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Catalyst: Part One

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The Lucid Files

 

 

 Adam

 

Small pebbles quivered and gray dust stirred as though the asphalt was having its own personal earthquake. The pebbles were coated with tar and grime. The dust from the street rose from the earth and fell, swirling around in miniature tornados, dark and venomous. A buzz was in the air, an apprehension, like a ferocious new storm.

The air stopped moving and became silent, after a swift wind burled its way through just moments ago. A light sound could slowly be heard, very faint at first, someone slowly scrapping a shoe across the sidewalk. Forced wind, almost, or more like a large vacuum.

Mounting and mounting with a great force. It was close to roaring now. It became louder and louder, approaching with unthinkable speed!

Whoosh!

Thwack!

The granules of sand hit the air when Adam slammed hard into the concrete. Whack! Adam’s face instantly became something unrecognizable. His body broken worse than a rag doll.

Blood and spit shot from his nose and mouth. His face more than just anguish and pain: he was flattened. His bones collapsed.

He lay there motionless. The air was still eerily silent; a light trickle could be heard, from the sewer nearby or Adam’s body, and his organs still seeping fluids inside his spent shell. For a moment, save for that one sound, time stood still.

Adam, slowly, opened his eyes. They had been cinched tight from the fall. He didn’t feel any pain, but he looked, well, he looked as if he had fallen from a building. His eyes looked red and bloodshot, and fluid mixed with blood, seeped out. Blood ran from his nose and onto the street.

Adam finally focused on the first thing he saw and was dumbstruck. From the moment of impact, the granules of sand were still suspended in the air, surrounding him in a dark cloud.

“What?” his puckered, bloody mouth spit out.

He moved his body, and tilted it more to the side so he could release his arm. Somehow it was lodged beneath him from the fall. His arm should have been shattered bone, ground to fine dust.

Adam reached and wiped his nose. Stones fell from his face but the blood was gone. He wiped his whole face, his nose and mouth, and found his features were in tact. He now just seemed to be covered in fine dust the dust that surrounds him now.

With nimble care he plucked a tiny stone from the air and examined it. He carefully pinched the cube like you would a box, had you a pair of gargantuan hands.

The object was magnified and enormous to him. He saw the tiny canals and rivulets, the strange informalities that intrigued man to the moon. The cube was a piece of sand and what he grabbed was granite.

“What is going on?” he asked.

He was surprised to see he was completely alone, and what’s more, it was silent. That struck Adam as being odd. Nobody was screaming and running to his aide.

He released the pebble. It floated away from him, joining the other granules of sand in the air. He thought he could hear the pebbles float. With great force, the granule collided with the other sand and dust in the air. The sand began to ripple and shudder. The noise rose, becoming like thunder and booming in loud, dull, waves. Vicious. And just as quickly, slowly faded.

Adam willed himself to rise, and floated above the ground without anything save for the fact, the feeling, that this is what he desired. He wanted to float muscle free and so he shall.

Somebody off in the distance clapped their hands. The sound came from all around him. From inside him.

A deep voice inside him spoke: “And he rises.”

Adam looked around, casually. He was not at all startled by any of this. The sand. The voice. Oh, the not dying when he jumped to his death. At this point Adam was, more or less, amused by this. This has got to be a game or some kind of god-forsaken test.

He watched his body descend slowly to the ground. All around him was still silent. No wind. Nothing. His dusty shoes found purchase and crunched gravel angrily under his weight.

He wiped off his arms and rubbed out the stones that stuck to his pale skin. Dust flew off him in waves, twirling about as if to say hello and goodbye. Feeling better, he looked up in front of him, the pale sky, and was ready to face, what?

His maker?

“Who are you?” he asked, feeling slightly foolish for talking to himself.

“I have brought you here to give you a fighting chance.” The voice seemed to thunder the answer. The world in which he spoke was anything but silent when he spoke. His voice was everywhere. “You can be anything you desire. Make your wish.”

Adam had to sit on this.

What is going on?

Adam took a step forward and thought nothing more about it. He hovered instead, about two inches off the ground. He hated walking. Always he felt foolish. He was sure he walked like most people, but most people still walk like their ancestors, which suffice to say, isn’t flattering.

