Lament and Fruition
A History Between the Head Agents of the Echelon
By Kagomes_Luver2789
Part 2: "Seconds to Midnight"
-----------------------------------
I didn't know what had happened. All I knew was that my life wasn't going to be the same anymore. Even though I was a child, I knew that. And the sad thing was, I also knew that I didn't have the power to change it, no matter how hard I would try or how much stronger I would become...
-----------------------------------
I remember it clearly. Mainly because it's the only part of my past that I can honestly say I care to remember.
It was a beautiful fall day outside in Aires. The sky was as blue as the sea off the shore of the town, completely cloudless and unobstructed by anything in the air. It was basking in its own naked splendor, and everyone felt awed by its natural beauty, a quiet grace blanketing our usually gloomy town. I don't believe there was ever a day that I saw so many people outside, simply just to go for a stroll and gaze upwards, admiring nature in it's most wonderful form. I myself was outside on errands for my father, who wanted a new customized watch to replace the one he recently threw away, complaining that it was old and out of style. Though, I can hardly understand how something you just bought went "out of style" within a few weeks.
As I walked past the cafe near the center of town, I noticed an unusually large crowd gathering around the central plaza. The central plaza of Aires was referred to by our people as "La Plaza de Armas," keeping with the hispanic tradition of naming its biggest and most crowded plaza as such. La Plaza de Armas in Aires covered about a block's worth of area, big enough to fit at least a small shopping centre or a school. It was lined by gorgeous white birch trees on the outside, with small, hand-crafted wooden benches situated between each one. At the center was a grand fountain (partly obstructed by a rounded wall on one end that read the town name), made of the finest masonry in Aires and filled with pristine water straight from the naturally purifying ecosystems deep within the sea. It shot four jets straight up from the center, with eight circling the interior edge shooting inwards, and another eight in the center surrounding the middle four shooting outwards, creating a series of arched streams with a center array for added decor. The formation had garnered the popular little spot the nickname "The Donut" from the townspeople over the past few decades, and it was one of the most popular tourist attractions in the town.
However, there was something out of place that day. I couldn't quite put my finger on it right away, except I could tell by the seemingly tense mood that almost choked the air surrounding the mass of townspeople. It wasn't until I took a good look for myself at the wall in front of the fountain that I understood what was going on. There, plastered on the wall, was a document of some kind. As I approached it closer, I could vaguely make out a name that was unfamiliar to me at the time. When I was finally close enough to be able to read it, I scanned it, and noticed a fatal flaw on my part: I was still just thirteen. Whoever had written this small essay used all kinds of political and military jargon that my small adolescent mind couldn't comprehend. Defeated by my own lack of vocabulary, I left the place, with only the mere knowledge of who had written it; a relatively unknown colonel by the name of Ozzal.
Michelle Ozzal.
* * *
When I returned home, it was late in the afternoon, with the sun setting on the horizon over the sugar cane plantations that resided along the coast to the west. My family had a rich history of farming sugar cane throughout the southwestern Actonian area. In fact, we were the region's main supplier of cane in the markets, and it was arguably some of the finest cultivated sugar in all of Actonia. I could smell the sweet scent of cane being chopped down as I walked through the gates at the entrance to the estate. The frontyard was as beautiful as it had always been, teeming with precious flora and a couple of small water fountains to each side of the path. My mother, Evodia Guerrero, took pride in the creation of it. Every little detail, down to the square inch of where each tulip and japanese honeysuckle was placed, was mapped out and planted by her, with help from her hired group of gardeners. Even the grass was appealing to the eyes, constantly mowed to keep it nice and tidy. She was a perfectionist, and as such, had to have everything in the order in which it would appease her most.
As I walked in through the double doors at the front, I noticed my father talking to a woman donned in a military uniform to the left end of the living room at the entrance to the manor. While this is something that wasn't so unusual for me, as my father was a very influential man with certain ties to the government, this time seemed different; they were in the midst of a very heated argument, and I could tell something was wrong. Before I could actually get the chance to eavesdrop on the conversation, the woman suddenly slammed her hands down on the table, picking up some paperwork she had brought along, and walked right past me as she left, a very visible scowl evident on her profile. I went up to my father as I heard the door slammed behind me, puzzled as to what had occurred.
"What was all that about?" I asked him as he sat with his hand massaging his forehead. "Nothing, she was just here to try and 'negotiate' some new laws she wants placed on these lands. That d*mn woman thinks she owns the place..." he said, with a certain venom in his tone. "Laws? What kind of laws?" I asked. He sat up straight, crossing his arms and letting out a sigh of discontent. "She wants money. She wants our money. So she's trying to tax us for everything we have: the estate we own, and the crops we grow. That little b*tch came in here thinking she would be able to simply leech off our profits and our land without having to fight for it? Hah! She made me laugh." he yelled as he cackled with laughter. But I could sense a slight nervousness in his laugh, something that made me feel that it was bothering him more than he would let me know.
