The Void

The Void [1] - The Cleansing

  There comes a time when this certain thing we hate and yet tolerate called Fate decides to spew forth another human being that is... different. Who can make a 'change'. The flaw in Fate's little plan is that said human being might have the power to change, but the change itself is out of Fate's control.

            The individual with the whole 'changing' ability who we are going to focus on was shuffling out of an airplane at the moment, a thin man in his early thirties who you would expect to see going down the street in a cheap suit and a briefcase full of lies. He nodded at the crew as he moved out and began the slow and arduous trek to baggage control.

            One strenuous hour and a half later this particular individual was sitting in the back of one of Bruckheimer's signature yellow cabs- you could tell them apart from any other city's particular cabs by the smears of blood, grime, and tobacco or marijuana ash in and out. But beggars were never meant to be choosers and the Bruckheimer Cabs Company sucked in hundreds of dollars daily from the poor, exploitable public.

            The cab driver was midway in his twenties and listening to one o' dem classik Bob Marley songs on a twenty dollar China manufactured music player and, much to the annoyance to his passenger, humming like his ass was on fire.

            Thirty minutes later, down by the southeast of Bruckheimer, the cab screeched to a halt and the cab driver asked for his moneh for da fare. His passenger mumbled something about irritating reggae songs and, shoving the driver's moneh in his outstretched hand, stumbled nonchalantly out of the taxi cab.

            "You forget yoh luggage," reminded the driver, "luggage in-a dem trunk." He pronounced trunk like 'teronkh'

            His passenger gave a loud snort and rapped the back of the cab sharply with two knuckles until the driver finally realised that the trunk was locked and muttered out some apologies as he pushed the unlock button.

            The passenger pulled out a backpack and a large trolley bag with ease and slammed the hood shut. With the tip of an imaginary hat he moved towards the building and the driver went back to humming the beat of 'Chase Dem' as he drove away into the hollow sunset.

            The man stood there for about two whole minutes, staring at the yellow Police Line tape stretched across the door, unable to comprehend the the day had dawned when that tape would signify the murder of someone close to him; someone he loved. Countless times he had been standing in front of that very tape, watching the victim's friends and family sob while he himself was trying to analyse the situation for the rest of the police force, but the very idea that he was now one of those people gave him an immense sinking feeling that made him want to pass out there and then.

            He less moved and more dragged himself into the building, remembering the hundreds of times he had gone up those very stairs and pushed that very elevator button without a care in the world aside from how far away payday always seemed. He stepped in the elevator and the doors closed smoothly in front of him. The elevator stood still for another two minutes before he realised he needed to push the button, doing so with an extremely shaky index finger. The walls around him started humming as the lift began its steady ascension before giving out a happy little ding and opening its doors. On an ordinary day two years ago that particular ding would mean relaxing and watching TV while nibbling at a sandwich for an hour or two before going down to the gym, but another police tape and seven officers standing in the hallway facing his apartment meant something completely different.

            The first one to notice him was incidentally the one standing furthest away. His eyes lit up and, as if they were synchronized, everyone else's eyes turned towards him.

Some offered a 'welcome back, sir' and others just nodded but most of them stood still, staring at him as he went.

            He took a deep breath, swallowed his pride, and walked inside.

            There they were- his sister and his father, lying there on the floor, torn to shreds. The forensics department kids were swarming over them but a mere glance of him moved them apart so that he could pass through. One of them put a hand on his shoulder but he shrugged it off as he continued his slow advance, tossing both his backpack and his trolley bag on the floor behind him.

            He stared at the bodies quietly and let the tears flow freely. Then it hit him.

            "Where's my brother?"

            One of the forensics boys cleared his throat and wrapped his hands around an imaginary knife before making a slow stabbing motion into space, nodding sadly.

            He considered this quietly and suddenly it all hit him.

            His mind lurched and he fell to his knees, screaming loudly, one hand on the floor and the other covering his face in a picturesque movie moment. A few officers walked up behind him and held him back while another spoke reassuring words in his ear, but he screamed on as loudly as he could, letting out all the pain he felt in one concentrated yell.

            He suddenly felt a searing pain in the back of his head and fell to the floor with a dull thud. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was his father's shredded face and the flies swarming around it.