repo for NaNoWriMo 2018
I stood in the rain, listening for the crack of thunder to pass the time. I look down and I see the life leak from me; the blood of those that sought to destroy me lay strewn about. I look back up towards the sky, hoping to see a respite from the despair that so greatly enveloped me. I could not get any reprieve from my own deeds. Truly, it was death of my own making.
Calling upon every iota of the energy I had left, I willed my brain to send electric signals to my muscles. Move, I told them. My joints screamed, my nerves shot fireworks in protest, but I ignored them. I was, and still am, the master of my own body. I groaned as I got up. Then I limped the twenty feet to my car. Landing in the soft leather seat of the Camaro was a familiar feeling. I put the key in the ignition and started old Bertha up. She’d been a gift to me from my father all those years ago. I’ll need to get her fixed up. She’s been a bit banged up from what happened just now.
I drove away, never to return, the destruction shrinking in my rearview mirror as the forest slowly swallowed it up. I puttered along Interstate 35 hoping to escape the horrors of The Behemoth. It’d sent a group of thirty-five men; a mix of Green Berets, Spetsnaz, Mossad, and MI6 agents. I could recognize each of them by their distinctive knives. Each branch of special forces had their own beloved knife. They were ornate in their own way, signifying where they graduated from. They usually sell for a high price, but I had to leave them all behind. No amount of money could save me from The Behemoth. I’d been marked with The Intersection.
The Intersection is an affliction of supernatural means. My family has been stricken with it for many generations, I was the twelfth person in line to receive this curiosity. At first I was interested in it, as it appeared as if I was branded. The moment that I showed Mother that I had it, she broke down in tears and cursed The Behemoth with all of her might. I’d never seen her so devastated. It was only after that I learned that The Intersection is a mark of encroaching death. It does not affect the human body, but it appears only for the sake of The Behemoth.
The Behemoth has targeted many of my family members throughout the years. I was a part of the most recent generation to receive the mark. However the mark only appears on one member at a time, only disappearing from the body at the time of exsanguination. After that it will choose a new host at random. My family or I didn’t know how it selected the next person. There’s been differing opinions throughout my family on how to deal with The Behemoth and the curse of The Intersection. Some say that it’s a blessing because the world we live in needs to be culled and us humans are becoming overpopulated. Others say that we’re deliberately being picked. I believe in the latter much more than the former.
After thinking about my circumstances and where to go from here, I pulled into a dinky Motel 8. Bertha stopped just short of the curb and I turned off the engine. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, its gradient mix of red and gold just starting to show through the clouds. I opened the driver’s side door, locked the car, and walked into the main office, hoping to hide the severity of my injuries; I desperately needed a place to rest and recover. I looked at the man straight in the eyes and asked him for a room. Seventy dollars, he says. I pull out two fifties and slide them over on the desk.
“Cash I see? May I have a name for the room? For the guest book you see. Need to follow these silly rules and accordances.” The man spoke with a tired wisdom that permeated his every word. It sounded like he’d been through a lot.
“Ben” I said, using one of my pseudonyms. The man handed me the key to the room and motioned towards the door.
“Third from the last, on the left” He grunted.
I thanked him and shuffled out to Bertha. She had a first aid kit in the trunk; not sure how much it’d help but I figure some would be better than nothing.