That night I fell asleep with disturbing thoughts in my mind. I couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to befall our household - and it scared me. It honest-to-God scared me. I had never been so afraid of something I couldn't see or hear, something as intangible as a mere thought. Yet, somehow, that night I slept the most peaceful and relaxing sleep I ever had.
However, my dreams now haunted me. And if I knew how soon misfortune would engulf our home, I woudn't have fallen asleep that night knowing that it would be my last slumber in that quiet, peaceful room...
* * *
"Eric."
I turned around to encounter the person that had uttered my name. I couldn't see his face because of the strange miasma that had enveloped it, but it was obvious he was a male from the sound of his voice. He held out a silver pocket watch in his hand, and let it dangle from the chain sewn to his wrist. I eyed the time carefully, watching as the smaller hour hand rested on twelve, with the larger minute hand on the fifty-nineth interval. The seconds hand slowly revolved around the watch, like a horse running it's track, racing to the finish line, the ticking becoming a deafening heart beat that resounded in my ears.
Through the miasma, I could see the figure smiling, it's teeth glistening in the moonlight above us. I stood baffled, not knowing what to expect. He held his hand higher now, the watch now level with his invisible face. He cackled as he slowly neared me, taking short strides. With each step, I thought a voice in my head was slowing counting the time it would take him to reach me, until I noticed it was he that was counting. "Five... four... three... two..." he said as he finally took the last step to place himself in front of me. He bent down, his face, now visible, a hideous, monstrous-looking charred face, grinning at me, as he swung the watch in front of my eyes. I looked at it, and noticed where the seconds hand now lied. "One second to midnight," he whispered.
And he began to laugh maniacally as the hand finally struck twelve, and the world around me shattered...
* * *
I awoke with a jump, nearly flying off my bed as I did so. A cold sweat covered my face, recalling what I had seen in my nightmare: the ominous-looking man, the silver pocket watch and the mysterious miasma. I clutched my pillow tightly, slowly calming myself down, reminding myself it was only a dream. It was nothing more, and nothing less. Or so I thought.
All of a sudden, I felt a vicious tremor throughout the house as I heard a small bell ring next to me. I looked over to my left, where my nightstand stood, my clock sitting on top of it. I had to squint my eyes slightly to be able to read it in such darkness, but I already knew what time it would tell.
It was twelve o'clock. Zero seconds to midnight.
* * *To Be Continued
Characters:
Eric Guerrero - Kagomes_Luver2789
Michelle Ozzal - Michael Lazzo
Kristobal Guerrero (not mentioned by name) - Eric's father
Evodia Guerrero - Eric's mother
Mysterious Man - like, wtf, yo. he's mysterious.
By Kagomes_Luver2789
Part 2: "Seconds to Midnight"
-----------------------------------
I didn't know what had happened. All I knew was that my life wasn't going to be the same anymore. Even though I was a child, I knew that. And the sad thing was, I also knew that I didn't have the power to change it, no matter how hard I would try or how much stronger I would become...
-----------------------------------
I remember it clearly. Mainly because it's the only part of my past that I can honestly say I care to remember.
It was a beautiful fall day outside in Aires. The sky was as blue as the sea off the shore of the town, completely cloudless and unobstructed by anything in the air. It was basking in its own naked splendor, and everyone felt awed by its natural beauty, a quiet grace blanketing our usually gloomy town. I don't believe there was ever a day that I saw so many people outside, simply just to go for a stroll and gaze upwards, admiring nature in it's most wonderful form. I myself was outside on errands for my father, who wanted a new customized watch to replace the one he recently threw away, complaining that it was old and out of style. Though, I can hardly understand how something you just bought went "out of style" within a few weeks.
As I walked past the cafe near the center of town, I noticed an unusually large crowd gathering around the central plaza. The central plaza of Aires was referred to by our people as "La Plaza de Armas," keeping with the hispanic tradition of naming its biggest and most crowded plaza as such. La Plaza de Armas in Aires covered about a block's worth of area, big enough to fit at least a small shopping centre or a school. It was lined by gorgeous white birch trees on the outside, with small, hand-crafted wooden benches situated between each one. At the center was a grand fountain (partly obstructed by a rounded wall on one end that read the town name), made of the finest masonry in Aires and filled with pristine water straight from the naturally purifying ecosystems deep within the sea. It shot four jets straight up from the center, with eight circling the interior edge shooting inwards, and another eight in the center surrounding the middle four shooting outwards, creating a series of arched streams with a center array for added decor. The formation had garnered the popular little spot the nickname "The Donut" from the townspeople over the past few decades, and it was one of the most popular tourist attractions in the town.
However, there was something out of place that day. I couldn't quite put my finger on it right away, except I could tell by the seemingly tense mood that almost choked the air surrounding the mass of townspeople. It wasn't until I took a good look for myself at the wall in front of the fountain that I understood what was going on. There, plastered on the wall, was a document of some kind. As I approached it closer, I could vaguely make out a name that was unfamiliar to me at the time. When I was finally close enough to be able to read it, I scanned it, and noticed a fatal flaw on my part: I was still just thirteen. Whoever had written this small essay used all kinds of political and military jargon that my small adolescent mind couldn't comprehend. Defeated by my own lack of vocabulary, I left the place, with only the mere knowledge of who had written it; a relatively unknown colonel by the name of Ozzal.
