. “Come on. We’re missing some good waves there.”

***

I remember I was at work that day when it was announced. I was finishing up on this project that was due a week after and I was way behind schedule. I heard the news from the radio and it contained only nine words.

“The world is going to end in three days.”

Nothing more was said. No explanations were given, no time as to when it will exactly happen, nothing. After those nine words were uttered, some song by The Cure started playing. It was as if it didn’t really happen. But it did. Everyone in our floor heard it, everyone started asking questions. Some said it was just a practical joke. But you could tell from the laughter and the smiles that they believed it to be true. I know I did.

What would your reaction be when you were told that you’ve only three days to live? Would you cry in fear? Would you panic? Would you accept it openly?

I turned off my computer and left work without saying anything to anybody. I passed by rooms filled with people in prayer. I passed by groups of people huddled in tears. I passed by someone on the phone talking to his wife.

The world reacted much calmer than I expected. What I had in mind was streets of violent people and buildings on fire. When I stepped out of our building, you wouldn’t have guessed that the end of the world was just broadcasted live. What I saw was a few people walking past me with their heads bowed low. Some lifted their faces to greet me a good day. They had their smiles on display. Some looked withdrawn. Some just looked empty. I wonder how I looked.

I picked one street in random and decided to go there. Four blocks had gone by and that was when I noticed that I hadn’t yet received a single call from my parents or my sister. The thought of calling them hadn’t passed my mind until then. I continued on walking.

I walked down street after street after street. Was I in shock? Maybe I was. When I felt the fingers of exhaustion taking hold of me, I kept on walking. When all of daylight had bled out and nothing remained but a sky the color of a fresh bruise, I kept on walking. When the streets had emptied of people, I kept on walking. And I still kept on walking even after my eyes had grown red and swollen from crying.

That was how I spent the first day of my last days.

***

I woke up the following morning in a place I did not know. The room was small containing only one single bed, a table, and a chair. Not long after, my phone started to ringing. I didn't pick it up. The world was ending. Everything about yesterday came to me in one giant wave. I wondered then if I just dreamt it all.

The phone kept on ringing.

I stood up and grabbed it. My feet felt like they were being inserted with needles. I looked at my phone’s display screen and I saw Sammie’s name. I answered it.

“John?” Her voice was mingled with static.

Silence.

“Hello? John, are you there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” I replied.

“Henry and I, we just got back from Hong Kong and we’re wondering...Have you heard the news?”

“Yes, I did. Yesterday.”

“Where are you now?” I could hear the sound of traffic from her side.

“I actually don’t know,” I answered, laughing.

Another round of silence. I looked outside my dirt-stained window and saw an empty intersection with a traffic light that perpetually showed a red light.

"I think I'm still somewhere in Manila. Know what? I don't know."

"Have you called your parents yet?" She asked.

"No."

"Are you planning to call them?"

"I don't know." I replied. “Are you with Henry now?”

“Yeah, I’m in his car. He’s driving me to my place before he goes off to his parents’.”

From the background I could hear Henry calling out my name.

"Listen, John. Henry and I, we've decided to go somewhere tomorrow. There's this island owned by George's parents. We want you to come with. Will you?"

"Yes," I said. Then she started telling me about the details: where to meet-up, what time. All the while I tried picturing her face in my head. Her long, black hair, the lines that form in her cheeks whenever she smiles. Spending the last day of the last days with the girl I love along with the guy who was able to win her from me. I didn't know whether to laugh at that or cry. I ended the call and went out of the room.

***

Dusk had turned the sky to rust. The waters have calmed down, the waves were put to rest. I lay on my board as it bobbed up and down on the water. The heavens had no clouds in them. All was quiet. It was hard to believe that the world would end that day. But it did.

I sat up and looked at the beach. I could see Henry and George busy building a bonfire for the night. Sammie was lying asleep on a white blanket.

I started wondering why I placed myself in that place, in that situation. To spend the day watching the girl I love spend her last days with someone else. Henry's not a bad guy, a bit dense at times, but not bad. And it was my fault why Sammie and I didn't work out. I just wished I could have another chance. I laughed at myself. All the chances of getting back with Sammie was thrown down the toilet the moment it was announced that the world was coming to its end.

George looked at me. "Hey, lazy ass! Come help us here!" He shouted.

I waved my hand at him and I started paddling to shore.

***

We sat around the fire while passing around a bottle of tequila.

"You know? I'm kinda disappointed at how things will end," George said, tossing a piece of dry wood into the fire. "Kinda anticlimactic, yeah?"

