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Thirteen Candles A Tale of the Society

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Posted 04 August 2007 - 12:00 AM

All right, this story, which I wrote way back in 2004, is unfinished; I still, however, think it's of good quality. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

Now, sit back, relax, and enjoy Thirteen Candles:


13 Candles


Two Hells don’t make a Heaven,
But two Heavens make a Hell.

-Charles d’Artoire




Prologue

In the dusty halls of a decrepit library, a man lay, reading.
His back was rested on a bookshelf, head inclined in relaxation. His thinning, scraggly hair whipped around in the gusty wind blowing in through the walls, but he hardly noticed. His beard was a whitening gray, face a weathered tan, clothes in tattered shape over his somewhat rounded person. His bushy eyebrows leapt off his face with every line he read, pulling him in like a fish.
Suddenly, a burst of light startled him. He squinted, pulling the book over his face like a shade. Feet clattered on the musty wooden floor. A black-gloved hand reached down and snapped the book out of his palsied hands. He shivered, whimpering like a small, helpless child.
A grim-faced man in a skintight black helmet looked the book over, noticing its title and the thickness of the book. He put a hand over his mouth and whispered into the ear of the similarly uniformed man next to him. The man nodded, and yelled into his wrist, “We’ve got a B-19 here! I need backup here, backup!”
Instantly, a platoon of soldiers, all wearing the same black-helmeted uniform, marched in. The lead soldier was carrying a large green canister. The man with the book took it with silent gusto. He threw the book down, clenched his hand, and destroyed the book with the flame-thrower in his wrist. Then he tapped the canister, causing it to rattle quite violently. The bearded man shivered.
“Citizen 252, you are charged with committing the crimes of reading, slacking off of daily duties, and being in a library,” the helmeted man spoke. “With these crimes, you will become a cooperative member of the Society.”
The helmeted man forced the man into a scrunched position, hands holding knees, head bowed onto chest, back bent. Then, slowly, he opened the canister.
The man screamed in pain as he was pushed into the canister and locked in. The canister started shaking again, this time more violently. It rose off the ground, turning this way and that; while out of the canister came an unearthly noise. It sounded like a struggle was taking place inside the cramped space. A final defiant scream of pain, and the canister fell silent.
Then, an unearthly howling noise rose up. A cry of triumph, long and loud, as the canister sank down. A bump and the noise ended.
The canister was unlocked, and the bearded man stepped out, deathly pale. His clothes hung off him like sheets on a clothesline. His hair was completely white, and there was a long rip in his clothes from the back of his collar to the seat of his pants. His eyes had popped out, as though he’d been strangled, and a cadaver’s smile had formed on his face.
The helmeted man held out a lathered razor. The bearded man took it, and, slowly and deliberately, started to shave.



Chapter One

John woke up sweating.
He groaned. For the fifth night in a row, he’d been having nightmares. Horrible, bloody ones, too.
In his dreams, there was a dome. A large dome, nothing more. And, suddenly, the dome had opened, and a strong wind had grappled with him, pulling him out.
He had looked behind him, and had saw the mutilated, green powder-covered bodies lying in heaps. He had looked between the two, and a raging storm had tossed him away. He had fallen and fallen and fallen, while a howl of triumph had filled his ears. He always felt as though there was wet blood on him, but it always turned out to be sweat when he woke up.
The dreams terrified him.
He shivered, and thought of what his father, Jeremy, or mother, Ruth, would think. They would banish him to the Place of Thunder, where people with dreams were kept. No one was supposed to have dreams.
Especially children.
He sat up in bed. Now was not the time to talk about rebellious dreams, especially when his thirteenth birthday was… he looked at the clock. Oh, no! Was it really—his birthday was one minute away? He shivered, and prayed to Gedned that all would be well, though he knew that Gedned was a cruel and jealous OverLORD. Wait a minute… he was the only OverLORD. He shrugged, and the clock struck 1.
He jumped. It was his 13th birthday, the day when a child becomes an adult! He ran into the hallway, brushed past his cat, Bass, and opened the door of his parents’ room.
A beam of light struck his father’s eye. It opened, and a ferocious yell erupted.
John groaned. His father, usually a nice, timid man, was exceptionally angry when woken up. Fortunately, he was used to it.
John’s father leapt out of bed, started toward John, and was about to grab him when he regained control of his senses. He shook his head, cleared his throat, and asked John in his soft, regular voice, “John, what did you wake me up for?”
John beamed. “It’s my thirteenth birthday. Remember?”
“Oh. Oh, yes.” His father smiled. “I remember now.” He gestured to the door. “Now, go back into temporaneous hibernation. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us.”
John nodded. “Alright, then. Gedned bless us, everyone.” He walked back down the hallway, slid open the door a little, and collapsed back into bed. He slid the covers up and sighed peacefully.
He was just getting comfortable when the dreams came back…




