"The Bulwark's Shadow" - A Novel in Progress via Steemit (Part I, Chapter 16 - THE END OF PART I)
I'm posting up the chapters of this uncompleted book as I hope the Steemit community might offer up its criticism (which would, in turn, force me to finish it, honestly). Started in 2008, this was my first foray into novel writing and was my undergraduate thesis required to graduate. The story is about an executioner in the not-too-distant future. Executioners are highly trained individuals with extensive educations built to help them execute their prisoners in the exact same manner that the prisoner's victims died. This is called the law of retaliation or lex talionis; you may know it better as "eye for an eye."
Because I was also getting my degree in philosophy, I wanted to explore the ethics involved. While I feel I'm a better writer now and could certainly expand most of this book, I also really enjoy criticism as I'm usually too close to the work to see what's working and what's not (though in this case, there's plenty that I feel is not working). So please...feel free to criticize the work if you'd like, but be constructive about it. Simply saying "this part isn't good" doesn't tell me much; don't hesitate to tell me why it's not good or offer up possible alternatives to make it better.
Thanks in advance!
Previous Sections/Chapters:
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter One
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Two
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Three
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Four
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Five
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Six
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Seven
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Eight
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Nine
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Ten
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Eleven
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Twelve
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Thirteen
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Fourteen
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Fifteen
I swam in a black so pounding, colors exploded with every blink of the eye. Pinks morphed into hazy blues while oranges creamsicled themselves into vibrant blobs of rainbow comfort. Large rooms of nothing shrank to become closets barely big enough for children amidst hide and seek. Floors crumbled or melted and sent me wonderlanding through barely perceptible images of fractals married to a white noise soundtrack. Hard corners rounded out and turned in on themselves, disorienting me further as I reached for handholds going limp only to fall below me after slipping from my grasp.
The white noise seemed to expand between my ears. Both hands moved in slow-motion up to the sides of my head, squishing gently through skin and skull until fingertips touched each other in the deep middle canyon of my brain. My body folded in on itself, curling up in a fetal coil as I floated forever down tumbling head over feet. I felt a large cushion slide up beneath me and pillow my body as I descended and felt my fingers release themselves from my skull. I rolled over onto my back and stared up through the spiraling nothing and noticed flying objects, flapping (arms? wings?) as they glided down towards my hovered solace. Pages whispered off their spines in my direction, the words dripping off the parchement as the books flew off and poofed out of existence. The letters extinguished into filaments of white smoke I could smell from below. Manila folders swam like stingrays, graceful and fluid, through the molasses midnight ready to strike with stapled tails if I reached out to stroke them.
The pillow slow-crashed into the ground below sending half-timed shockwaves through my skeletal system, shaking liver and lungs like dogs behaving badly. The pillow dissipated beneath me and I sprawled out on the cobbled floor. Dust particles floated around me in sugar-fairy lambadas and twinkled from a light source not readily identifiable. A series of loud pops echoed through the chamber as row after row after row of halogen lights came on and set the hallway ablaze with spotlighted flooring. The clicks echoed and echoed for what seemed like days, even after all the lights had come to life. I stood to follow the path set out before me and turned around to see behind as my neck hair stood on end as like I was being watched while I backed away. Vines sprouted, grew, climbed along the walls and paralleled my steps like a chlorophyllic escort as I stepped into each solitary circle of light along the floor. Each stride lasted an hour and every exhalation kissed upon the second hands just to keep them moving forward.
My legs quickened, pumping hard and sent me flying down the tunnel as the walls became blurred bits of gray and bluish black fighting with each other in my peripheral, the lights strobing faster and faster above me. The blurs congealed and became one tiny spiral miles away and I ran until I couldn’t run anymore, finally coming to a stop as if I’d reached the end of the universe while still under construction. The embryo at the stopping point of the world.
A muffled voice sang to me through the blackout dream awakening. The plush carpet of my apartment had superimposed itself against my skin, most likely leaving an imprint of all the small debris neglected by my last vacuuming so long ago. A hand cradled the back of my neck repeatedly massaging me back to consciousness and I felt lead heavy. I struggled to move my hand and had no idea if it moved at my discretion or not. More mumbling. From behind me, a distant ringing at the base of my skull got progressively louder. My eyelids stayed shut, not wanting to accept the reality of being overtaken by a stranger. In my own apartment at that. So accustomed to having other guards around, I didn’t think twice about rushing into what could’ve been (and still possibly was) a dangerous situation.
