Only Half Monster (Audition)

This is my audition story, the first chapter of my ongoing story (Only Half Monster) which can be found on my page :)
***

The world is divided in two, the Vasco and the humans. You could almost say the Vasco had superpowers, but the reality is much, much darker. In a destroyed world, where the Vasco rule, the humans are being slaughtered, and towns obliterated.

Z is a young man with a secret that must never get out, for he belongs neither with the humans nor the Vasco. But after reminiscing with his past, and a series of unfortunate events, he is thrust into the war and he must get his hands dirty if he wants to uncover the truth about himself and those around him.

It seems you can never truly know a person, until you know yourself.

2Likes
2Comments
488Views

1. Hometown

Z was quite a tall, dishevelled looking young man.

Concealed in a long, midnight brown cloak, his chiselled jawline and lapis lazuli eyes were masked by the dark shadow cast by the hood of the cloak. He watched his feet as he sauntered through a ghost town, sticking his hands in his pocket, of which only the right was covered by a thick, black, leather glove.

But this wasn’t just any ghost town.

This was Bingry; a very small town in Caragun that had always been full of life and energy. Having a small population of about 1,000 inhabitants, this enforced a close nit community, where everybody was active and outgoing, always having the time to get to know one another.

Z remembered a time when the town mayor, old man Caldridge -as he used to call him- hosted a fete to raise money for town expansions. The fete was home to multiple fishing competitions down by the river bank, accompanied by a game of junior tag on the cushioned green grass of a rugby pitch nearby. Old man Caldridge even managed to whip up sausages and burgers on the barbeque before it started lashing down with rain –the usual climate for Caragun. Nevertheless, despite the poor weather conditions, the people of Bingry still managed to maintain a bright and cheerful attitude, reinvigorated by the many buffoons living there. Though, whether these comical types made anyone’s blood boil officially didn’t matter anymore, because regrettably, everyone came to see just how grim life was when they weren’t around anymore.

Jesus; how the times have changed.

It was the year 1998, and Bingry no longer gave off that cheerful vibe that it used to. Instead, it was a ghost town, unrecognizable almost. Z remembered all too well how his once comforting home town used to look, and seeing it the way it was now hurt so much it made him want to forget how good it used to be. Z stopped in his tracks, his heart aching as he stared in disbelief at what the town had now become. The houses were black with filth, bounded by thick layers of moss and overgrown hedges. Windows and doors were either smashed in or boarded up with rotting beams of wood, accompanied by crumbling walls that were barely still standing. A handful of these houses looked like they had been engulfed in a devastating fire, which was true for most, but even the ones that weren’t had seen better days.

The roads were relatively intact, apart from a few large fissures. Unused and damaged cars were parked up alongside what was left of the pavement; Z could even see a few overturned in the distance. He imagined one or two of these cars would start providing he found gas, which he knew was difficult otherwise he wouldn’t have abandoned his car back in Rosemarch and walked for two days thus far. Luckily for Z, the dark storm clouds above and the thick fog hadn’t resulted in a down pour.

A wave of nausea engulfed him as he reminisced about the past –or rather, the present, he corrected. Unfortunately, he could say with confidence that there were probably only approximately 100 villagers left living in this town, with everyone knowing they hadn’t just upped and left on their own accord. Alas, there was a much darker explanation, where these people had been murdered, and in cold blood at that. Even if nobody was brave enough to say it aloud, it’s certainly what they were all thinking. But nowadays, mere thoughts could wind you up dead, spreading fear throughout the country. All this fear struck into the heart of Bingry destroyed the small and loving community, converting it into a town governed by the need to stay alive, destroying all that was left of humanity. It was rare to see the types of people that would protect the ones they loved, but that, Z thought, was only because just like Z, they had no one left to protect. The fear exerted by the Vasco to control the masses of commoners created a rift between the people, where unfortunately, people adopted the view that to survive, it was to kill or be killed.  

Z continued to walk along the centre of the road, disregarding the uneven pavement as the road was equally as desolate. There was not a sound to be heard aside from Z’s loud footsteps and the occasional roar of the wind followed by deafening whistles. If not for the remaining villagers, whom he spotted in the corner of his eye, peeking out through gaps in old torn curtains, anyone would have assumed this town was completely lifeless. With haste, they closed their curtains, and he was not surprised, for getting visitors in this town other than the Vasco on in killing spree, was rare. The villagers had a right to be wary.

It had been thirteen long years since Z had been in his hometown, thirteen years of which he had spent in hiding. Yet, seeing his hometown now as a graveyard was not bringing him any feelings of sentiment. Z approached his turning: a winding lane weaving up a steep hill. He was heading away from civilization, and he could tell not many people had been up here, as the beginning of the winding lane was piled high with rubble, resulting in Z having to form his own path through. Finally, once at the top of the hill, there was a small row of rather large houses, overlooking the rest of the town. He proceeded towards one of the smaller houses on the left, and stood before the crooked steps leading to the front porch. He pulled down his hood to reveal his short, tousled brown hair, and a pair of soulless, lifeless blue eyes. His face disclosed prominent black markings, comparable to a tattoo, extending only over the right half of his face, which for the most part, would have been hidden by the dark shadow of the cloak’s hood. Everything about him gave off an impenetrable aura as he stood for a moment, intently eyeballing the eyesore in front of him.

His home… this was where his hell began.

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...