Floating - a tiny horror story set in the world of 'Clouds'.
Anyone following me or meeting me through Facebook knows that I love games, love art and doodles and love writing. If it's cosmic horror, then that is my jimmy-jam. I've been working on a novel and series of young adult novella for quite some time now. They're set in a version of our world where cosmic monstrosities are the norm and people are trying to continue with their daily lives or destroy them. For a little break I started doing micro-stories about random people and things caught in the craziness. To that end, here is 'Floating', a first person account of one of the first phenomena that occurred as the monsters breached our reality.
Running across the garden, the cool breeze making darts out of autumn leaves and late spreading seed as I race away from my sister, laughing at her as she lags behind. I can feel the prickles of grass bending under my feet as I head to the old gate, weathered and worn from years of holding the cattle in and the world out, the finish line of our childhood. As usual I'd always reach it first, Anna second. “Adeline, wait!” Not a chance though, not when I'm so close to winning our first race in years. “Adeline! Wait!” I'm almost there, but the tone is different. This time, panicked and sharper, and just as I think that another realisation hits – I can't feel the ground.
My first thought is that I've fallen, like how in an accident when you know you're slamming forward and the seatbelt is still tightening? Everything runs slowly and you can almost see it frame by frame even though it only takes a second. Less than a second really, barely a moments decision.
Or indecision. Indecision got me here now. If I'd been just a little faster in my reactions or thought more, or maybe less, perhaps Anna could have helped me. Perhaps someone could have helped me. Yeah, someone. I thought I was falling so I reached out toward the old gate, ever too slowly, felt it's wood under my fingertips, the way it was cracked and the paint splintered, and then felt it move out of reach. And all the time Anna was screaming my name we moved further apart, as she came into view and became smaller, quieter and finally, silent.
Those first few moments were surprisingly serene. There was no rush of air, no pain and no feeling of rising panic. Everything went surreally quiet so quickly, Anna's silence replaced with an eerie void of near nothingness, just the soft, gentle rush of air pressing against my back fluttering past my ears.
It took a few more seconds for me to start to comprehend that I wasn't falling. That I couldn't be falling, not away from the world, as everything I'd known shrank and spun slowly beneath me, the view encompassing the farm, house and neighbouring village. I tried to look up and around, see where there could be a camera or a hot air balloon, a small plane – anything that could offer an explanation. Maybe it was one of those hidden camera shows, some stupid, stupid prank of Anna's. There's nothing there. I can't see anything. And it hurts so much to look up with the wind pushing down. If this is a prank, it's a dangerous one. I don't think Anna would this.
I can barely see the house now. I think that's our house. It's so tiny, I can't be sure. Today's weather forecast was sunny weather but it's getting colder now. I bring my arms up, feel the creak of the cold in them and fumble for the zipper on my jacket. It's only when I finally manage to clasp it with my fingers and pull it toward my chin that see how red my hands have become, how blue they are at the knuckles. I can barely feel them at all. Anna. She was always the quiet one out of the two of us, the older one by a couple of minutes but even our parents said it was hard to tell. While I spent my time swimming, she had her nose in a book. I was out at cadets, she was hiding away from the world at the one place she'd found the nerve to go to, the library, somewhere with her own sort of people. I got into sports, she spent her time studying. I teased her relentlessly for how socially inadequate she was, made her race me even when we were tiny. The older sister, forever playing catch-up.
It feels like everything is getting heavier. Colder too. If I reach out I wonder if I could touch a cloud? Doesn't matter. My arms are like dead-weights now. Like a slight cold burn everywhere, it doesn't hurt, it's like when you first touch ice. I really can't see anything I particularly recognise from here, but I can see the mist trailing from my feet, making lazy patterns in the sky as the earth curves beneath me and the sky goes from white to the palest, most perfect blue I have ever seen and, just for a moment, I catch myself forgetting anything except that beautiful endless vista.
Silly really. Years of hating Anna for being a bookworm. For being anti-social. For being a teachers pet. Hating is too strong a word really. Resentment? Maybe. Just foolish jealousy, sibling rivalry. If there was ever a time to be honest, why did it have to be now? When I can't tell my only sister that I wish I was as smart as she is, that as important as her world of books and stories is to her I wish she'd spent more time in mine? That I'll always love her?
Breathings been getting harder the higher I get. The air is too thin. The cold must be getting bad too, I can't feel my arms and legs. Couldn't warm my hands with my breath if I wanted to. The blue of the sky is starting to fade and there are tiny pin-pricks of light, barely visible, everywhere I can see. All I can do is be so thankful, that I have had a chance to make peace with myself, watch as the sky gradually darkens through my frost-coated lashes, and wait.
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