"How would you like things to have ended?" Henry asked.

"Who? Me? I don't know. I guess I just think, after the stories we've been fed for years about the rapture and the apocalypse and how the dinosaurs died, it'll be something more...noisy."

"I think something like this is fine," Sammie said. I looked at her and saw her eyes were on me. She smiled then continued, "I like it that it ends so peacefully, you know? I mean, I'd prefer it if things didn't have to end. But, yeah, I wouldn't mind the world ending quietly."

"Looks like someone's starting to pack up," I said, pointing up at the sky.

We all looked up and saw the stars being put out one by one; they were like candles being snuffed out by god's fingers. One by one they disappeared until the silver moon was all that was left. We watched as the moon was folded up in half and then folded again repeatedly until it was no more than a sliver of silver in the sky. And then that too was gone. The only light left was from the bonfire we had made.

"I guess this is it," George said. I looked at him as his body became transparent. I saw the jungle behind him getting swallowed by the darkness. Then George was gone.

I knew this was my last opportunity to say something. The fire started to grow smaller. The sea had been packed away into the chest along with the others. I grabbed hold of Sammie's hands. She looked at me with tears in her eyes. Beside her, Henry had already started to vanish.

"I love you," I said to her. "I love you and I love you and I love you."

She smiled and laughed and cried. I wiped away her tears as the fire died.

In the darkness, I held her hand and her tears.

"I love you too," the ghost of her whispered.

It was ephemeral but it was love. And even just a second of it was more than enough.

The world ended that day, in silence and in darkness. In tears and in laughter, we went away.

I walked out of the universe holding her tears and her words with a smile on my lips.

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JB Lacaden dreams of someday being a published writer. He currently resides in Manila, Philippines. He's a lover of comic books, science fiction, and high fantasy. Check out some of his works at http://www.jblearnstowrite.com/ and follow him at @jblearnstowrite.

#DailyPicspiration

JB Lacaden Week 69: A Day in Miranha

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JB Lacaden’s Picture Choice: 1

Title: A Day in Miranha

Art

He wakes up earlier than the sun. No one greets him good morning save for the ever present pain in his body, in his bones. He has long learned to not listen to its voice.

Art sits up and puts on his glasses. The world outside is blanketed with gray and his house remains in dreaming. All is quiet. Art reaches for the photograph on the bedside table and brushes his fingers lightly on the woman in it. His wife, dead for over a decade, smiles at him with her all her shyness and love. Art smiles back.

A lone rooster crows the arrival of the morning as Art puts on his overalls and heads outside. The air is crisp and has the light touch of the coming winter. In front of him lies sprawling his garden - a garden that had grown from being more than just a simple hobby. It has covered his entire yard and has surrounded his house. Everyone in Miraha admires his garden. It's his pride and joy. He has thrown his everything in it - becoming the focal point of is life ever since Maria died. He brought it to life with his arthritic hands and bad back and broken heart. It became his new Maria.

He has grown all sorts of vegetation and is continuously planning on adding some more. A couple more root crops, he thinks. Art picks up his equipments and begins working. Climbing up his wooden fence he sees the first rays of daylight. A bead of sweat crawls down his sunburnt cheek. He stops and looks up for a heartbeat or two and sees one window of one house light up. It's the Ripple house. Art wipes away his sweat and resumes his work.

Prudence

Prudence Ripple takes out her coffee mug and begins making coffee. She looks outside the window and sees Old Man Art, a permanent fixture to the landscape, working on his garden. Honestly, Prudence thinks to herself, that man would rather talk to his vegetables than to his neighbors. She's pretty sure the old man doesn't even know he has neighbors. Prudence walks away from the window and takes a sit.

From above she heard floorboards groan - a signal that her husband has now waken up. Prudence's eyes fall down to the blackness of her coffee. She sees her reflection which turn into something else, of an image of a woman she doesn't know. Her thoughts wander back to last night as she listens to her husband whisper a woman's name in his sleep. It's not the first time that happened. But Prudence is sure it means nothing. It's just a dream, she thinks to herself. She takes a sip from her coffee.

Her husband walks in the kitchen and greets her a good morning. Prudence returns the greeting. She watches him pack food into his bag. He loves me, she thinks to herself. He wouldn't cheat. He's not like that. Prudence smiles at herself, at her assurance, at her husband.

The husband tells her he'll be working late, to not stay up waiting for him, to kiss the children goodnight for him. Prudence nods and nods and nods. The husband walks over to her and kisses her on the lips. The feeling is no different than that of a handshake. Prudence thinks nothing of it. She remains seated in her chair as the sound of the opening and the closing of the door fills the room. Her husband leaves.

