No matter how many times we storm the tower who we are can’t be rescued. Filligan let the thin line of blood run across his fingers before turning up his collar, ‘How long do we have left?’
‘You were out for 5.23 minutes,’ if there was any remorse Bastian didn’t show it, ‘which will reduce our time considerably.’
‘It’s still long enough.’
‘I’m curious,’ Bastian barred Filligan’s way, ‘the marks on your skin?’
‘We need to get moving.’
‘I would call them self harm, but considering the length of your arms and the angles required, it would be impossible to burn yourself with a cigarette like that.’
‘I can do the rest of this without you.’ Filligan pushed Bastian aside and picked up his bag, ‘It only needed two of us to break the lock.’
‘What’s your story I wonder?’
‘I have no story.’
‘Oh, my dear friend, we all have a story,’ Bastian grabbed the flashlight from the top of the cabinet and followed his companion along the corridor, ‘and I can assure you that everyone begs to tell it in the end.’
‘Spare me the serial killer rhetoric.’ Filligan tapped a series of numbers into a keypad and pulled open the iron door. He paused, ‘Once we get down there, you take what you want, I take what I want, there will be no questions asked on either side.’
‘I do believe that is the agreement.’ Bastian watched him disappear into the darkness at the bottom of the stairs. He hadn’t hesitated, he hadn’t acclimatised himself, he hadn’t even used a torch. It was almost like he’d been in the room before.
Bastian stood for a moment, finding the flavour of his reaction. There were whispers here, an everyday of fimilarity. Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. Lucifer was made in the image of man and even the stairs had something to say about his decent.
He flicked his torch around the concrete grey of the unpleasant room. A row of old filing cabinets. A set of wooden crates. Half a dozen boxes. Books. More books. Bottles. Oil paintings all stacked up against each other. A table. A bed. A set of wax crayons. A clock drawn on the wall.
Filligan had his back to the stairs. Crouched low. A ragged breath in the stolen light. There was a slow way of cooking that infused meat with everything that had gone before. Bastian turned out the torch and took the darkness into his lungs. This partnership wasn’t just about forging out a profitable business. For all his secrecy, this young man was leaving behind a trail of breadcrumbs that Bastian found impossible to resist.
©2017 Jac Forsyth
HIVEMIND
Part 1 – I’ll slip into something more comfortable
Part 2 – Just depends what sort of mood I’m in.
Part 3 – It’s not like we stood in line fore this
Part 4 – That first cut is always so damn sweet
Part 5 – After 9 days I let my mind run free
‘and I can assure you that everyone begs to tell it in the end.’ True that. Everyone wants to be know before the vanish into the infinite void. Great story. Can’t wait for more…and to learn who burnt your character with a cigarette!
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What was the ame of the hospital you were in? I need some of whatever they gave you. Amazing chapter.
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I blame the morphine, I couldn’t tell which way up my head was.
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This is one of those rare stories where I already know the answers. Usually I write blind. So a new experience all round.
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Sounds like it’s still hanging in. They gave me some cocktail and tram ado lol after and it knocked the dust off the last time I was cavalier with my mind like it was yesterday. I took it twice and was close to wandering between two worlds for six weeks. Good for Sebastian, eh?
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Hahaha, ‘the last time I was cavalier with my mind’, Phil, you are epic!
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Jack: New Post up! <ight need a tranquilizer!
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Took the darkness into his lungs
What a powerful image
Beautiful piece
As Sheldon Always
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Yay, dragging through university work today so I’ll be over later. Hope it’s something sweet 🙂
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Thanks, mate. I’m reading through Ted Hughes today, words and experience. I’m not sure about the man, but he had a lot of cool stuff to say about writing.
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I just read some stuff on him
Very high brow
I guess I will
Read more later
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’tis evil.
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Btw, what are you studying?
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Is this part of The Art of Drowning? Or is Bastion part of a separate series? Could you link me to the first episode if it’s a different storyline?
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Hahahahaha, great!
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English Literature and Community Involvement. I’m seeing a link with The Perilous Reading Society.
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Yep, it’s a different storyline. Bastian was always gonna be a one off piece of flash, but he’s like a weed, he just keeps on popping up. I’ve been thinking that I should organise him in some way. Thanks for the reminder, mate. This is the link to the first episode: https://jacforsyth.wordpress.com/2017/08/03/ill-just-slip-into-something-more-comfortable/
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Yes, I see a link as well! And…no wonder you’re such a great writer!
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Very deep imagination and texts…
Nice…
Please do check my blog too.. your likes, follow amd comments will encourage me to write more for you guys… thank you..
https://findyourvoicedotcom.wordpress.com
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Perfect thank you 🙂
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Study the masters, learn the rules before I can break them. No better way.
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…true! (Btw, the autobiography of Nicolas Tesla is on the way…thanks for the recommendation!)
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YAY! Enjoy, it’s wonderful. It made me love him even more.
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The line about taking the darkness into his lungs is just brilliant. Loved that and will no doubt steal it via my subconscious one day 🙂
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Hahaha, it would be no theft, my friend. Bastian is part of all of us.
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Ooh, intriguing. Me likely.
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Ha, true enough it’s a long way from poetic but me likely writing it too.
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