AWKWARD ZOMBIE

The Divine Fool

The theater was dark, save for a single center spotlight focused on the stage. Its crimson curtains were drawn back to reveal props for the medieval play to come in the morning. But it was the midnight hour. The doors were locked, the people gone, and all the lights turned off. Except for one.

Footsteps echoed in the theater as two people walked from opposite ends of the stage to stand in the harsh light.

One was a tall man comfortably in adulthood, dressed in a snappish suit that would be at home in the upper echelons of business. And every piece of it was a varying shade of grey. He had little facial hair to speak of other than the barest vestiges of stubble. Slate eyes contrasted sharply with white skin. Not pale or tan, but purest white devoid of color and blemish that shone under the single light.

The other was a woman, or possibly a girl. Her age was not as clear as the man's. She wore a long, flowing black dress that reflected no light. Instead it appeared more as a patch of pure darkness that just happened to adorn this woman. A light layer of makeup, every color and more in strange designs, accentuated her face without it being garish or clownlike. Her eyes were also not of mortality; pure silver pools that reflected everything with perfect clarity.

The two regarded each other briefly before they gave slow nods. "Carlisle," said the man. "We have been friends and enemies alike for many years. And that is the only reason I accepted your request tonight, on the eve of the final confrontation. Although," he looked around the stage. "You have chosen a rather curious place. Is it because you feel nostalgic?"

"The days I lived on a stage are long past, Bryce," said Carlisle. "For the both of us. I called you here to make one final plea."

"My answer has not, will not, and indeed could not change," said Bryce. "Tomorrow we will meet. We will fight. And I will die. The power you gained by allying with Samuel is not one I could hope to surmount."

"So you would rush headlong into death then," said Carlisle. "Little knowing of what lays on the other side for our kind."

Bryce shrugged. "I have written death many times, sent many who did not deserve it into the grave. What right do I have to be afraid? It is the only place forbidden to us while we live, out of this entire reality. Shouldn't I be anxious, possibly even curious to see what unseen depths remain?"

“A fool's response,” said Carlisle. “Death should never be embraced. Not while we can stand above it.”

Bryce snorted. “You persist in thinking our kind immortal when we age, we grow weak, and we die. We can extend the first two, but the third is inevitable for all things save the Muses and Heart itself.”

“Samuel works to end both.”

“Samuel is insane. I always find it a wonder that our power can never be taken or lost, only given away. Were they linked to the state of our minds, existence would not be in nearly as horrid shape.” Bryce sighed. “But instead the decision is left up to us. I should think that when we can no longer wield it with any effect, we should not possess it any longer.”

“You spew the words of a fool endlessly as ever, Bryce,” said Carlisle. She walked to the edge of the stage. “We stand atop all things, write the stories of existence, and can live forever and ever if we so choose. Why would anyone give that up willingly?”

Bryce gave a wry grin. “Because they already know the certainty of their end, and elected to put their faith in a chance for hope.”

Carlisle froze, slowly working through the words. She turned her head to fix Bryce with one eye from her position on the edge of the stage. “What...did you say?” she whispered in a horrified hush, like one who could not believe the taboo that had just been uttered.

Bryce smiled openly. “Look at me, Carlisle,” he said, arms open. “Look at me completely and see what a divine fool does.”

Carlisle turned around and fixed Bryce with a penetrating gaze. Her silver eyes rippled as they pierced through flesh and bone to gaze upon what lay beyond. The realm of souls and spirits, auras and power. Their kind dominated it with their mere presence, an omnipresent beacon of brilliance in whatever world they stood in. Carlisle's own aura blanketed the realm this stage stood in.

Bryce had no such aura. Not even the smallest flicker of life emanated from him as an ordinary man would hold. His essence had been completely and utterly excised, leaving nothing but the physical behind. Soulless some would call him.

Carlisle twitched. And she screamed. “WHY?” reverberated in the theater, shaking loose dust from the rafters.

Bryce stuck a finger in his ear and rotated it. “Would you mind speaking up a little?” he said, inspecting the amber prize on his finger as he pulled it out. “I don't think the next planet caught that.”

Carlisle's colorful face was dominated by crimson and her words became a constant stream of insults and obscenity.

Bryce just continued to smile. “Don't worry,” he said. “It's in good hands. I expect that he may even become greater than you, and possibly even Samuel. You'll meet him eventually.”

Carlisle stopped her tirade and took huge, heavy breaths. “You are most definitely a fool. A fool's fool,” she said with barely suppressed rage. “When did you do this...this...this ATROCITY?”

