"And Adam was angry," I said aloud.
Well, I wouldn't exactly be content had I just been kicked from my own house in Illinois by my land-lord.
Okay, okay, it's not exactly a house, just an apartment.
An apartment fit for a god, that is.
Pfft, just an apartment. This thing was half the entire 12th floor of the tallest skyscraper in Chicago.
With two bedrooms, a kitchen with every usual kitchen item - and some that weren't so usual - and a lounge that could fit half my employees. Each season, the whole place was redecorated and furnished; I couldn't help but wonder who filled out my name instead of Bill Gates'.
While I contemplate how well I put together that run-on sentence, let me get the door. Friend's are coming over for a going away party.
A friend of mine, Steve, was usually the life of the party. He brought drinks, music, anything we needed, he could fetch it. I just supplied the room.
It was already nearing eleven thirty, and our usual curfew for loud parties (if the landlord could hear his personal complex in the building next to us, then it constitued as a loud party) was midnight. "Heh, What do you think Gabe will do when he hears the new 9KDosh we're gonna blare?" I asked Steve as set up the coolers in a pyramid to the left of the door, so it was one of the first things party-goers saw when they came inside.
"Christ, if he can hear at all..." presumably trailing off into thoughts about how loud he could blare his custom made speakers.
And what a set of speakers they were. Steve had pulled some strings with some techies that owed him a favor to get them.
Experimental, these two speakers were meant to be hung from a ceiling in a cluster, somehow giving what was '10.2 range of sound'. I assumed it to be all buzz, as it was implying that it would have twice as much pull as a 5.1 stereo set.
Still, I couldn't help but stand in awe when Steve pulled them in with a mechanized dolly.
"Damn," I said simply, "That says it all by itself, doesn't it?"
~
I could see his nametag. Through all the screaming and running, though he was shoving people left and right with his red baton that seemed to shine and glow as he bowled through the masses.
His nametag, in the same bright red-gold as his baton and badge, said "Michael."
His shoulders branched out like tree limbs, wider than any football or rugby player I'd ever seen. Only when he looked fierce and large enough that he was too tall for the 15 foot tall ceiling, did I notice where he was headed straight for the speaker set. I tried to scream, but my voice was forced back inside my mouth by the hundred others panicking, jumping out the windows, trying to find any escape from what looked like Hell, headed straight for them.
Of course, he was headed not for any of them, but my speakers. My beautiful speakers that spoke loud enough that a deaf person could hear again, and the blind might lose sight from their eyeballs shaking in their sockets.
As his mammoth of a foot crushed down on them both, one after the other, the magnet from the left sprang out, and I could see it was made from some liquid golden material, moving, nearly organic. It shot through the ceiling and out of the building, landing somwhere in Gabe's complex. Small pops shooting from his roof were miniscule firecrackers in comparison to the demolition that was happening inside my house.
Michael, not even taking notice what he had just crushed had created a small firepit in the middle of my floor, continued advancing. Straight towards me.
I could feel the glare of the baton from a few feet away. It looked impossible that such a weapon could even exist
Michael was beating me with the baton, no, with the flaming Hell of a weapon that was in the beast's hand. And in a dry Californian/Russian accent (no time to wonder how in the world that existed), he told me in what I understood as "For Gabriel."
Searing flames and what felt like liquid electricity poured into my right arm, followed by my left, then my back as I curled up to shield myself. I lost feeling in my body as every nerve in it was no longer recognizable as an organ. The non-existent pain was still there when I woke up in my dad's place the next morning, dead.
Oh look, I wrote something.
yaygay
