Plague

It

James could perfectly remember how it happened. And he could also remember when. It was a cold winter night when it happened. Not a single soul was awake. Except James Mackleberg, that was, of course. He had always been much of a wanderer, sometimes walking down the streets late into the night, when not a single soul was awake, for no specific reason. So this night really didn't seem anything other than normal (in a James-ish manner, that is, of course.) The singing of the birds had been replaced by the chirping of the crickets, and sometimes the hooting of an owl, but that wasn't very often, according to James' memory, which wasn't exactly the best. But other than  how many times he heard an owl hoot, James could remember it perfectly. He'd been walking down an alley, hands in his pockets, footsteps calm, slow and very silent, as expected from a man as odd as James. 

James never really said a word, always keeping all of his thoughts inside that head of his. It wasn't like anyone even knew he existed, so it didn't really matter if he said a word or not. So James kept his mouth shut as he walked down the alley that if he knew would cause him that much trouble, he would've probably not even come out to wander the streets of New York city that night. Or ever again, perhaps. But even though James rarely thought before he acted, he would have probably stayed at home that night. Because what those streets had in store for him was not something anyone would like to deal with. Especially anyone as peculiar as James Mackleberg.

James always had his guard down - he wasn't very aware of his surroundings, he was just there to stare off into space and let his mind wander. James was a very odd person, the outsider, the outcast. That awkward man in the corner staring into space with that lost emotion in his eyes. The invisible person? Oh, yes. That's James Mackleberg. The absentminded human that everyone knows. But James was practically invisible. Until it happened. His life seemed perfectly normal (in a James-ish way, that is), until it happened. His shirts were perfectly clean, because even though James was a very odd being, he had a certain obsession with having spotless shirts. Until it happened.

James could remember what his thoughts had been when it happened. Yes, for once, James Mackleberg could remember his thoughts. He was thinking about Elora Densk. Yes, Elora Densk. Elora Densk was a really pretty girl (because Elora Densk had been a girl when he'd last seen her), with long golden curls and a pair of big Amber eyes the color of the sun when it set. Which, according to a young James Mackleberg, it had been a bright orangish-brown. But now James thought her eyes were actually more like a brownish-orange, the color of a rotting orange, according to James, that was. And let's not forget that James was rather a very odd person. Elora had been sitting next to him on the swings, pushing herself with her little feet off the ground, her goldenish curls all over the place. Her thick curls had been basically begging him to touch them, but since it was James Mackleberg who they were calling, he'd pulled her curls, while also saying a very romantic phrase (James clearly doesn't have much luck with women.)

"Your hair is as thick as a gorilla's," he'd said.  And Elora Densk had then slapped his hand off her hair, making it turn a bright red, but not as bright as his cheeks were. 

"Go get pooped in the head by a bird," Elora Densk had said, causing for poor James to start crying. He really hadn't told her that to mean harm - he'd actually meant it as a compliment. But, of course, James Mackleberg was not, and still isn't, a flirting genius. "You're such a baby, Jamey-Jo." And perhaps if Elora Densk had not said this, James wouldn't have seen it. Perhaps if Elora Densk had not said this, James wouldn't have met it. Perhaps if Elora Densk had not said this, James wouldn't have actually done it.

James had heard it. Oh, he had heard it. He had heard the cries coming from that dark alleyway. It was a dark alleyway, pitch black, not even illuminated by one of the lampposts, and there seemed to be no escape from it. No one ever seemed to go there. Well, no one but James Mackleberg, who really didn't fear dark alleys. Mainly because he didn't really care about dark alleys. The scream he had heard from the alley that was always silent shook his bones and got his heart to skip a beat. And James was sure he would have ran if it weren't because of Elora Densk's words. You're such a baby, Jamey-Jo. But he wasn't a baby! Of course he wasn't a baby! And he was going to prove Elora Densk (or the memory he had of that cute girl with golden curls and a sharp tongue) that he wasn't a baby. 

So James picked up the pace and walked down the alleyway. At the moment, James didn't give it that much importance that he was just about to get his stupid self in trouble. Because, James didn't really think before he acted. That just wasn't James Mackleberg. James continued to walk, only thinking about Elora Densk and proving to the memory of her that he wasn't a baby. And that's when James saw it. The two piercing eyes. The broken silhouette laying on the ground. The blood. He looked down at the body. It had been cut into a few pieces, the neck being one, the torso another, and the legs, also. He'd never seen so much flesh in his poor odd life. His legs shook, and he had to look up to keep himself from fainting. But it was there. The two bright eyes in the dark alley, looking right at his own. A knife was in their hands, covered in blood. James wanted to scream. But, of course, he couldn't possibly do what babies did. Babies shouted. And he was a grown man. 

The figure lunged at him, the knife pointing toward his flesh, about to sink right through his chest. But James took off running. Oh, he ran. But the figure kept on following him, every time faster and faster. James was still faster. Running had been one of the few things James knew how to do. Whether it was running from his problems, or the people who tried to hurt him, or both, he knew how to run. And with a ton of experience. James didn't stop. He didn't. Not even to breathe. James couldn't stop. And though James wasn't very fond of his existence, he thought that living was way better than rotting in the ground with all the worms. 

Suddenly, James could feel something digging through his right leg. It was very much like a needle, James could remember, but twenty times worse. No. It was like 20,000 times worse than a needle. And as that thing that would leave a permanent mark on his leg sunk through his flesh, all he could think of was stupid Elora Densk and how she had called him a baby. So he didn't even cry. He had to prove to Elora Densk that he was a strong young man, and definitely not a baby. Because James was rather an odd being to be thinking of Elora Densk when someone had just stuck a knife in his leg. Still, despite the blood (and the knife) in his leg and the paining of his chest, he kept on running. He ran faster than the wind, which, for once, there was none, so he was obviously faster than the wind. James didn't dare to look back. He didn't want to see such a thing again. So James ran and ran until at last, his legs gave up. 

And he was engulfed in darkness...

By SunsetOfRain