Henry

The world holds its breath. All the eyes of all the trees watch Henry in anticipation. The boy draws his knives and waits in the shadows. His prey, unaware of the danger around it, stops by a stream to drink. Henry knows an opportunity just opened itself. He makes his move. He slips out of the shadow and pounces on the deer with both knives outstretched like claws - a human that has turned into a vicious wildcat. In two swift motions he has severed the deer from its life. Blood spills from its neck and into the stream. Not bad for three hours of waiting, Henry thinks as he wipes the blood from his knives.

Above, the sky turns red as the stream soundlessly flowing beneath Henry's feet.

The Lover

The sun is a golden coin that's already halfway buried beneath the ground, and with it comes down the colors of the sky - leaving nothing but the darkness of the night.

She's wearing a white dress.

The grass feels soft beneath his feet and the night breezes are kisses on the skin. He watches the houses in the town of Miraha glow with light. From somewhere far comes the sound of a wolf howling into the silver moon.

He feels her beside him, looking at him.

The wind carries to him her scent. He holds on to her just a little bit tighter, afraid to let go.

Time keeps on moving, pulling her away. He can't keep up.

He remembers her words, they float in the darkness and they land in his memory.

The hands of the clock continue to move as Miraha prepares for the night. He sits alone on top of a grassy hill with his hands in his pockets. He watches life move along. He refuses to let her go.

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Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

JB Lacaden dreams of someday being a published writer. He currently resides in Manila, Philippines. He's a lover of comic books, science fiction, and high fantasy. Check out some of his works at http://www.jblearnstowrite.com/ and follow him at @jblearnstowrite.

#DailyPicspiration

JB Lacaden Week 67: Ephemeral

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JB Lacaden’s Picture Choice: 1

Title: Ephemeral

I raised my hand
And stabbed the night
With a sickle of a moon
And it bled out clouds
That muddied the sky.
The stars, they started
Coming out,
Curious as to what happened;
Cosmic fireflies,
They watched me
Rip the night in half.
I shoved my head
Behind the curtain
And I saw the planets
Dancing the ballet:
Traipsing and twirling
And tiptoeing around
The sun.
I started to cry
At the magnificence
Of the heavenly orchestra
And I embraced
The ephemeral feeling
Close to my chest
But it started to disappear
Like smoke
And only its smell
Remained.
But I know
That too will disappear
Leaving nothing
But ghostly images of it
In my head.

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Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

JB Lacaden dreams of someday being a published writer. He currently resides in Manila, Philippines. He's a lover of comic books, science fiction, and high fantasy. Check out some of his works at http://www.jblearnstowrite.com/ and follow him at @jblearnstowrite.

#DailyPicspiration

JB Lacaden Week 65: Longing

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JB Lacaden’s Picture Choice: 1

Title: Longing

I open my eyes and I wake up to a brand new day. In an instant, the pain washes over me like a huge tidal wave. My head feels like it's being split open by a vodka flavored butcher knife. I close my eyes but all it does is bring me to darkness and in the darkness I see her face swimming. The pain's coming from all over and I'm not sure if I'm just imagining some of them or not. It scares me. I scare me.

I feel like throwing up and crying and screaming all at the same time. Everything's wrong. Her not being here is wrong. It hurts. The strong feeling of longing floods my chest and they pour out of my eyes. My cheeks burn with tears and I do nothing to wipe them away. Her side of the bed's untouched. It has been for five months now. Five fucking months and the pain's as strong as it was during day one.

At around this time, the smell of pancakes should be drifting all around. My small studio apartment is supposed to be filled with the sound of The Beatles. At around this time, she's supposed to be waking me up with a kiss on the cheek. And if that didn't work, she'd try kissing me on the lips. And if that didn't work, she'd just lie on the bed with me - her arms wrapped around me. Most of the times, I just pretended to be asleep still just so I'd be able to be with her for a few more minutes.

Funny how life turns everything upside down. It dangles a shiny object in front of you and you get attracted to it. You chase after it and when you have finally caught up, life pulls it up and takes you with it. You’re flying! But in a blink of an eye you’re no longer holding on to anything. You’re flying but you’re falling. You know? Falling starts off just like that. You thought you’re flying at first but you’re actually plummeting down at the speed of gravity. Then splat! You’re pancake on the pavement. One minute you’re at cloud nine, the next you’re getting drunk every night and crying or throwing up or both the next morning.

