Touch

“The TouchWrist is a bracelet like no other. Transcending the use of one of the most sensitive senses of humans and animals alike, TouchWrist uses a special advanced technology which transmits the sense of touch from one bracelet to another. No matter where you are, all the way down under in Australia, to the dense jungles of Africa, the TouchWrist is able to transmit your heartfelt touch from one end of the world to another, bringing physical contact to a whole new level of emotion and meaning. Every pair of bracelets are manufactured with a special code, unique to any other pair out there. So, rest assured, only you and your partner would be able to receive your intimate touches from each other, and no one else – providing that neither of you lose it!”

Instinctively, I felt for my bracelet around my right wrist. It was just a simple bracelet woven with colourful threads in various patterns and knots. It used to feel so alive, and my wrist so sensitive to it. Yet, I never took it off my wrist.

I recalled first coming across the commercial on the internet. So many new problems and issues would definitely come about from using it – from sex, to pleasure, to pranks, to crime. It fascinated me. The bracelets were customisable to whatever you wanted to make – all it needed was this small thin, rectangular metal stuck underneath the bracelet for the revolutionary technology to work. I immediately phoned my best friend, Lynn, about it. We were a mischievous pair – I knew she would love it, and think of uses for it much more sinister that I could. No more than two dial tones after, she picked up. I told her about it excitedly, thinking of all the exciting and stupid things we could do with it. I could hear the skepticism in her voice initially, especially when she asked of the practicality of such an expensive bracelet – but I could tell she was already formulating ideas and plans in that hyperactive brain of hers. I then told her she could get one for her boyfriend and we could prank him together. She loved pranks. She was sold.

Fast forward three months – we were unstoppable. Lynn and I not only pranked her unsuspecting boyfriend who was thankfully a pretty good sport about it, we also pranked each other. From tickles, to physical pain, to uncomfortable vibrations from god knows where – the TouchWrist was the perfect toy for us childish adults. Lynn had hand-made and personally designed my bracelet, and likewise I did too. It was a precious symbol of our friendship, and not just touch itself could stop us from exploiting the uses of this fascinating technology.

However, that happiness was short-lived. I never expected, out of all the people in the world, for this incident to happen to us. To Lynn.

A bunch of construction scaffolding by the pavement had given way. Of all people to be walking directly past it – Lynn. According to her boyfriend, all he saw was her hand sticking out from under the heap of metal beams. The hand which her bracelet was tied to. Till today, I wondered if she purposely fell that way – to somehow avoid me from getting any of the pain she suffered. I still suffered anyway.

I sat there on the couch, staring the advertisement which was showing yet again on the TV.

“The TouchWrist has now expanded on to wedding rings! That’s right, bond with your partner eternally for life with not just any ring – but a ring imbued with the personal touch of your significant oth-,”

I turned off the TV. It had only been a month since the incident, but some part of me still hoped to receive Lynn’s ghostly touch – wherever she is now. I chuckled to myself dryly. She’d definitely be the kind of person to do just that if she were a ghost. She had been buried in a cemetery nearby, with the bracelet still on her wrist. I wondered if she would be able to feel my touch even in the afterlife.

I got up, shuffling past the trash which had accumulated in my flat over the past month. Just as opened the fridge to grab another can of beer, I felt a sharp jolt to my wrist. I dropped the can on the ground with a clunk as I froze there, staring at the bracelet. Suddenly, the cold surface of the metal warmed up…. That was not possible. There was no way- I slammed shut the fridge, grabbed a jacket, my wallet, keys, phone and dashed out of my flat, slamming the door behind me.

The sky was grey and overcast – as it had been for the past few days. I felt droplets of rain slice past my arms and face as I ran. I sprinted across the street, through the park, up the stairs, and towards the cemetery situated at the top of a hill. As I reached the gates of the cemetery, I stopped to catch my breath, panting in the cold, chilly wind. I looked up to see Lynn’s boyfriend – Adam – standing right in front of her grave. He looked up at me, and the look on his face gave me the feeling that he got it too. Lynn had two bracelets – one for me and another for Adam. She wore them on the same wrist.

I walked towards him, still out of breath and clearly a mess, as I hadn’t left my flat for weeks.

