Here is the first unedited chapter for a new novel I'm working on. I'm not sure if it's definately going to be called 'The Third Day' but I guess I can sort that out later. Also, I know it's a bit far-fetched but this is only the first draft. Well, other than that please enjoy and review! Thanks!
P.S. Does anyone know how to get rid of the spaces between the paragraphs?
Chapter 1- Kill For Kick
Another gunshot rang through the blood-drenched night. When would they stop? I found myself asking the same question every time the shots occurred. I was kidding myself even considering that it was all going to end. The ravenous war had been raging for 37 continuous years now, as had the gunshots. One day it would demolish the precious planet that they were all fighting over. All the blood that innocent people were shedding, all the hatred and all the bereavement; it would all go to waste.
As I lay slumped in my forever-unmade bed I found myself getting angry again. The year was 2050, the Saviours and Destructors were at each others throats and they weren’t gaining anything but the burden of the losses of the people they had once loved. In fact, I bet none of those ‘brave, dashing and superior’ warriors remembered how the war had even started. I certainly didn’t want to remember. I was too old and feeble and to be honest I didn’t give a damn.
I think I’d been living in my bed for about ten years, only getting when it was necessary. You can call me weedy for not having a thing to do with the immense quarrel and not transforming myself into a refined fighter but I was sixty years old and quite frankly I felt safe enclosed in the foul, rotting and damp walls of my cluttered bedroom which was more like a prison cell every day.
I caught a deplorable glimpse of myself in the clouded strip of mirror on my wardrobe door which contained clothes I hadn’t worn since the Olympic Games back in 2012. Everyone was blissful back then; if only they’d have known what was coming to London a year later. I studied my reflection. It was glaring back at me as if to say, “Leon, how could you let yourself turn this way?”
My white, wiry entwined hair fell down to my chest and blended in with the fluffiness of a downy beard. The burgundy veins of my face bulged through my cheeks probably from the endless nights of fury when I gritted my teeth so hard because of the folly of the war. I ran my wrinkled, dry hand over the surface of my abandoned face. It felt crusty and blemished. I bared my teeth and was startled by the yellow and black substance that coated them. But the features that really stood out were my blotchy, reddened eyes from all the tears, the arteries scorching and cushioned on two, black, saggy bags. All in all, if I blocked out the repulsiveness I looked like some textbook image of God.
I reckoned I’d been asleep before the gunshots had started or I may have just been in one of my depressive trances. What time was it? I strained my eyes to glance at the clock. Half past midnight. The mini battles in the street would be starting now and would commence until midday. I knew the timetable of the war like the back of my puny hand now, just from listening to the explosions and battle sounds. At midday the riots in the centre of town would start. There wouldn’t be much firing then, just protests and marches and fist fights. I’d often pull my pillow over my head to block out the distant sound of morbid and some-what religious chanting and spine-chilling cries. After three disturbing hours of hair-raising commotion the attacks would start. This probably meant the youth destroying what was left of any momentous buildings and raiding the Foreigner’s houses. I’ll explain who the Foreigners are in good time.
I can’t say I blame the youngsters who are devastating our planet. They’re gullible and free. They’ve grown up in a world where violence is the answer and where there are no men in uniforms or suits to order them around. They are unbound creatures in a land of carnage. They have nowhere to go. I mean, all the town’s been blown up, where can they go to keep occupied? They just fight. Fight for Fun, Murder for Merriment, Kill for Kick. That’s their pact. It stimulates their minds. They crave the taste of blood.
Once the youngsters are bored, shot or taken away by soldiers to meet a very excruciating fate the gunshots and bombs start. What a way to end the day. The buildings scorch in fiery flames as the fighters prance around them, macabre and ready to kill.
For the first time in what seemed an eternity, I finally forced my ancient gangly bones from the comfort of my creaky bed. Oh how my muscles ached with a cold tingling. The heating had packed in decades ago which was probably another reason why I dwelled in bed for all those wasted years.