I force myself up. Today’s a Wednesday. I drag myself out of bed and I walk towards the bathroom. I feel myself crumbling away - pieces of me cracking and falling to the ground. Five months and nothing's changing. They say time fixes everything but I feel like the hands of time right now has arthritis. Sometimes, I wish for the brand new days to never come. But I’m scared to off myself. I’ve been thinking about it. God knows how much I’ve been considering the idea. But I guess I just don’t have the balls to do it and I wake up to another god forsaken brand new day.

I turn off the shower and I dry myself with a white towel. Inside my bedroom I start putting on my work clothes. At around this time, she's supposed to be tying my tie around my neck. This time, I do it myself. I tighten the knot and I take an aspirin for my headache. I walk to a small drawer sitting at the foot of my bed. I strike a match and I light a big fat candle sitting on top the drawer. I place the candle beside her photograph. Her smile’s been the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. It always will be.

At around this time, she's supposed to be giving a kiss goodbye before I leave for work. But not this time.

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Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

JB Lacaden dreams of someday being a published writer. He currently resides in Manila, Philippines. He's a lover of comic books, science fiction, and high fantasy. Check out some of his works at http://www.jblearnstowrite.com/ and follow him at @jblearnstowrite.

#DailyPicspiration

JB Lacaden Week 63: Numbers - II

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JB Lacaden’s Picture Choice: 2

Title: Numbers - II

She opened her eyes and immediately leapt off the bed and into a fighting stance. 39 found herself inside a small room that contained a bed for one and a bedside table with a bowl of soup on it and a book opened halfway through the end. She was also lacking any piece of clothing. But before she had any time to think where she was or how she got there, the knob on the door started to turn. 39 leapt into action. Right after the door opened, she quickly grabbed the forearm of the person and pulled hard. It was a man, 39 realized. She got on his back and placed one knee on top of him as she twisted his arm at an odd angle.

“Where am I?!” 39 shouted at her prisoner. She twisted his arm some more and the man let out a cry of pain.

“Stop! STOP!” he shouted.

39 brought her face closer to his ear and she whispered, “Answer me or I break you bone by bone. Did the Company send you? Who are you? Did you bring me here?”

The man was breathing hard. “Company? What are—I don’t know what you’re talking about. Yes! I brought you here. I found you lying unconscious by the willow tree beside riverbank outside. I think I just saved your life, damnit!”

The man was no agent of the Company. That much she was sure. If he were, he would not have allowed himself to be taken down that quick. He seemed to be speaking the truth as well. 39 released the arm and got off of him. The man slowly sat on the floor, cradling his arm by his chest.

“What’s wrong with you?!” The man shouted. “Gods, I think you broke my arm.”

“No, the amount of pressure I placed was enough to give you some discomfort but not enough to dislocate your shoulder,” 39 simply said.

The man stared at her with an incredulous look plastered all over his face. “Discomfort? You call that discomfort?”

The man made a move to stand but 39 reacted immediately.

“Whoa, whoa,” the man said scrambling backwards. “Look, just...I saw you unconscious and I decided to bring you in. I’m sorry for helping, OK? I don’t want any trouble. You can leave if you want. Your clothes are hanging out at the back of the house.”

39 had not seen any man besides those within the compound owned by The Company and none of them were like the man lying helpless before her. This man was...too weak and emotional. Two things that, as was drilled to her and to all of the other Numbers their entire lives, would surely get you killed. The man before him also contradicted everything the Company said to her. She was told that the world outside the compound was nothing more than a huge wasteland filled with mutants and other savages. Obviously, the one before her was neither a mutant nor a savage.

“Wh—Who are you?” She asked again.

“Can I stand first?” The man asked.

39 calculated the possible scenarios that might happen. The man was clearly no trained fighter. She knew she would be able to knock him down again in close quarters combat. The man had no visible weapons on him. He was wearing light clothing and the number of places to hide a weapon was quite few. Unless...the weapon was miniscule in size. 39 decided on the best possible way to approach this. Still locked in her fighting stance, she slowly circled the man and stopped directly behind him.

“Now stand slowly,” she commanded him. “Do not move your hands. If I see movement, I will tear them off of their sockets.”

“There’s something very, very wrong with you,” the man said as he got himself back on his feet.

“You will answer my questions,” 39 said.

“It’s not like I’ve any choice, now, do I?”

The man was a complete conundrum to 39. He had poor hand-to-hand combat skills and he was facing someone far superior to him and yet showed no fear. He was surprised when he was assaulted off-guard and he displayed anger and annoyance and confusion but, strangely enough, he was not afraid of her.