“Before I came here,” said Bryce, displaying his palms in a placating manner. “I suspect I will have to find an inn for the night since I can't leave this world under my own power now. But rest assured, I will be there to meet you in combat tomorrow.”

“I'll kill you,” said Carlisle, red tingeing the silver of her eyes. “And then I will hunt down the one you gave your power to and CRUSH that so-called hope of yours!”

Bryce just smiled. “Oh? Knowing how many characters I've written, you intend to embark on a crusade against them all? You would surely die of old age before you even got through a tenth.”

Carlisle hissed and spit like an angry cat. “I will find a way Bryce. You want to run headlong into death? Then tomorrow I will grant your request. But I will not make it painless and I will not make it quick. If you come to me I swear by whatever Power may reside above us that I will show no mercy.”

“I expected no less,” said Bryce. “Then I will see you on the morrow.”

Carlisle swept her hand and her shadow, thrown against a cardboard wall by the single light, reshaped itself into a black doorway. She stepped up to it and turned to Bryce. “Just remember,” she whispered softly. “You asked for this.” She walked through the shadow and it vanished after her.

Bryce sighed and turned to the side of the stage. He raised his hand up to shield from the light and squinted. “So, how much of that did you catch?”

“All of it,” said a figure cloaked in the shadows of the stage. “Are you sure this is how you want your story to end, Bryce?”

Bryce walked out of the spotlight and towards the figure. With every step he became less defined as he was swallowed by the darkness. “Aye old friend,” he said. “You won't talk me out of it?”

The figure shook its head. “As much as it saddens me, it is not my story to choose.” He looked out over the stage. “I wonder why she chose this meeting place.”

Bryce smiled. “Because this is where we first met. As star-crossed lovers in a play long since forgotten.” He clapped his hands together. “But enough of that. This is to be my last night of living, and I intend to make the most of it.”

The figure laughed. “I know just the place.” He gestured out and a silver doorway appeared in midair. “But if you don't mind my asking, what was the play called?”

Bryce stepped up to the doorway. “The Divine Fool,” he said and walked through. The figure followed after and the aperture vanished.

Behind them, the single spotlight burned out and the darkness was absolute on the silent stage once more.

is carlisle a girl

im gonna push somethin out if carlisle is a girl

The feeling was always there.

Of utter dread, absolute terror and crippling paranoia; Carlisle hadn’t slept in days, hadn’t had an uninterrupted sleep in weeks, and various doses of Nyquil, Benadryl, Excedrin hadn’t helped; neither had the Vicodin and Oxycodone. Several shots from a bong, a shot of morphine and three atenolol pills later and he realized nothing he would do would cure the feeling of fear that followed him everywhere he went.

Carlisle questioned how he was still alive from the amount of drugs he had taken into his body, but it was most likely due to it toying with him to keep him alive.

He hoped it wasn’t noticeable; his hands were shaking from the amount of caffeine he had ingested in a single half-hour and he could be easily mistaken for a cocaine addict. The caffeine helped, though, as it pushed his thoughts away from it and towards the nausea in his stomach from poor diet and copious drugs. Luckily, nobody seemed to pay any heed to the scrawny blonde in the black pea coat, despite it being early June.

The overwhelming urge to vomit, most likely from the drugs, no food and various amount of energy drinks he’d siphoned into his digestive system, came over Carlisle and he quickly fled to the nearest building (hoping for a bathroom); an old, abandoned theater that was being renovated. Spotting a nearby trashcan amidst the yellow tape and construction equipment, he painfully vomited in the can, unfazed as some blood came out as well.

He wiped the excess on the corner of his mouth off with his sleeve, rubbing it on his jeans. He blinked, and a serene feeling washed over him. He paddled around on the concrete floor, exploring the area, pushing it from as far away from his mind as he could. The place was chilly and creaky, and it reminded him of the places the ‘ghost investigators’ went to on their terrible shows.
Carlisle looked over his shoulder—an awful habit he picked up once it started to follow him. As he tread deeper into the theater, a mildew residue plaguing his nose, he heard muffled music. He was curious, as the building was seemingly abandoned for the day.
Carlisle found a staircase that would hopefully lead him to the music. As he continued up the staircase—at least three flights, he stopped at the top step, catching his breath and keeping down the feeling of vomiting. He could almost make out the music now; classical music, which was strange as nobody seemed to carry that taste anymore.