Grabbing the nearest object for support, (a battered roll of lime vinyl-coated wallpaper which I had got out to decorate the mouldy walls around me but never got round to it) I hobbled my way over to the window. I had barred it up soon after war had broken out because the Prime Minister had advised to do so in order to prevent hungry slaughterers from breaking in and murdering the vulnerable and weak, (yours truly) if they had ‘run out’ of people to attack on the frontier.
I rested my hand on the windowsill and touched the soft curtain. I had to be careful to only pull it open an inch so that no one outside could see me. Through the slit I just about managed to catch a glimpse of the terrorising scene.
On the estate there was not a lot happening. In fact it looked like a desolate and barren ghost town. Most of the terraced houses opposite were boarded up and crumbling down. There was even a gap in the row were I presume once stood a house belonging to a Foreigner and all that remained was a sooty pile of debris. Across the bleak land there were various abandoned leaflets flapping around in the polluted air and I caught that one of them was entitled ‘CONVERT TO SAVIOUR!’. When I studied them further I was aware that all of them were in favour of the Saviours and other titles included ‘DOWN WITH THE DESTRUCTORS’.
The night sky flared a blistering burnt crimson, starless and funnily enough moonless. Then I heard the clattering of crockery coming up the stairs. That would probably be the second and final inhabit of the house, my grandson Devlin bringing me my late night supper. Bless him, he’d made so many wasted cups of tea over the years. He’d bring them up and leave them on the table by my bed but by the time I’d wake it’d be cold. He’d be chuffed that I would actually be awake for once to drink his unfortunately putrid tea.
I found his appearance humorous as he entered the doorway that night. The fine, delicate bone china cup and saucer seemed totally out of place being held by this lanky, bulky creature, trembling probably with fear in his broad hands.
“Oh, hey Grandpa,” he barked, hoarsely, from smoking chunky cigars, carefully placing the tea by my bed. His reddish black hair was styled into a windswept fashion and the floppy spiked up hairs quaked as he moved about his stocky build. His left ear was pierced with a silver stud which complemented his silvery, crystallised eyes.
“You decided to see what waking up feels like again, I take it,” he joked, the finely combed hairs of his goatee beard quivering as he chuckled, deeply. I grimaced without him seeing, still looking out onto the terrorising night. On the horizon I could see the silhouettes of people with rifles and several fires.
“I’ve got nothing to wake up to except from war,” I growled, brusquely, letting the curtain drop between my fingers as I heard my parched voice for the first time.
“Well get off your butt and do something about it. Join the Aum. We’re making good progress.” Devlin was the closest thing to a peacemaker you’d find in the war. He was a warrior in the more minor group of the war, the Aum sect meaning peace in Hinduism. They had only one purpose. To end the war. Only I found it extremely difficult to believe that you could end a war by fighting.
As a sign of Devlin’s dedication to the Aum he had a black tattoo of the symbol stamped across his muscular bare chest and draped around his neck was a dove pendant also representing his struggle for harmony. I didn’t have the guts to tell him that I thought the Aum was pointless and that they’d never end the war. He seemed so proud, brimming with confidence. I just couldn’t burst his bubble of satisfaction. Devlin was all I had left just as saving the world was all he had left. I wouldn’t risk losing him.
“Where’d the moon go?” I questioned, finally facing him and letting him take a good look at me. He didn’t seem shocked by my appearance, more shocked about my question.
His head shook violently and he snarled,
“The moon’s gone?” He rushed to the window flung open the curtain not caring if anyone saw him and sighed out in relief. He turned. He was sweating like mad.
“You fool, Pop.” he cursed. “The moon’s still there.” He trembled ferociously.
I wasn’t stupid. I could sense that there was something wrong.
“Dev, what in the name of the Foreigners is going on?” Devlin exhaled, heavily.
“Sometimes I forget you’ve been sheltered in this place for so long.” He ran his fingers along the stubbly surface of his beard with apprehension, probably because he knew I’d be furious about what he was going to say next.
“The moon’s gonna be destroyed.”