Suddenly, he didn’t care much for his clothes, either. How embarrassing. His clothes looked tattered. Baggy and dirty jeans, an un-pressed button up and a pair of dark shoes. No wonder he tried to kill himself. He should have gone out with some fucking style.

“Let’s talk about that!”

The voice jolted his insides and for a moment he had forgotten where he was. Oh, yes.

Not right now, he thought, I’m busy.

Adam Taylor should have been broken and bleeding, with his brown, sultry eyes here and there. Instead, all he could think about were a black pair of shoes. The toe-tapping kind of shoe, boisterous and loud! So people knew when Adam entered and left a room!

Yes, those kinds.

Out of nowhere, black shoes appeared and looked remarkable on his feet, commanding power. On the tips of his shoes were tiny bands, about the size of a label, made of sterling silver.

His socks were suddenly matching. A pair of pinstriped slacks and a matching blazer would look nice on him, and it did. Inside his breast pocket was a Cuban cigar. A white, satin shirt neatly pressed and warm and oh so full of that savory linen scent, hung from his body like a perfect glove.

Black ties always made Adam look and feel sharp. Many days at high school he would wear a tie. To be different. In hallways, students would snicker, ”Oh, look, he’s wearing a tie today.”

On the black tie he wore now were dark, red roses; gathering around in bunches tied with what looked like golden string. His tie clip had a single rose in the center, and it twinkled in the light.

Bling bling, Baby.

He positioned a top hat to the side and rose higher from the ground. His smile turned to a sneer.

Adam glided silently and paused at the nearest building, some high-rise covered with mirror and glass, so he might see his reflection.

He whistled.

Now that’s sharp.

In the reflection, he could see himself clearly. The new, sleek clothes fit well, almost tailored made. He was young looking and fit. A small amount of stubble was creeping in, maybe a days worth. His chiseled face and sharp brown eyes made him one handsome man. Suddenly he watched as though his reflection was something new.

        The top hat could be a bit much, though.

        He took it off, tossing it aside angrily as though the garment was tainted, and tilted his head. The reflection warranted a better view and taking in what he saw versus desired. It was that simple.

        A pair of tiny stubs slowly tore through his scalp. Adam watched unfazed by what he saw. His hair and skin parted with ease as the dark mass grew another inch. There wasn’t any blood present, but at times the skin would break off, clinging on the side of the large, dark objects.

The jet-black objects swirled slightly; curving towards the ground before making it’s way up, ending in a sharp decisive point. The horns could have been skin they moved and grew so easily. They looked massive, but not overly so. Large wide bases covered the scalp, bubbling up near the bottom like scarred tissue.

Adam moved higher still. The buildings in front of him were enormous and surrounded him like chess pieces. Their panes of glass were zooming past him, reflecting the other buildings and him, a lone demon flying higher into the sky, his horns gorging the air. Below him the empty streets started to appear smaller. No cars or people ever became present, to see to his health. Oh no, no bitches were taking his pulse.

In a burst of speed he shot up very fast. His blazer flapped in the wind, zooming past the buildings. When he rose higher the clouds whirled and protested from being disturbed. They trailed after him in small tornadoes before disappearing.

“Ahhhh!” Adam yelled.

Although, deep inside he was festering, roaring with profound rage. Dark, sinister feelings.

His heart beat quicker the higher.

ThumpThumpthumpThumpthumpthump.

He felt powerful, rising towards the sky. His black horns were cutting the air, Baby. He-

Adam came to a sudden halt. His jacket nearly rode his shoulders.

In front of him he saw something that looked like glass and he could make out a small reflection, and something else. Some kind of outside world. It was a world he could place, a familiar one. A world that reminded him of home.

But whose home?

All of these surroundings looked larger to him now. They were magnified. A desk, perhaps mahogany was directly in front of him. The floor a nice Persian rug. French door were to the left, and beyond that, he could see very little. Who cares? Really?

What the fuck is this shit??

Adam was still floating in the sky. Below him was the city and clouds, caressing the bottom of his shoes. The clouds threatened to go inside his trouser leg.