“What is your name?” 39 asked.

“Zane,” the man answered.

“Are you working for The Company?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about so I guess the answer’s no. I hunt. I don’t work for anyone.” Zane answered. “Are these the ones who are after you? You kept on talking in your sleep about how you’ve to get away.”

“Yes,” 39 simply said after internally debating whether to give information out or not.

“I don’t know why they are after you but I can assure you that you’re safe. You’ve been down for two days and during that time I’ve seen no one looking for a missing girl.”

“Two days? I’ve been asleep for two days and you have not killed me or brought me back?”

“Kill you?” Zane laughed. “Why would I do that? Look, I have no idea who you are or what you did but you’re safe here. Now, I’ll turn around and you will not punch a hole in my chest.”

Zane slowly started to turn around. 39’s muscles tensed. The normal way to react to this scenario was to once again pin the man to the ground until all queries have been supplied with their proper answers...and yet, 39 somehow trusted the man. She fought hard against her instincts and allowed Zane to face her.

“Oh shit,” Zane quickly closed his eyes upon seeing 39’s naked body.

“What’s wrong?” 39 asked, confused.

“I forgot you’re not wearing anything. I didn’t mean...I...we’ll have to get you your clothes. For the meantime, cover yourself with this.” Zane pulled the blanket from the bed and handed it to 39.

39 still did not understand Zane’s embarrassed reaction to her body. Within the compound, every Number was taught to fight in various conditions. She had seen the others without clothing and they have seen her naked as well and none of them had the same reaction Zane was having. She wondered whether this was normal for those who lived outside the compound. Nevertheless, she covered herself up and followed the man as he walked out of the room. A warm feeling blossomed within her as they made their way down the stairs. She felt...safe—a feeling she had not felt for a very long time.

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Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

JB Lacaden dreams of someday being a published writer. He currently resides in Manila, Philippines. He's a lover of comic books, science fiction, and high fantasy. Check out some of his works at http://www.jblearnstowrite.com/ and follow him at @jblearnstowrite.

#DailyPicspiration

JB Lacaden Week 61: Numbers

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JB Lacaden’s Picture Choice: 1

Title: Numbers

She got down on her knees and held Saber's head in her hands. The wolf looked at her with its knowing eyes and raised its head to give her cheek a lick. Tears welled up in her eyes. 39 gave Saber an embrace.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I just can't take you with me."

She let go, got on her feet, and pulled her hood up. The wolf followed her with its gaze--not once did Saber made a sound. 39 brought two fingers to her lips and then touched them to the wolf's forehead. "I promise this will not be the last we'll see each other."

39 slipped out of her room and melded with the darkness of the hallway.

***

Alarms blared behind her. 39 did not once stopped and looked back. She continued running deeper into the forest, guided by what little light that was able to penetrate through the thick cluster of branches and leaves. She knew the Company would come looking for her. She knew it wouldn’t be long before the wolves along with the other Numbers would be on her trail. 39 fought against the pain in her sides, against the darkness of the night, against the protest of her muscles. 39 kept on running. She didn't know where she was headed, she didn't know how long she'd have to go, but one thing she did know was behind her was a prison and she had no plans of going back.

***

39 woke up lying on the sunlight carpeted forest floor. Her robe had tears and holes and her bare feet were filled with scratches. She couldn't recall whether she had fallen asleep or had collapsed from exhaustion. But she didn't care. The only thing that mattered to her was she didn't wake up surrounded by the four white walls of her room inside the Company.

Her body ached all over but the most prominent pain was the one she felt in her stomach. The small window she had to escape wasn't enough for her to get anything aside from the tattered robe she was wearing and her bow and two arrows.

39 accessed the hunter/gatherer skillset in her database of skills implanted in her mind. She felt her muscles and her bones adapting the change. Her hearing and her eyesight sharpened. 39 smiled. She hated what The Company did to her but she'd have to admit - they did have their upsides too.

***

The bow felt like an extension of her arm. She made it when she first acquired her bowyer/fletcher skillsets. The bow was made of elm and had elaborate carvings running up and down its body. 39 never went anywhere without it.

The animal in front of her was feeding on the plants. She searched her database and found a match. The beast was called a deer. Herbivores of the family cervidae. It was completely unaware of 39's presence.

She nocked the arrow in place and pulled it all the way to her lips. All sound was hushed as if the entire forest waited with bated breath as to what will happen next. The only movement came from the deer. 39 released the arrow. It pierced the air and eventually the deer's neck. The animal fell to the ground.

