000
Simon Petrikov woke up. He lay in his bed, the thin blanket covering most of his shaking body. He had a horrible dream and for a moment he couldn't move. He recovered his thoughts and looked over to the night stand next to the bed. "Betty will be surprised to see me up this early," Simon thought as he reached over to get his glasses (he often would sleep until 9:30-ish on the weekends). His fingers brushed against a crown, golden and jeweled, and he looked at it, shocked at how cold it had gotten.
Breadballs. The dream was real.
Simon pulled his rounded glasses toward his hazel eyes and put them on, and sat up. He moaned as he sluggishly pulled the covers off and pushed himself out of bed. He stretched his arms as he yawned, as anyone would after waking up.
It was still dark outside, the sun trying to rise, the morning stars barely twinkling, probably earlier than 6, and Simon had gone asleep with his clothes on. Yet again.
He staggered over to the bathroom, and closed the door behind him. He stood there, staring at his reflection for some time in the mirror. It wasn't him, it couldn't be. His dark brown hair had turned a light shade of gray, and his skin was lighter than a corpse. Small, but noticeable, tufts of hair started to grow on his cheeks and chin, and although he tried to shave it off the day before, it was already growing back.
He splashed cold water into his face, feeling somehow warm. It was only a couple degrees warmer than his body, which was very cold for a human. He looked down, oozing the toothpaste on the edge of the toothbrush, and looked up at the mirror. Taking a deep breath, Simon closed his eyes not daring to look, allowing the bristles of the toothbrush to clean his teeth, the old stubby normal ones, and the newer, shark-like teeth. All symptoms of the crowns' curse that he knew about. When he was finished, he brought his toothbrush to the bedroom and put it into a backpack that sat next to his dresser.
Simon nodded his head somehow managing a smile, and began to speak. He liked to hear a voice, even if it was his own, and started to sing a song he made up for Betty. He was always one to be musically talented.
"…and if little birdies sing their song, sweet and simple, sweet and simple, …and if little birdies sing their song, that means it's meant to be…"
Simon sang slightly off-tune. He pulled the blinds up and looked though the two early morning dew-covered windows over the head of his bed. Small, but threatening black clouds hung in the horizon, making the sky look like it was nighttime, not morning.
He lived in a big city, in America, his small apartment building squeezed in between two towering office complexes. He wanted a mansion, something big and old, full of antiques. But being a antiquarian in America didn't quite pay enough. Simon sighed, and daydreamed.
If only he had sold the crown when Betty had told him to, they might've had enough money to afford that. Big and beautiful, with marble pillars and oak finish. Full of Tiffany lamps, old maps of the world, and libraries filled with books. So many beautiful books…
'AWOOOOO, AWOOO!' bomb sirens from outside began to screech, pulling Simon out of his daydream. Red search lights flickered, and the street lights came on quite suddenly. Not a good sign.
'Not another one,' Simon mouthed, but this time was very different from the tests. The sirens continued to roar, even after five minutes. Not a good sign at all. He scurried over to his dresser, and pushed everything that was on it into a backpack next to his dresser; a hair brush, razor, journals, pencils, a cell phone, a pocketknife, his favorite two books, a compass, and an atlas.
He slipped on his shoes as fast as he could, mistakenly putting them on the wrong feet, and ran down the hallway to the front door, stumbling on his feet. 'No, wait…' an unusual voice hissed in the back of Simons' head, and he stopped in his tracks.
'That's right. You didn't seriously think I'd let you go without me, right?' the voice sounded mad, but stern, as if it was ordering Simon to do something. Simon turned around, knowing his time was limited, but still… he had to go back to get her.
He yanked his door open, number 3B, and ran over to his nightstand. There it was. The crown. Simon had almost forgotten to grab it, which he almost purposely did try to do. That thing was the reason why Betty left him, he lost his job, and most of all, was friendless. There was no cure for the visions he encountered, and absolutely no medicine that could drain out the crown's voice that haunted him day and night. He'd tried to look up everything- from modern science to ancient mythology. And nothing said anything about voices, visions, or crowns.
Simon grabbed the nearest thing, a piece of rope, and tied the crown to one of his belt hoops with the rope. There. He double checked his two room apartment, the sheets of his bed still wrinkled, the blinds still open, the sink turned off.