“Don’t tell me…” he started.

I nodded. We both got a reaction from our bracelets – the one Lynn was supposed to still be wearing, in her grave.

“Do you think… it might just be a malfunction?” He nervously suggested.

“The fact that we both got it at the same time says otherwise.”

“It may be a bug. Or an insect…”

“Can bugs or insects give such shocking jolts to someone? Even their bites can’t be this significant. It felt like, my wrist was temporarily struck by lightning. Yet I felt no pain.” I stared down at the grave. It looked completely untouched, the flowers still rotting there from the funeral.

I turned to Adam. “You got a shovel?” he looked back at me, a look of exasperation in his face. “No…” his words trailed off, but then, I could tell he was also thinking the same thing. I refused to think this was some supernatural coincidence.  I had to dig out my best friend’s grave, defile it, and find out what the hell gave me that ghostly …. “touch”.

---

I also wrote this for an assignment for my Creative Writing module, and despite not being much a big fan of sci-fi, I decided to give it a go for variety’s sake, from a prompt online.

Not very proud of it, though some people seemed to like this better than my previous post – The Tower.

The Tower

The old, bearded farmer watched with lifeless eyes as the little boy pranced amongst the flowers in the poppy field, leaving behind a line of grey, wilted flowers in his wake. He was chasing a butterfly. It seemed like the boy never noticed the trail of dead flowers and grass behind him, but he probably was aware of it, and thought that it was normal. Hence, he had always thought that his father was an odd one, where plants and animals never shriveled up and died wherever he walked. He simply accepted it as the natural order of things. He did feel a little lonely, and a little sad that death followed him everywhere he went- but he had somehow accepted that they were peaceful deaths at least, without suffering, and without torment.

The boy leaped up and clasped his hands around the butterfly, at last. Full of glee, the boy had prayed that when he opened his hands, he’d see a beautiful butterfly with its shimmering wings still gleaming under the sun. Yet, he wasn’t really surprised when he did open them, and all that was left was a motionless insect, its wings slightly dried and most visibly dead. He turned back to face his father, tears nearly forming in his eyes.

The old crook stared back blankly at him.

Turning away and wiping his eyes with slight embarrassment, the boy lay the dead thing aside along a dirt path, and strolled to the river nearby. He squatted down, staring at the fish swimming along. As he gazed intently at his reflection in the water, another face appeared next to him.

The face looked like a seemingly endless and bottomless pit, constantly swirling, twisting and turning around in the abyss. For a second, the boy hesitated. Yet, it was still a face.

“Abaddon!” The boy gleamed. Without taking his eyes off his reflection, he reached out to touch the water. As soon as his finger dipped in, the water rippled gently and the face disappeared, leaving only his own face staring back at him. He frowned.

“Atos! The sun is setting. Your brother Nos is already back home.” Called his father. Casting one last glance at his reflection, he sprinted off back home, Abaddon trailing behind him.

Back home, his sister, Ker, was devouring her dinner plate. She munched and chewed and rabidly tore at her meat like a wild animal. Atos eyed her with disgust. Nos was dozing off in his chair right beside her, his dinner untouched. In a swift motion, she greedily swiped his meat off his plate and stuffed it all in her mouth. Her eyes rapidly darting to and fro, she ate and ate and ate. With the dead butterfly still lingering in his mind, he ate, silently, occasionally offering some to Abaddon. The old man looked at all three of them, a sense of slight foreboding building in his frail chest.

That very same night, Atos lingered around the fireplace, staring at the flames. He was mesmerized by them. The way the fire twisted and turned, to and fro, sparked and lighted up, all this erratic movement fascinated little Atos. He reached out to touch the flames unknowingly, unfazed by the heat. He felt it, and it felt just like water. It felt like a torrent of water swishing around his fingers, licking them, touching them, fleetingly brushing past them. He reveled in this strange feeling.

On the couch, the old man eyed him warily.

Atos grinned to himself as he stroked Abaddon beside him. He felt warm, comforted, and at peace with the butterfly he killed today. He thought that it must have been for the better.

The moon shone brightly in the night sky, with a tinge of red surrounding its circumference. The forest beside their little hut rustled ominously in the wind.  