He suddenly frowned. He wasn’t exactly sure the reason. Wasn’t this what he truly desired? It seemed like a cruel, twisted joke that he could not touch any of this. Nothing here could be real. Power should feel stronger than this.

He needed more.

“I wanted more!” Adam roared.

Below him, he watched the high-rises sway ever so slightly, submersed in clouds. Those tall enough moved the wispy smoke only a hair.

The noise though, began to slowly rise.

A smaller structure to the left instantly collapsed to the ground in a billow of dust. Shingles and debris flew from buildings, home and one-floor office buildings. The ground directly below him began to crack in the middle, exposing the dark earth with a dirt fissure.

The sound was a deafening roar now.

Rumbling.

Crunching.

It was scrreecchiiiinnnng!

The rumbling finally faded. Adam was in awe. Had he caused that? He was more delighted than surprised to find the world beneath him, in a sense, was real. What’s more?

He destroyed something.

Adam snapped out of his reverie. Whatever damaged he caused will just have to repair itself, and it will, if he desired it.

Adam remained silent for a long time. He concentrated on the glass, the extremities and the outer world beyond it, and began to make out a sleeve, something he mistook earlier for a warped chair. The Persian rug he was sure of before, was a patch of skin.

Clouds continued the swirl under his shoes, a few threatened to edge up his trouser legs. A large patch of dark clouds flew by and for the first time he saw clearly the mysterious world before him, and the person holding him in what appeared to be a glass ball.

The old man peered down to his palm and cleared his throat.

“I am your Father,” said the man, a combed moustache shaking ever so slightly. He blinked his large pale eyes, and smiling a full row of white teeth.

Inside the glass ball, Adam could hear him perfectly, and studied him as the man sat up with some difficulty. He moved with the agility of an older person, frail in their ways. They practically wore any chair that they happen to recline in. You know the type.

The world around him swayed only a fraction, but not like before. Only the air around him. Adam was still dumbstruck, but he was quick to understand a feeling: he was being moved. An enormous ceiling fan just zoomed by. The world changed rapidly in front of him, like a gigantic movie screen from the first row.

His Father strode over to his large mahogany desk and lowered the glass ball onto a pedestal. The desk was vast to Adam. Nothing to see but wood. He felt almost nothing while being moved and the impact was seamless.

The pedestal resembled a hand and had four prongs that stabilized the ball. It energized it and a momentary snap of electricity ignited as the two came in contact. The glass ball gleamed in the light and seemed mountainous even from the large desk. They were both equally big.

His Father moved around and slowly sat down in his chair, and heaved. It felt good to sit down. He really was getting too old to lug that ball around. It was enough that he created two worlds. So he didn’t need to carry it around like a child. Mr. Deity watched his son glide slowly out of sight.

Adam could see the deserted streets beneath him as he floated lower until a surface crunched viciously beneath his hooves. What pebbles were there, pulverized and turned to dust. Debris groaned angrily when he made purchase on a huge skyscraper, and noisily, Adam clumped his way to its edge, the empty city slowly coming into view.

“What happened to hell?” he asked.

Inside the ball Adam could hear his Father chuckle deeply. Adam’s laughter, however, grew into a thunderous roar: ah ah ah ah AH AH! AH! AH! Ah Ah Ah ah. His thoughts were on a whirlwind. He felt utterly alone. Immensely powerful. He felt… Evil. There was nothing he couldn’t do.

Adam frowned, though. To him, his clothes suddenly looked insignificant, and his jacket a useless piece of fabric. Always he will want something more.

Turning his head, his horns hanging low and top heavy, the sun made his chiseled face look longer. Incisors grew inside his evil sneer. His fangs threatened to pierce his skin. And he watched with small slits for eyes as a cape unraveled, billowing behind him like a black torturous sea, reaching with idle hands for miles.

“Who am I?” Adam asked, his voice deep and growling now.

“You are what you wanted to be," answered his father inside the glass sphere. "You are Lucifer, Prince of Darkness.” His father’s deep voice reverberated inside him, it was everywhere.

 

Catalyst


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