Auteur: Francois Pepin, aka EvilM00s
Theme: Deafth!
Word Count: Microsoft Office says 611.
Tripping the Darkness
Jerome was somewhat confused. Baffled, actually. A moment before now, he had been engaging in his typical tuber-like activities on his sofa with a belly full of beer and Hungry Dude™ microwavable fried chicken, and now he stood in a meadow of washed out neutral coloured grass and bare trees.
No sooner had this realisation registered than he was struck by the inevitable consequences of what he would later identify as the most painfully poignant disorientation he had ever known. Whatever was going on, the laws of physics were angry at its occurrence and were treating his brain like a 45 rpm vinyl record. Simultaneously, his eyes had forgotten how to process visual input and that encouraged his stomach to vault sideways- which in turn threatened to forcefully return his dinner into society without his consent.
However, a moment more and Jerome recovered his balance, bearings and brain. His vision was still a bit blurry, but only selectively, it seemed; the dirty beige grass before him appeared with perfect clarity, as did the line of the horizon of this queer landscape. But the gnarled, leafless trees that were scattered sparsely across the dismal demesne were out of focus no matter how Jerome attempted to adjust his usually 20/20 vision.
Less immediate but just as disturbing was the pain in his chest and his apparent lack of desire to breathe. Jerome couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was off, almost mechanical about his respiration, and he was unable to alter the cadence his lungs were following.
The bleak grey sky carried a breeze that chilled the skin despite the otherwise prevailing warm weather. The shin-height field cover waved in the wind that gave Jerome goose bumps from its temperature… or perhaps it was the sudden realisation that he was not alone.
A black blob crested the horizon, as out of focus as the trees but definitely moving, and it was coming toward Jerome. He looked away to assess the surroundings for an escape. To his horror, he found no egress from the plains as far as his eyes could see, and more alarmingly, the figure was in front of him again. Jerome hurriedly looked in all directions, each time seeing the hooded shadow approach from whichever direction he was looking at the time. More alarming still, it was getting closer with every second.
Jerome tried to run, but he found his feet unwilling to obey. It was as if he was mired in mud; his legs were not heavy but simply unable to carry out his orders. Panic set in as his unwelcome companion, still out of focus, drew close enough to reach out and grasp Jerome’s wrist. His arm surrendered to numbness as skeletal fingers pulled him toward an unknown doom.
A searing pain tore through Jerome’s chest, and the figure paused. Jerome heard a rhythmic beep over the now cacophonous wind which blew back the figure’s hood to reveal a skull countenance. The expression was one of anger and Jerome felt his consciousness being squeezed through what felt like a pinhole trying to accommodate an ocean liner. The field before him shrank and twisted, and vanished altogether until darkness overtook him.
“Stop CPR!”
Frank put the paddles of the defibrillator down and put his first two fingers on his patients’ neck and felt the regular thumping of a heartbeat.
“Pulses are present. We got him, Mike.”
Mike replied dryly, “Suck it, Reaper.” The two medics bumped elbows and got to work stabilising their patient.
Back in the dreary fields, Death looked toward the sky and yelled, "Interference!"
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