The mumbling grew louder, more distinct, my name repeated in concern as the hand on my neck started to shake me. I felt the groan reverberate from my lips before I heard it and the shaking stopped momentarily. My legs moved to move me to a sitting position, but the hand kept me still, persistent in shouting my name. I forced my eyelids open again, this time successful and stared into the face of my frightened landlord. Her glasses hung around her neck and her lips quivered as her eyes darted over my limp frame. I saw the deep aged creases in her skin and focused on them as I tried to bring myself back. The pain in the back of my head kept stabbing forward, eliciting drawn out groans again with no reprieve near.
I felt a dribble of drool slide across my lips and crawl down my chin to hang loosely, swinging with every motion of my head. Mrs. Anders looked at me with a mixture of disgust and pity while she wiped my face with a kerchief that smelled of ancient and dust. “Brein, I’m so sorry. I came up here to deliver some mail to the Widow Jenkins and saw your door barely open. I don’t know why I did it, but I came in and looked around and was about to leave when I heard you at the door, but of course I didn’t know it was you and grabbed the heaviest thing I could find and hid until you came in the room.” She laughed nervously. “I think you can deduce the rest. Again, I’m so sorry. I thought you were an intruder and didn’t realize I had hit you so hard until about half an hour ago. You’ve been out for awhile. Had you not been mumbling in your sleep I would’ve called the ambulance, but…thank God you woke up!”
“Dear. God. The. Fuck. Did. You. Hit. Me. With?” I exclaimed with the greatest of effort.
“Yes, well. Apparently I don’t know my own strength and the bust of Freud you had on your bookshelf kind of…broke apart and crumbled after I hit you with it. I’ll replace it, I promise. I’m just glad I didn’t have to deal with an intruder. I mean you can never really tell these days what with all these young kids trying to thieve trinkets just to get drug money. And don’t even get me started on the drugs. Lord.”
I sat up and sat against the front of the bureau near the door. The pottery for my keys jiggled on the top shelf as I just stared at Mrs. Anders. I wanted to thank her with a backhand to the face, but knew she meant well. What other 60 year old woman is going to risk her own safety to protect a tenant?
“Mrs. Anders,” I croaked. “While I appreciate your desire to help, right now, I need to clean up and take myself to bed. You walloped me pretty good and I’ll probably be lightheaded for the rest of the night, so I’m just gonna go lay down now, but thank you.” I tried to stand and my hand faltered, planting my ass right back on the ground.
“Brein, I think you need to have your head looked at in all honesty. I surprised even myself with my strength. It was like the good Lord had blessed my hands and I couldn’t stop myself once I committed to the swing. I’ve never done anything so violent. It was almost thrilling. I am incredibly sorry. Please, let me at least help you get to a chair.” I nodded, laughing inside at the mental picture of being hoisted by a woman who couldn’t have been more than ninety pounds heavy.
She grabbed me by the armpits as I pressed against the floor again, both of us sliding me into the nearest chair. She grunted and her breath registered the coffee she’d been drinking all afternoon. A pot in the morning, a pot in the afternoon…she never left the front desk and even then it was rare. I put hand to forehead and let my face droop towards the floor, noticing the large envelope. “Mrs. Anders, what is that?” I said pointing.
She turned around, confused and pointed a finger in the air as her eyes rested on the manila package in the middle of the carpet. “I’ve no idea, Brein. Is it not yours?”
I shook my head no, trying to remember but came up with nothing. “Could you hand that here please?” I asked, beckoning the strange package and grimacing.
She bent over and picked up the parcel, grunting the way old people do to remind themselves that their body doesn’t work quite the way it used to. “There’s no writing on it. No return address, no mailing address, nothing. That’s very odd, Brein. Especially if it’s not yours.”
I rolled my eyes. “Perhaps the person that broke in originally left it. It may not be anything important anyway. Although some prints on the envelope would be nice,” I said, clutching at my head again. The ringing hadn’t stopped and neither had Mrs. Anders’ talking. The package was heavy, but definitely filled with paper. I unclasped the fold and pulled out the contents. My eyes darted across the first page over and over as I tried to steady my vision enough to take in what I was reading.
“Mrs. Anders, thank you for standing guard in my empty apartment and I promise I’m fine, but I need you to leave right now.”