Michelle Ozzal.
* * *
When I returned home, it was late in the afternoon, with the sun setting on the horizon over the sugar cane plantations that resided along the coast to the west. My family had a rich history of farming sugar cane throughout the southwestern Actonian area. In fact, we were the region's main supplier of cane in the markets, and it was arguably some of the finest cultivated sugar in all of Actonia. I could smell the sweet scent of cane being chopped down as I walked through the gates at the entrance to the estate. The frontyard was as beautiful as it had always been, teeming with precious flora and a couple of small water fountains to each side of the path. My mother, Evodia Guerrero, took pride in the creation of it. Every little detail, down to the square inch of where each tulip and japanese honeysuckle was placed, was mapped out and planted by her, with help from her hired group of gardeners. Even the grass was appealing to the eyes, constantly mowed to keep it nice and tidy. She was a perfectionist, and as such, had to have everything in the order in which it would appease her most.
As I walked in through the double doors at the front, I noticed my father talking to a woman donned in a military uniform to the left end of the living room at the entrance to the manor. While this is something that wasn't so unusual for me, as my father was a very influential man with certain ties to the government, this time seemed different; they were in the midst of a very heated argument, and I could tell something was wrong. Before I could actually get the chance to eavesdrop on the conversation, the woman suddenly slammed her hands down on the table, picking up some paperwork she had brought along, and walked right past me as she left, a very visible scowl evident on her profile. I went up to my father as I heard the door slammed behind me, puzzled as to what had occurred.
"What was all that about?" I asked him as he sat with his hand massaging his forehead. "Nothing, she was just here to try and 'negotiate' some new laws she wants placed on these lands. That d*mn woman thinks she owns the place..." he said, with a certain venom in his tone. "Laws? What kind of laws?" I asked. He sat up straight, crossing his arms and letting out a sigh of discontent. "She wants money. She wants our money. So she's trying to tax us for everything we have: the estate we own, and the crops we grow. That little b*tch came in here thinking she would be able to simply leech off our profits and our land without having to fight for it? Hah! She made me laugh." he yelled as he cackled with laughter. But I could sense a slight nervousness in his laugh, something that made me feel that it was bothering him more than he would let me know.
That night I fell asleep with disturbing thoughts in my mind. I couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to befall our household - and it scared me. It honest-to-God scared me. I had never been so afraid of something I couldn't see or hear, something as intangible as a mere thought. Yet, somehow, that night I slept the most peaceful and relaxing sleep I ever had.
However, my dreams now haunted me. And if I knew how soon misfortune would engulf our home, I woudn't have fallen asleep that night knowing that it would be my last slumber in that quiet, peaceful room...
* * *
"Eric."
I turned around to encounter the person that had uttered my name. I couldn't see his face because of the strange miasma that had enveloped it, but it was obvious he was a male from the sound of his voice. He held out a silver pocket watch in his hand, and let it dangle from the chain sewn to his wrist. I eyed the time carefully, watching as the smaller hour hand rested on twelve, with the larger minute hand on the fifty-nineth interval. The seconds hand slowly revolved around the watch, like a horse running it's track, racing to the finish line, the ticking becoming a deafening heart beat that resounded in my ears.
Through the miasma, I could see the figure smiling, it's teeth glistening in the moonlight above us. I stood baffled, not knowing what to expect. He held his hand higher now, the watch now level with his invisible face. He cackled as he slowly neared me, taking short strides. With each step, I thought a voice in my head was slowing counting the time it would take him to reach me, until I noticed it was he that was counting. "Five... four... three... two..." he said as he finally took the last step to place himself in front of me. He bent down, his face, now visible, a hideous, monstrous-looking charred face, grinning at me, as he swung the watch in front of my eyes. I looked at it, and noticed where the seconds hand now lied. "One second to midnight," he whispered.
And he began to laugh maniacally as the hand finally struck twelve, and the world around me shattered...
* * *
I awoke with a jump, nearly flying off my bed as I did so. A cold sweat covered my face, recalling what I had seen in my nightmare: the ominous-looking man, the silver pocket watch and the mysterious miasma. I clutched my pillow tightly, slowly calming myself down, reminding myself it was only a dream. It was nothing more, and nothing less. Or so I thought.
All of a sudden, I felt a vicious tremor throughout the house as I heard a small bell ring next to me. I looked over to my left, where my nightstand stood, my clock sitting on top of it. I had to squint my eyes slightly to be able to read it in such darkness, but I already knew what time it would tell.
It was twelve o'clock. Zero seconds to midnight.
* * *To Be Continued
Characters:
Eric Guerrero - Kagomes_Luver2789
Michelle Ozzal - Michael Lazzo
Kristobal Guerrero (not mentioned by name) - Eric's father
Evodia Guerrero - Eric's mother
Mysterious Man - like, wtf, yo. he's mysterious.