39 walked over to it to find it still alive. She got down on her knees and finished the job. Cleaning the animal would be next. She pulled out the arrow from the deer's neck when she heard a sound somewhere behind her. 39's hunter reflexes kicked in. In less than three seconds she had her bow loaded with the bloody arrow and had it directed towards the sound - a girl with a very familiar face.

"Hello, 39," the girl said. Her torso was covered with white armor with The Company's insignia printed on the armor's chest. A gun was holstered in her belt and a baton was in her right hand. 39 knew the armor to be bulletproof, the gun to be loaded with tranquilizers, and the baton to be electrified. Standard gear for a manhunt. But the most prominent feature of the girl was her face. She looked exactly like 39.

"So, which one of you found me?" 39 asked.

The girl raised her left hand and the number 23 was tattooed on her palm. "Many have tried to escape but you're the only to ever get out of the compound. The Makers are impressed," 23 said.

39 eyed her clone. If one of them was here then at least one other Number wasn't too far. It was standard procedure to always go in pairs. 23 guessed what she was thinking.

"I'm paired up with 15. She's not far." 23 raised her other hand to show a small device with. "I press this button and she'll come running here. I suggest you lower down the weapon and come with us."

"I won't return back to that...prison," 39 answered back.

"It's your home. The Company takes care of us. They made us! That's where we belong."

"No! No. That...that place, the people there, they don't care what happens to us. We are just objects to them. We're weapons."

"And where will you go?" 23 countered. "You've heard the stories, you've seen the images. There's nothing out there. The world outside the compound is just filled with wildlands, mutants, and chaos. The Company made us and yes, you can say we're made to be weapons, but we're weapons that will be used to protect the remaining survivors of this dying planet. We're the future. We can make things right again."

39 smiled bitterly. "You think we're the future? You have no idea what we really are to them. I've seen their plans. It's why I ran away. They're planning to--"

"Good job, 23. You've found her."

39 took one quick glance and she saw another Number. 15 she assumed. Every Numbers were all created equally in terms of intelligence and skills. 39 knew if she fought hard enough she could beat 23 but fighting two Numbers at the same time would be impossible. She knew she was in trouble.

But she'd already made up her mind. If they do bring her back to The Company, it would be as a corpse.

"Lower your weapon, sister," 15 commanded.

39 heard the cocking of a gun behind her. She caught 23 steal a glance at 15. 39 knew she had to act fast. She raised her bow and made a quick release and then she dove to the side without bothering to check whether her arrow struck the target or not. The tranquilizer dart barely got her; it zipped past her leg and into the forest.

39 rolled on her knees but was quickly met with 15’s electric baton. It caught her right on the chest, which sent her on her back. Her body convulsed as the electricity coursed through within her and for a moment 39 felt nothing but pain.

Then she felt nothing at all.

She tried moving but her body refused to listen. Above her, thin strands of white clouds slowly rolled by. She felt her eyes water up.

No. This can’t be the end. I don’t want to go back. I want to live...

Her view of the sky was blocked with the faces of her clones looking down at her. She saw an arrow sprouting from 23’s right shoulder. The clone’s face though was free of pain.

“You really didn’t think you’d be able to win against two Numbers?” 15 said.

I. Refuse!

39 did not know where she got the strength to break out of the paralysis or to do what she did next but she was thankful for it. Her hand moved like a viper. She grabbed 15 by the wrist, the one that held the baton, and she pulled the clone down. 39 then raised her legs and held 15’s neck between them. Using her other hand, 39 snatched 15’s baton, turned the power on with a press of a button, and struck 23’s knees with it. 23 screamed in pain from the electrocution and her body folded to the ground.

39 could feel 15 struggling with the hold she had on her.

“You’ve no chance of escaping The Company, sister,” 15 said with a maniacal smile on her face.

“Watch me,” 39 answered as she tightened and twisted her legs until she felt 15’s neck broke. The clone’s body went limp.

39 got on her feet and surveyed the scene. Two Numbers lay dead in front of her. A stroke of luck? There was no way a single Number could out duel two. 39 went over to 23 and she pulled out the arrow sticking out from her fellow clone’s arm.

39 ran away without looking back.

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JB Lacaden dreams of someday being a published writer. He currently resides in Manila, Philippines. He's a lover of comic books, science fiction, and high fantasy. Check out some of his works at http://www.jblearnstowrite.com/ and follow him at @jblearnstowrite.

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