My scarlet eyes widened and I flopped onto the bed. It was so battered that even my scrawny, bony body caused it to creak.
“I beg your pardon?” I wasn’t even looking at him. I was just staring at the curling carpet, my head reeling. If someone had said such a baffling sentence as that about forty years ago I’d have laughed and not believed a single word. But these were days of puzzlement were bewildering things happened. I’d believe anything I was told. Devlin sat beside me, his brawny legs wide apart.
“It’s the Destructors. They’ve been warning the Saviours about it for months. They’re kind of blackmailing them. They said they’ll destroy the moon if the Saviours don’t surrender.” The poor boy could see me shuddering now. We both knew what was coming next. I was going to have another raging fit.
“Grandpa,” he whirred, putting his hand on my knee to calm me. I just shook him off. I didn’t want to be aggressive with him but my blood was just bubbling too frantically.
“Do these barbaric maniacs have nothing better to do but tear this universe to shreds?” I breathed, fiercely. They came again now. The uncontrollable and symbolic tears.
“Pop, I’m doing my best with the Aum. It’ll all be over soon.” I let him cradle me in his large arms for just a second but then I fought free and stood on my barely-strong-enough feet again. I waltzed over to the window again and peered through the opening between the curtains.
“This is going to damage the Earth even further,” I cursed, vehemently, glaring at the lava-like sky. Devlin’s head was bent behind me. I think he felt ashamed for not telling me sooner.
“The scientists have said that we’ll get through it, if it happens.” he chirped, hopefully, trying to raise my spirit. But, I knew better. I think he’d forgotten the previous life when I used to be a successful Astronomer. As a matter of fact, that era was beginning to fade from my memory too.
“No,” I snarled, heatedly. “We will not get through it!” My knuckles swelled through my flesh as my fists clenched.
“The fragments of moon will fall onto the Earth as a rain of fire and rock. The tectonic plates in the Earth will be damaged and there will be an outbreak of global disasters such as massive earthquakes and tsunamis. And that’s just the start of it, Devlin.” I began hurriedly gathering a pile of fairly clean clothes and other supplies onto my bed.
“Pop, what are you doing?” yelled Devlin. He grabbed me by the arm but I was moving to fast for him to get hold. “Stop moving so fast, you’re too weak!” I paused for a second and gawped at him my nostrils flaring with anger. He couldn’t stop me now. I was Leon Collier and for the first time in forty years I was raring to go and famished for revenge. Even the words from the mouth of the most important person in my life weren’t going to stop me.
“I’m cleaning myself up, that’s what and then I’m going to the Destructors headquarters to end this nonsense once and for all.” I put on a clean shirt and all the while Devlin stared at me with disgusted eyes.
“Shut up!” he bawled, irately. “First of all it’s 2050, Grandpa, not 2010 and there is no chance of you getting safely to the Destructors base. And secondly, the Destructors are not going to listen to an old, messed-up idiot like you!”
I halted from hurrying around, grabbing all the necessities I could find and then marched up close to Devlin, ogling into the pools of his worried eyes.
“You can’t stop me, Dev,” I mumbled, threateningly and chuckling, evilly. I was going to stop this war if it was the last thing I lived to do. There was a moments pause as we gawked into each others eyes.
“Well, I’m coming with you then,” He spat out the words as if they left a bitter taste in his mouth. I smiled crookedly and patted him on the back.
“You got a gun?” I queried, shoving my bundle of stuff into a worn suitcase. Devlin pulled a pistol from his jeans pocket and rubbed his thumb over it, clearing the dust.
“Is it loaded?” He nodded.
“Have you got extra bullets?” Another nod.
“Good. We’re going to end this war once and for all.”
I left Devlin sighing, anxiously as I headed into the bathroom. I’d been for a wash every now and again whilst I was shut away in my room but I suppose I’d been half asleep and so hadn’t absorbed the utter grim state the bathroom was in. Toilet roll was strewn across the sticky floor, the bathtub and sink were caked in filth and the rather-reeking toilet was clogged. I would have lectured Devlin about respecting your surroundings, not living like a pig and the like but when there’s a war on you tend to save your annoyance for the brutal fighters and not waste it on untidy teens.
