Water drips in the void creating ripples of light blue that travel through the dark water. The bright blue cracks in the sky provide some light, but it is not enough for Jayson to see far. blackness, creating ripples of blue in the dark waters. The dark sky is broken by the light blue cracks, spreading as far as the eye can see, and shaped into a clock. The cracks making the hour, minute and seconds hands shift at their appropriate speeds.

Jayson stands in the water. His ankles are covered by the liquid and warmth seeps through his boots and socks.

In front of him is a door with bloody water gurgling past it and red light seeping through its borders.

Jayson tries to back up, but bony hands grab his ankles, holding him firm in the water. The door cracks open. Jayson's heart races as red light pours over him, and in the center of the room beyond the door is bathtub, overflowing with bloody water.

A single bloody hand hangs limply.over the edge. It sits like this for a few seconds before it twists, bones cracking and elbow popping. The hand points at Jayson, and then it beckons him forward.

“Come see with me,” says Lexanne.

(((*)))

Jayson’s eyes snap open, putting a damp ceiling in his vision. The wood of the chilly desolate burrow is rotting and snapping, but support pillars keep the roof up. Nearby is a Ouija board and an opened can of beans lays next to a pile of burnt wood and old brick.

Jayson rolls on his hands and knees, shifting a holey and discolored blanket off him, and he coughs and hacks, his fingers digging into the dirt that used to be a floor. He pushes himself on his knees and rubs his eyes, then blinks the haze out.

He slips on his jacket, adjusts his scarf and puts his boots on. After that, he fastens his sheath to his belt and checks to make sure his cosmic wood sword is working.

He yanks it out, swiftly and with fluid motions, and gives it a few swings, watching with a satisfied smile as the aura appears and fades seconds later. After sliding it back in its sheath, he takes a deep breath, and resumes practicing his quick draw.

He snaps his weapon out, gives it a few swings and slides it back in. He takes another deep breath and repeats. This process continues with no break for an unknown amount of time, and it leaves Jayson panting, but satisfied.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

After he finishes practicing, he goes to a small door made from a pallet and moves it aside, revealing the forest before him and many abandoned bunny burrows with their mailboxes and doors rotting away.

The morning light shines past the canopy of leaves, and Jayson grabs a large burlap bag and heads out, forcing himself to whistle a cheerful tune.

***

The grandfather clock on the floor ticks unevenly, its noises barely making a thump in the desolate treehouse. Early morning light pours through the glass patio door and Derrick sits at his dining room table, a cup of coffee on one side, and various mugs of paint tainted water on the other.

Plastic figurines ranging from soldiers to vehicles, and small paint containers of various colors are on the table, which is protected by wax paper. The completed figures are in a separate corner, steadily drying, while the unpainted gray ones are lined up in uniform, waiting to get their colors.

Currently, Derrick is painting a boxy tank with two large cannons and four machine gun turrets being operated by poorly protected soldiers. The base blue color is already covering the bulky figure, but now he is using a magnifying glass set up on a small pedestal to help him use paint the first soldier, using a fine tipped brush for the details.

The soldier gradually gets color, and when the soldier is complete, Derrick puts down his brush and runs his talons through his plumage. He remains motionless with his hands covering his eyes for a few seconds before he gradually pulls them down and balls them in front of his beak.

The ticking continues, and his eyes drift to the locked door. The only time the chains and padlock are touched is when he dusts them.

Derrick exhales heavily and averts his eyes. He looks at the figurines again and while he wants to continue painting, his hands refuse to move.

Nausea seeps in and he pushes himself away from the table without leaving his chair.

The ticking continues and Derrick looks at one of his painted figurines. It is one of a dozen futuristic amphibious assault crafts with little soldiers inside it (the other eleven still need painting). He added battle damage to the vehicle and soldiers’ armor, giving them burns, bullet dings and scratches, as well as a last-minute addition of a female anthro shark painted on the side, winking and holding a harpoon gun. The addition also has the damages put on to match the rest of the ship.

His eyes drift away from the figurines and look at a wall with rectangular patches discoloring portions of the wall. All that remains is a picture of a stretch of clean blue waters and lush green trees, all under the soft white clouds hiding the cracked blue sky.

“You're taking the pictures, too!?” yelled Derrick.

“Yes, it's better for them to not remember you, and God willing you forget what they look like!” yelled a female, her voice broken with tears.

Derrick grabs the lone picture off the wall and inspects his. His heavy eyes reflect back to him, and his hands tremble as he carefully returns the picture. Then he goes to his coffee machine, pours himself a cup, chips it down quickly and heads to his gun safe.

He opens it without putting in a combination, pulls out his rifle and sits on his chair, facing the picture of the reservoir.

He closes his eyes, rests his head against the barrel, and waits.