'Let's try this again,' he thought as he readjusted his backpack and pushed his glasses closer to the bridge of his nose.
By the time he reached the end of the hallway, Simon could see police cars, ambulances, and officers armed with guns though the stained-glass window framed on the door in the street. 'Not that way!' the voice silently screamed and Simon agreed. If the cops found out that Simon could be some sort of "Top-Secret" weapon, he might be tested on like a lab rat. Which wouldn't be the best thing ever, let me tell you.
Back door. Might not be the quickest way to get out of town, but it could work. Simon practically ran to the other end of the hallway, the numbers of the apartments going so fast he couldn't even read them.
He pulled the back screen-door open, the yard, if you could even call it that; was mostly dirt and small clumps of grass, fenced off by a two-feet tall iron fence. Then there was the property that a couple owned, a small village, a meadow that stretched more than five football fields long, and then a dense forest.
'Aim for the forest, aim for the forest,' Simon jumped the fence, and ran. He ran for his life.
000
'Mommy! Mommy!' an energetic little girl with shiny black hair, cried out, lost in a crowd.
The crowd, confused and worried, filled the streets, all in their pajamas. Two men had gotten into a fight, all because one had 'accidentally' punched the other man in the face. Cops began to swarm like flies, trying their best to get the crowd under control. The sirens continued to screeched, red search lights lighting the dark sky.
'Don't worry, I'm here,' a woman about twenty-five years old, with auburn brown hair and blue eyes, picked up the child. She wore a blue nightgown, a wedding ring on her finger, and she kissed the girl on her cheek.
She walked over to a bench, letting the child sit down next to her. The woman sighed, this would be the last time she would see her little girl.
'Marceline, I love you, you know that right?' the tired woman asked, and the little girl smiled and nodded her head.
'I love you for evah and evah!' Marceline chimed, showing her little fangs off.
'I love you too,' Marceline's mom could feel a tear as it ran down her reddened cheek. "I want you to run, far away from this place, okay? Imagine it as a game. The winner is the one who goes the farthest."
Marceline looked up at her mom. She usually was brave, but now… Marceline could see both fear and hope in her eyes.
'Ok,' Marceline finally managed to say, even though she wasn't.
'Good. That's my brave little girl,' Marceline's mom hugged her daughter, one last time.
'Let's start. Ready, set, go!' Her mother's voice was sad, trying to resist the tears in her eyes, and Marceline did exactly what her mom had told her to do.
Marceline ran. Faster than any three year old her age, her little feet a blur beneath her, starting to hurt. She managed to squeeze through the crowd, and before she realized it, reached the edge of town limits, a meadow lay before her, the grass brown and prickly like porcupine needles, and the toddler looked back for just a second.
Everything looked so…different. The buildings looked eerie, almost sad even, and the red search lights lit the shadows like a slim snake, a warning of danger and the threat that could be. Marceline looked forward. 'The winner is the one who goes the farthest,' Marceline's moms' voice echoed in her head, and she smiled.
'I'm gonna win.'
And with that, Marceline allowed her atavistic nature to take over, and she ran on all fours, looking more like a feral wolf then a little girl. Her fangs elongated, eyes blood red and her hands turned into rough paws. This didn't hurt her, in fact it was the same feeling you get when you get goosebumps- irritating but somewhat normal.
The sharp, fall grass ripped her skin, and Marceline told herself to keep it together. But how could she? Her mom was so scared, and yet she made up a game for Marceline. Marceline wanted to thank her, but how? They were miles apart now.
The meadow flew under her feet, and suddenly the smell of elm and oak awoke Marceline from deep in thought and she turned back into the small child she was. The trees, different shades of brown and different shapes, were the prettiest especially since it was autumn. The leaves were golden yellows and oranges, dark reds and browns. Far away, a wolf howled, a calming sound in the unusual quietness.
Marceline smiled, and sat down on a log. She was surely to win! But now what? Marceline didn't see her Mom running to get her, with a crowd for of people, about to give her an award or a prize.
No. Instead, she saw a small dot, smaller than a musket ball, fall from the sky, and land into the skyline of the big city. Marceline knew exactly what was going to happen next, although she had never seen it before.
