Once Upon A Time

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Small droplets of blood were falling; falling in an almost serene yet oddly abstract fashion like an artist flourishing his latest works on the surface of the floor. A heavy heaving could be heard from the source of this most intimate experience.

Mikael was tired. Very tired. He'd been running for his life – something in which he did not envision would ever happen to himself. He had been briefed on this a few times by various security sources at the start of the project, and even once after his discovery which would change the way everyone saw the evolution of mankind and the societies which developed – "you simply do not become who you are without having risk to your personal safety" – that is what they'd they'd told him, time and time again, but he didn't want to listen, he didn't want to believe. No, what he believed in was himself; he believed in humanity and he believed in the world around him. Oh, how this was shattered in an instant when he heard the surreal zipping, high-pitched whining noise hit his shoulder with a very hot, wet sensation and crawl up his spine in the matter of a second.

The world he knew, his beliefs, his hopes, his aspirations – they were ripped away from his soul in an instant to be replaced with an intense, searing pain and with it, a chilling fear which would disturb all but the most reckless of men.

Looking down towards his left shoulder, his eyes widened as he saw this... this hole. Yes, it was a hole in his shoulder. Burnt flesh formed an intricate ring around the opening of the penny-sized hole, and on close scrutiny all Mikael could see was a mass of red pulp; a stream of blood pushing itself out of the puncture wound which could only be described as looking like a portion of coagulated minced beef.

He couldn't stop, he shouldn't stop. Whoever did this to him will not have the smug satisfaction of winning the prize, which was evidently his life. But he was too old for this, he'd mused to himself, the only thought from a slurry to solidify within his mind.

Beads of sweat formed in a constant drip from the very tips of his short and messy ash-brown hair. His swollen, aching feet had begun to pick up pace again. He looked behind him – nothing there, but he wouldn't let the illusion of safety take over his nerve: he may have been naïve enough to think he was safe in his own little genius-bubble before now, but no more.

Thoughts had continued to race throughout his mind. What if he died? He was pretty sure this was a possibility; he was no medical doctor, but by the look of his shoulder, the pain, and the rate it was pumping out blood, he was doubtful he could keep this pace up in the vain chance of escaping his mysterious assailant.

His thoughts turned to his ex-wife. She'd never believed in his work, called him a crackpot, a dreamer. She'd spouted at him to try use his degree and mind for real work to produce some real money for their real life and not 'waste it away like a drug-addled vagrant on wild theories which were widely ignored and sneered at by the scientific community'. How wrong she was in her immature jests.

She'd split up with him because he didn't 'treat her like a lover' and was too busy 'chasing impossibilities'. Even though it had been four years now since they'd stopped on-and-off dating altogether, he still thought about her a lot. She'd never get back with him, and if she did it would be for the money, and the money alone.

Stupid cow, breaking it off to run away with some foreign boy almost half her age. To add insult to injury it was one who had even less money than they had at their lowest points. Oh well, for all he cared she could go rot in her contradictory, irony-filled, pathetic-

His knees smashed to the ground. Mikael barely registered the pain, his shoulder too busy screaming at him with a burning passion. A dull ache erupted from the points of the impact; this new obstacle caused him to think clearly for the first time since all this had begun.