. . . As Elijah looked over at Delilah, Thomas, and Patrick, his heart swelled. He knew that if he chose that life he could live in a world of adventure . . . he could be a hero in many eyes . . .
Yet, as Davis looked over at the citizens of Earth, his heart was punctured and deflated like a balloon. Who was he to just leave this horrible wreckage on such a great planet? The one that raised him and he had always hoped for . . .
Davis or Elijah? Here stood an empty shell, looking at two doorways, each with innumerable pros and cons. On the other side of the door stood a soul waiting for him, all he needed to do was turn the knob . . . and the choice would be made.
* * *
Elijah laughed as he remembered that choice, the one that set him on this dreadful planet, in this corrupt solar system. Delilah was still nowhere to be seen after returning to Geonosian, Thomas and Patrick were somewhere on this planet. All that was left was he and his sword of light.
“Oh I turned that knob…And on the other side was this hell.” Elijah mumbled to himself. But, why mumble? What use is mumbling? At this thought Elijah yelled the first thing that came to his mind.
“DANIELLE” He shouted. “Oh, love!”
At the thought of her, Elijah began to weep a stale cry. The tears counted three as they rolled down his dry face. The light taste of salt filled his mouth as he swallowed one of the tears.
* * *
As the suits flaps began to close and sleep gas filled the chamber, Davis caught one last glance of what was going on.
The station was in many pieces and debris was flying all over. A huge chunk of metal darted towards him, but he moved just in time to avoid its hard embrace. The moon stood in front of him, large and dark like a good man who wasn’t to get involved in the havoc. Lots of workers and innocent people aboard the station, flying about like peaceful birds with death painted on their faces and injected into their bloodstream. He could see all the stars everywhere, what a beautiful sight. Looking up Davis saw a bright unblinking one.
“Must be Jupiter.” Davis thought to himself and utters a small smile amidst all of this chaos, but the good feelings soon fade as Davis sees what floats by him.
In his last second of sight, with just one last image to stick to him for the next fifty years or so stuck in a dream, the soul mate, the second and only piece of the puzzle floats by with a grin stuck to her face. Her eyes closed . . . so peaceful . . .
As gas fills the helmet, Davis begins to feel heavy . . . time to sleep . . .
“Danielle” found its way out of Davis’ mouth before the flap closed, and Danielle was no more.
* * *
“I will ask again and no more,” I said. Now I was angry. “Who are you, sheriff?”
The Sheriff just lay there. Motionless. His sword was turning from a bright purple to a dimmer, blackish color. I could sense life still in him but not much left. Outside the office came the subtle talking of men outside.
“What’s all that raucous?” One of them asked. His voice sounded raspy and harsh.
“Never mind, ye!” Another voice snapped back. “Back to work with you!”
The sheriff slowly turned his head to face me. The sight of his helpless face disgusted me. “You will not live either, Elijah. That wound is bad,” he said.
I looked down at my side. It was bad, but mendable. “You speak falsely,” I said.
“Maybe so. My vision is blurred.”
“Tell me, you eel,” I hiss. The sheriff laughed at my remark. The sound was gross and weak.
“Aye, well I guess it is to be so,” he said.
I glare at him.
“Zachary,” I say. At this the sheriff looks at smiles and me. This set a sudden rush of fear throughout my body. “Zachary Ameril Tahn. The only remaining survivor of the Tahn group. A band of thieves and gangsters who were part of the Shoreside experiment,” I say.
The sheriff only continues to smile.
‘Shoreside …” I whisper to myself. “The Shoreside Experiment! Now, what did that accomplish, may I ask? My sword was now glowing a brighter blue…almost green…
“What of Benjamin? Or Canor? Your ‘mates,’” I ask. “They dead?”
The sheriff drops his smile. Sweat beads begin to form on his forehead and around his chin. “Do not speak ill of Benjamin and Canor. They were like family.” The sheriff begins to cry at this. It seemed as though his tear ducts hadn’t been used in centuries because the tears dripped out an odd brownish color. I need to do this fast.
“Sheri-erm…Zachary, you know what I want.” I say
“Your clothes are in the cupboard,” he responds. “The map is in my heart.”
A wind blows and with it goes the soul of Zachary Tahn, The last known survivor of the Shoreside element, and the least valued to Elijah until just now.
I pick myself up and limp over to the desk in which the sheriff always sat. With a shaky hand I open the drawer and pull out a rusty old tin case with a fainted blue syringe on it. Inside is a white pad, alcohol, a needle and thread, and loads of objects which reminded me of Band-Aids from Earth lay. I pull out the white pads and the alcohol and lay them on the table as I was de-summoning my light sword. Three large breaths fill my lungs and fly out my mouth, one after the other.
First, the alcohol. I pick up the bottle and instinctively swish it about. One fast movement and I dump the liquid on my wound. Almost instantly after this I grab one of the pads and stick it my mouth to muffle the painful screams. I begin to feel a horrible stinging sensation in my side a high pitch noise fly’s out of my mouth hole, but is much more silent as the pad catches the sound. I sit in the chair and wait for the pain to pass.
After the stinging stopped and I felt as though it was clean, I began to undress to hold the pad to my body. I look over the floor filled with blood and horrible memories and find a long piece of cloth. I stick this around the pad covering my gash and tie it in a knot. After all of this pain and fear, I feel the strength begin to return to my body after raiding the food cabinet and eating whatever lie inside. I summon my sword and walk over to the sheriff’s carcass.
“Your clothes are in the cupboard, the map is in my heart.”
I rip open his shirt and hover my blade over his chest, right in between his ribs.
“Eghh…” I say as I bring the sword up a little higher and-
“Hey dude, I found the map.”
I shake at the sudden shout behind me. This was it, I was caught. But. . . that voice sounds familiar…
I grin and turn to see Patrick behind me holding a dirty old piece of parchment in his hand.
“Wait…what? Patrick? How did you-” I begin.
Patrick shoots me a horrified glance as he sees the sword hovering over the sheriff’s chest. he looks at me, then the sword, then back at me. “What the bloody hell are you doing?!” He asks.
“The map…” I say as I de-summon my sword again. I rush over and take it from the now clammy hands of Patrick. “How did you get that? His last words were that it was in his heart!”
“Oh God…Elijah no! He didn’t mean literally! He meant it as in his heart! You know, his locker?” Patrick asks.
A stupid feeling rushes over me as I look down at the map. On the parchment lays a map of Yolkenblaque with lots of writing all over. And over where the Astrew Lake lays, a large red circle covers it.
“Plain as day.” I say. “Let’s go.”
To be continued ⧫