He parted back a ragged curtain and blinked as he entered the room. A sleeping bag, a record player and scattered cans and bags of food littered the area. A man around his age or older was sitting, slumped over. He wore a worn hat that could have passed for a beret and tattered clothes—there wasn’t a single item on him that didn’t have a hole in it. A stubble was on his chin, and large, dark bags were under his eyes.

“What brings you here?”

Carlisle blinked dumbly, and sat down across from the man, “Nothing, really. I…was sick to my stomach and ran in here to find a bathroom. Couldn’t hold it in and ended up vomiting in a trashcan.”

The man smiled wryly, “It’s following you too, isn’t it.”

Carlisle licked his lips, “Yes.”

“What do you see it as?”

“A man; tall, whiter than a sheet and his eyes are completely glazed over. Bald; wears a tuxedo or a business suit, I don’t know which, he’s usually too far away. What about you?”

The man didn’t answer immediately, “Lovecraftian, almost—a completely normal, middle-aged looking man, despite the fact that the right side of his body is large and pustule. It’s bulbous, bloody and pussy.” The man snorted, “Makes for excellent nightmare material for whenever I do get sleep.”

Carlisle smiled slightly, “What’s your name?”

“Bryce, and yours?”

“Carlisle, after my great-grandfather.”

“Well, Carlisle, how long has it been following you?”

Carlisle bit his lip in thought, and tapped his finger on the old wood flooring, “I would say two months.”

“You haven’t told anybody?”

“Who the hell would believe me? If I got a therapist they’d just send me to an asylum. I’ve taken so many pills my liver is about to physically remove itself from my body. So uh, how long has it been following you?”

“A year, maybe more. I’ve lost track of time.”

Carlisle guffawed, “Jesus Christ, how have you stayed sane?”

Bryce smiled dryly, “Many psychologists would say I haven’t. I mostly just sleep as much as I can. Of course, the nightmares come, but it’s better than staying awake and wishing for death.” Bryce sighed, “You’re the first human contact I’ve had in weeks.”

“I’m sorry to hear about th—.” The hair on the back of Carlisle’s neck stood up, and the room became colder, too cold for June.
Bryce began to panic, “You need to get out of here. You need to get out of here now.”

Carlisle stood his ground firmly, “I’m not going to leave you here to die to it.” He said, right before thousands of thin, inky black tendrils thwacked him to the side and into some tables and chairs.

Carlisle blinked away the dots in his eyes, and hoped severely that he didn’t have a concussion. He groaned as he sat up, but swallowed loudly as he saw the thing that had been following him; milky white eyes, a black vest on a white button up shirt and slacks, with short black hair. He looked like a normal college student, except for his eyes.

“You’ve got to get out of here, you have to run, just go—.” Thousands of thin tendrils shot out of the milky-eyed man’s right arm, piercing through Bryce’s chest and torso. He pinned the man to the wall violently before retracting and surrounded his bloody mess of a body with the tendrils. The tendrils surrounded him for at least a minute before finally letting go and leaving nothing behind it.

Suddenly, Carlisle began to wonder why there was a bloodstain on the wall to the right of him and whose blood it was, before taking a single glance at the milky-eyed man and bolting towards the nearest exit. The bloodstain image haunted him, as he knew it belonged to somebody, but who it was Carlisle couldn’t figure out.

He slammed the doors open to find nothing but a bare city.

Carlisle blinked dumbly, trying to process what was going on. This was the drugs, wasn’t it; all in his imagination, nothing but a bad trip. He walked around the city, his shoes echoing loudly, making him feel cold and alone.

He stopped walking as he reached the central plaza, a large ornate marble fountain stuck right in the center with thousands of pennies, nickels and dimes littering the bottom of it. The man was back, his eyes still soulless and his mouth still slackened. His arm was bigger now, bloated and mutated, with welts and pus all over the, what he assumed and hope was, flesh.

Carlisle’s eyes widened as tears of hysteria began to roll down his face. Was he truly going to be murdered by this thing? Of all the ways he thought he was going to die, this was not the way he imagined it to be. Desperation and fear began to set in and Carlisle ran as quickly as he could. Before he could get very far, a several tendrils wrapped around his neck and began to cut into his skin, choking him. He grasped at them futilely, being risen into the air and leaving him no room for escape.

Wake up, please, for god’s sake wake up. This is just a bad trip, or a dream. This can’t be real, Carlisle thought desperately.

As dots danced in front of his eyes and Carlisle heave, desperately wishing to wake up from the dream he was not having, more tendrils wrapped around his neck. As his breaths began to dwindle, his neck was snapped, and he was thrown to the ground like a rag doll.