I rummaged through the bare cupboards and grabbed the first sharp object amongst the empty pill bottles and aftershave which was a pair of bandage scissors. I then cleared the condensation on the mirror with my wrinkled hand and began to hack away at the extensive hair covering my face. When I could finally see the skin beneath all the fluff, I quickly chopped my yellow, dirty nails, jumped in the shower and then darted down the stairs full of adrenaline, leaving the basin overflowing with the remains of my feathery mane.
The kitchen was quite a jumble too but I let it go, realising that I didn’t have the right to lecture Devlin when I’d abandoned him and left him to fend for himself. He was leaning against the oaken table munching away on a piece of hot buttered toast and he had decided to be decent and put on a faded grey T-shirt.
“Give us some toast, Dev.” I ordered snatching the tasty morsel away from him and leaving him as a grumpy wreck. I’ll point out that before the war I didn’t talk like an uneducated scallywag. I just hadn’t spoken in a very long time and the words felt confused as they pranced from my eager mouth.
Oh, I can still remember the balmy rush that vibrated through my bones as I chomped on that buttery, crisp toast. Just one miniscule crunch sent me spooling with exhilaration. I felt like I had woken up from a seemingly infinite slumber that day and I realised that the one thing I’d missed the most was the simplest of all. Food.
“So,” I chirruped, as I rolled the ball of now tasteless mush in my mouth, “How old are you, Devlin?” It seemed like a stupid question but Devlin understood and answered with out a fuss.
“I was nineteen last week.” I can’t say I was totally shocked by that because Devlin appeared to have the body of a well-developed grown man but it saddened me that so much time had passed in what seemed like a flash.
“Last week,” I mumbled. “You didn’t have a party?” Devlin shook his head.
“Well, surely you have some friends in the Aum. You could’ve done something with them.” I suggested, forgetting that Devlin was a little to old and occupied to be having friends round for a slice of cake and a sing-song of Happy Birthday.
“Pop,” he said, now seriously and looking into my swollen eyes. “You know nothing of this war.” He growled. “You’ll get hurt.”
“You want to stop this war, too!” I blasted, immaturely. “You know what it’s like to wake up and hear the routine bullets and feel the urge to stop it all.” He rolled his eyes but kept silent which was the easier option than getting into an squabble with a cranky old man.
The aggravating gunshots continued booming through the dark night making the unwashed crockery stacked by the sink shudder. You might be wondering what it was like fearing that every time you left the house there was a gigantic chance that you’d be shot in the head. Well, picture it like this. Fifty years back there existed a vile creature known as the ‘chav’ (ugh, I despise that word). The chavs were heavily associated with gun crime and threatened the rougher areas of populous towns. Living in Britain during the war was like living in a place where 99.9% of the people were repulsive chavs. And guess what, I made up the whole remaining 0.1%.
I couldn’t stop rubbing my hand over my chin. It felt so odd not having heavy locks weighing me down. Devlin and I were both silent now. I didn’t like the silence. I’d been quiet for a long time and now all I wanted was to hear people speaking and talk, myself. Plus, I was so fervent to give the brainless Destructor leader a piece of my prehistoric but nonetheless knowledgeable mind.
“When’s the safest time to leave?” I queried, breaking the maddening silence.
“It’s never safe. I say we go now when it’s dark.” I could hear the wobble in his voice. I admit I was confused when such a outwardly brave and sturdy person was so terrified when he’d been fighting in the war for years. I think he was afraid of me, of what I was going to say and the effect it would have.
“What, so there’s less chance of anyone seeing us?”
“Exactly.” Devlin nodded, sombrely and I lifted my maroon leather suitcase trying to hold it as lightly as possible so that my old bones would not snap into two.
__________________________
Gender:
Points: 1968
Reviews: 14