The whole city was engulfed in a cloud-mushroom, a ring forming from its base. Blinding light came from its' undying center, bright and instant.
A sudden heat hit the forest, and the trees closest to the edge were reduced to ashes, the ones nearer to Marceline were turned into shadows of what they used to be, like bony fingers coming out from the ground. Marceline felt as if someone had slapped her across the cheek ten times, and her clothes, already shattered and dirty, caught on fire.
Dust and dirt filled the air, and Marceline had a short coughing fit. The air smelled awful; like smoke and deadness, the sound like a hawks' cry, a thousand times amplified. And thousands of times higher pitched.
And then nothing. The dirt hung in the air for seconds, cleared up, leaving behind a disgusting smell of death. Marceline couldn't see the city. It was as if it wasn't ever there, just a pile of rubble, a couple buildings popping up here and there like a skeleton.
Marceline fell to her knees and for one full minute, felt as if all hope was drained from her soul. Tears filled her eyes, and all she could really do was cry.
000
Simon wasn't so lucky. When the bomb had hit ground, he was still clearing the meadow, on top of a small, but equally steep hill. A small stream ran quickly down one edge of the hill, and Simon could feel its ice-cold water mix in with the air. Simon wasn't far from the village, but he was far enough to not hear the sirens. Or maybe they stopped?
For a second, Simon felt as if his ears had suddenly gone deaf. He was thrown to the ground, his whole body felling as if it had caught on fire. A high-pitch cry echoed far away and a bright light shined in the distance, covering the land for just a minute. Simon closed his eyes, wondering if this was what death was like.
Simon opened his eyes when he felt no more pain, his right hand to his chest, breathing unevenly. He moved to his side, lying on the blacked ground, ashes falling from the sky and mixing with the dust. Simon couldn't see much through the haze, but what he could see was horrible.
The trees, the ones in the overgrown forest, were gone. And the ones that were still standing were blackened, flames hung on the scrawny branches. What was left of the meadow was dead and stiff, and a few patches of fire were burning here and there. The sky was a horrible shade of gray and Simon was beginning to wish he did die.
Only…something made him puzzled. Through the cloud thick dust, he could see a little girl in the woods. A little girl…all alone in the woods? It seemed impossible that Simon survived but he did and well… could someone else?
000
Marceline sniffled, drying her tears with her cupped, dirt-covered hands. Smoke started to fill her lungs, but she didn't care. She got up on her feet, her arms, lower legs, and feet all bruised.
Her ears were still ringing, her body shivering and cold. She allowed another tear to drop down her cheek before looking up at the sky. Gray, the ugliest and darkest gray she'd ever seen. Black clouds quickly formed from the flames that burned, smoke mixed with ash and thunderclouds, covering the once blue sky with a thick layer. Ashes fell from the clouds like snow and burnt her skin, covering the ground with a thin layer of gray and white.
She didn't notice the tall, slender figure staggering over to her, his right leg slightly limping. She didn't notice how he adjusted his glasses, shifted his backpack, or how he kneeled down next to her, his careful stare looking at her.
'Hello there?...My name's Simon Petrikov, but you can call me Mister Simon or just Simon' the man said, his voice cutting through the silence like cutting through warm butter on a summer day, 'Canyou please tell me your name?'
Marceline turned her head and looked at the man, looking at him curiously. Her voice didn't seem to work for a second, but that passed. 'M-Marceline.'
The man, Simon, smiled at the little girl, 'Marceline, huh? Are you-are your parents here?'
Marceline bit her lip, 'My parents… my mommy, she…' Her small shaking hand pointed toward the ruins of the town, 'My daddy… he works out-of-state… and we haven't heard from him for months! What if he… what he was coming home? I'm so scared!'
'That… that would make the two of us,' Simon sighed, looking down. Suddenly an idea popped into his head, and it was a good one for once. 'Hey,' he started, 'do you want to come with me?'
Marceline looked at him with her blood red eyes, her head tilted, 'C-can I please?'
'Sure, if you want to. Might be good for us to stick together. I do need some company, and I think you do too,' Simon smiled, standing up, 'And we can be scared together.' He offered his hand to her, and she stared blankly at it before agreeing and taking it, a toothy smile on her face.