Just as Atos was beginning to doze off next to Nos, who was dead asleep on the couch, he heard choking noises, followed by heavy breathing in the kitchen. Slightly shaken, he hurried to the kitchen, to find his old man, leaning onto the table, struggling to breathe and in visible pain. He was sweating, his bloodshot eyes bulging out of his wrinkly sockets, and his gasps for breath sounded eerily demotic, as if he was really possessed. In a panic, Atos decided to run to Nos and Ker to wake them, but just as he was about to step out of the kitchen, the old man grabbed his collar, surprisingly tightly and quickly for an old man, and stared intently right at Atos. He never took his beady eyes off the young boy for a moment, even with foam slowly emerging from his mouth.

The frightened boy averted his gaze in a hurry. The sight of the dying man disturbed him greatly, despite spending his whole life surrounding death-, or with death surrounding him.

“T-the tower…” he gasped suddenly. Atos could see the old man’s knuckles turn white with such force, while still grabbing his collar. His eyes began to roll up, and the foam at his mouth rapidly gushing out in between chokes. And in seconds, he collapsed in a messy heap on the wooden floor, motionless, and eyes still wide open with terror. He looked like an ancient relic then. Atos fell back, still in shock at what had just happened, as well as the sight before him. He grieved.

Behind him, loud, screeching laugher could be heard from the doorway. He turned to see Ker, bent over, writhing and crying with laughter and glee.

“Heeeheee hooo hoo hahahahaha!!!” she cackled away madly.

And behind her, Nos stood there, finally awake from his 12-hour slumber. He appeared to be holding back tears, but said nothing. Atos looked to Abaddon for comfort, but it wasn’t there.

“He mentioned… a tower.” Atos said, his voice cracking up a little. Nos pursed his lips and creased his brows. “I don’t wanna go.” He said.

I CAN BRING YOU THERE.

“Abaddon!” Atos beamed. Rarely did it ever speak. But when it did, it brought immense comfort to Atos, and he didn’t know why. It didn’t sound like a physical voice, but more like a voice in his head. He never really thought much about it.

Nos stamped his foot. “I don’t wanna GO!” he yelled. Behind him, Ker was already wrapping up her laughing fit. She shakily stood up, still wiping the tears from her eyes. “Oh Atos, did you see how he writhed and choked?! His eyes, oh God, his eyes!”

Atos vigorously shook his head. “He… he shouldn’t have died like that! Where will he go? What do we do with him?!”

“I don’t care.” Sneered Ker. “I’m leaving this wretched place for good! I thought that being around you would give me ample entertainment, but it seems like I got the wrong guy. I’m off to find some better entertainment.” Suddenly, pair of pale, black wings sprouted behind her back glamorously. Atos was slightly taken aback. She grinned madly one last time, this time, with visible, razor-like teeth. “Adios, Thanatos!” she screeched, her voice sounding like a mix of a vulture and a pig. In seconds, she shot right out the door, and into the night sky.

“Thanatos…?” Atos repeated. He felt like he should be remembering something.

THE TOWER.

Abruptly snapped out of his confusion, Atos stood up and took Nos’s hand, firmly. “We have to go to the tower.”

Nos violently shook off his hand. “NO!”

“Nos, please! He – father – was the one who found us and took care of us! Even Ker! We need to give him a proper farewell…” Atos pleaded. The fire crackled in the furnace, as if beckoning him. “We… it’s not safe here.” Again, his mind was clouded with memories, knowledge, and terrible, terrible things, that he felt he should be remembering. He didn’t know where they came from, or what significance they carried. He just wanted his father to pass on peacefully. He knew he had to do it.

Nos started sobbing. “I just wanna sleep… far away… I don’t want- hic! T-to see anyone or anything- hic! Die anymore! Leave me ALONE!” He shouted, sending a quick, hypnotic wave of fatigue and lethargy to Atos. In shock, Atos staggered took a step back from him, making sure to shield Abaddon from him.

“I… I’m leaving too! Goodbye, brother.” With that, Nos dashed out of the hut as well, leaving Atos alone with Abaddon and his dead parent. As Atos glanced out the window, he saw his brother slowly disappear in the distance, into a cloud of mist and poppies. He wasn’t sure if he imagined it or not.

Then followed deathly silence, apart from the crackling fireplace, lively as ever.

BEWARE THE FLAMES. TOWARDS THE TOWER.

Abaddon breathed into Atos’s ears, giving him a tingly feeling. He took a deep breath.

—

As the early rays of the morning sunlight seeped through the thick canopy of trees, a boy, of mind no older than 12, dragged a big, dirty bag along the forest floor. It was cold, and he was panting out condensed air in the dry forest, yet, sweating profusely, a look of determination on his face.

“Is it far off?” he panted, to no one in particular. Of course, there was no reply.

He continued dragging the bag across the dead leaves and twigs. Along the way, he spotted a few solitary locusts here and there, devouring some shrubs. He wondered where the tower was, or what exactly it was. Feeling thirsty, he stopped by a river to drink some water. As he kneeled by the river bank, he saw his reflection once again.

In shock, he yelled and fell back. He looked at least 10 years older. His greasy, black hair had outgrown all the way past his shoulders, and a tiny stubble of beard forming on his chin. He panicked.

Whipping his head around, he saw that the dirty bag had grown moldy, with patches of gnawed out holes in it and huge flies and all sorts of insects congregating around it in swarms. The smell never hit him. How much time had passed?! He quickly turned towards the river again to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

He wasn’t a boy anymore.

Taking a closer look, his skin had begun to peel and chip away from his face, revealing a tiny bit of chin bones, as well as some cheek muscle. Horrified, he screamed with agony.

AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

In a distance, a flock of birds took off from their nests. Otherwise, the forest remained eerily quiet, tranquil, and somewhat peaceful.

“A-Abaddon?” he stuttered, looking around frantically for his partner. “Abaddon!” he yelled again. No answer. Fear began to well up within him. He refused to believe that Abaddon was his imagination all this while. “ABADDON!” he called out wildly.

He started to cry. The poor boy was hopelessly lost, believing nothing but a mere shadow of thought in his head. It was his only friend, the only thing that stayed sane within his head all his existence, and the only thing which had rationalized all his feelings since the day he realised that he could not escape death. And that death, could most certainly not escape him. Hands trembling, he bent down at the river again to wash his matured face, only to see that very same face beside him in his reflection. “Abaddon!”

Similarly, the swirling, black face stared back at him in silence. He never realised it, but only now did he spot two, sharp things protruding from the black face’s head. The horns grew slowly, twisting and turning just like the swirling darkness in its face. Behind them, a tower loomed overhead in the reflection.

And soon, he spotted a plague of locusts swarming around the both of them in the reflection. Atos dared not turn back to look behind him, but he could hear them. The buzzing, sound of death surrounding his ears. He was so used to death around him his whole existence, that when it had finally taken a form in his reflection, he had completely missed it. For the first time, his reflection frightened him. That thing in the water was him, and at the same time, it wasn’t him. He missed the butterfly.

THANATOS. THE TOWER IS NEAR.

“Abaddon…” Atos gulped. “Who are you?”

The swarming noises became louder and louder, deafening out all the other sounds of the forest. All he heard now, was death. Without taking his eyes off his reflection, he reached out once again in a trance, to touch the black figure beside him.

I AM AS YOU HAVE ALWAYS REFERRED TO, ABADDON.

There was a tinge of smugness in the scratchy voice. A somewhat twisted smile formed on the figure’s face, the ends of the smile touching both sides of the face. In that swirling abyss, two white circles forced its way out, forming bulging eyes. Immediately recoiling back his arm, Atos shut his eyes tightly. All he saw was darkness, all he heard were the sounds of death buzzing around him, and all he knew was that Abaddon had been leading him to his tower all along.

WELCOME TO ME. WELCOME TO SHEOL. WELCOME, WELCOME.

To be continued.

Note:

All characters and references in this excerpt are purely fictional.

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I wrote this piece for my Creative Writing assignment, and was initially quite proud of it when I submitted. Now as I’m pasting this here and doing some reformatting, I spot quite a few mistakes and realise it sounds kinda edgy.

I don’t think I can get out of edgy writing as this point………

Good thing I still got an A for the module.