Chapter Two

“Wake up, John! Wake up!” cried his mother, Ruth.
“Huh…wha…?” John sleepily groaned as he pushed himself out of bed. He rubbed his eyes, and found himself staring at an enormous cake, topped with ice cream, frosting, and a small tiki figure of Gedned holding up a baby. The icing on the cake read WELCOME TO THE SOCIETY, NEW COOPERATIVE MEMBER!
“Wow!” John happily cried. “Wow!”
“And, as an added bonus,” John’s father replied, “we got you this early…” He unveiled an aquamarine full-piece uniform, crowned with a black rubber helmet-hood, which covered the ears, attached to the high back collar, and stamped, on the breast pocket, with the numbers 0000000359. Attached to the sleeves were black gloves, and to the legs black boots.
The edges of John’s lips rose up into two parallel peaks, signaling to his father that he was delighted. “Good,” his father grinned, “that’s good.” He got up, stretched a little bit and walked out. John’s mother followed him, pausing at the doorway to softly murmur, “If you need anything, just call us.” She briskly strolled out.
John sat with the suit in his hand and the cake on the bed. “Well, I guess I might as well enjoy,” he shrugged, and dug in.

* * *

“How was your cake?” Mother asked John.
“It was very good, bless you,” John replied. He stepped out as the electro-lift landed in the dinning room, and casually strolled to the table, boots squeaking, new suit glistening with the smell of fresh vinyl.
He stopped in front of the crescent moon table. “How do I look?” he asked.
Father applauded. “Like a new man,” he cheered.
John laughed. He plopped down into his usual place at the table, inside the curve, but his father shook his head, pointing to a newly placed seat between his father and mother’s chairs outside the crescent.
John heart leaped into his throat. At long last, he was going to eat like an adult! He eagerly sprinted to the refro-dorm, grabbed a pre-prepared bowl of Nutritious BRAN-EYE Crunchies, swung back to the table, sat down again, and wolfed down the bowl.
Father raised an eyebrow. “I guess the cake didn’t fill you up enough,” he remarked, tossing dehydrated strabanaterry slices into his bowl of CREAM-PUFFS for the Soul.
John shook his head, still munching down his morning meal.
Mother, carrying a bag of decarbonated PUSTULE PIZZA, walked by his chair and tousled his long, brown hair. “I hope you’re ready for the scholar home,” she smiled in an affectionate voice.
“I am.” He lifted up his schodro-porter, which contained his writing-utensil, his ComChip compulator, and his fingerprint tray.
Father banged on his glass with the pronged eating-utensil. “I’d… I’d like to propose a toast,” he grinned. He stood up and raised his glass. “To the thirteen candles on the cake of my son, and every gleam of the future they may hold.” They all stood up.
“To the thirteen candles!”




Chapter Three

“Hey! Hey, Nathan!” John called, running up to his friend.
“What?” he growled in a harsh voice.
John was taken aback. Nathan was usually so friendly. “I… I just wanted to ask you how your initiation went.”
Nathan looked him over repugnantly and grunted, “What kind of mindless cretin are you, not to know?”
John’s mouth dropped open in shock. Who did he think he was, anyway? In his least angry voice, he replied, “I thought you were my friend. Remember me? John?”
Nathan’s eyes narrowed, thinking intently. John could almost see the wheels in his head turning. Then he shook his head and seemed to brighten up. In a fake cheery voice, he said with gusto, “Oh, yeah! Um, well… you see, um---”
“John.”
“Oh, yeah. John. Well, you see, they made me sit in a tight green canister.”
“Really? Didn’t it hurt?”
“No, it actually felt quite fine,” he smiled. The smile dropped, and his eyes narrowed. “Why are you staring at me like that, John?”
“You’re not stuttering,” John stammered out. “Usually, it takes you hours to finish a single sentence.”
“Really?” Nathan replied coldly. His head shook, he blinked, and he cried out genuinely, “Oh, really? I guess… well, maybe the initiation process took my stuttering away!” He smiled broadly, and John was almost convinced, but there was something else… something under that smile…
“Anyway,” Nathan went on, gesturing broadly, “there was a scent of perfume, then a sort of burning smell, and then, I felt like I was being rejuvenated… as though I were a new man…”
“That’s what my father said,” John blurted out, unintentionally.
“So? What’s the big deal?” Nathan’s mouth pursed, a thin, red line. His eyes narrowed, and his hands clenched, tightly. His neck stiffened, and his back straightened. His face grew red, and John was afraid his friend was going to burst.
Then, he relaxed, and said, “I have a bright idea! Why don’t we--”
“Go to the scholar home?” John finished. “Sure!” He grabbed Nathan’s hand and pulled him along, never noticing the scowl on his friend’s face.






Chapter Four

“WHAT?! What do you mean, I can’t go to the scholar home?”
“That’s what it says here, John,” Matron droned, pointing to a sheet of bright yellow paper on her clipability-holster. “You have to report to the Mission Base for immediate initiating.” She smiled sorrowfully. “I’m sorry, John.”
John was stunned. The scholar home was his favorite time of day, the time he spent with all his friends. His favorite teacher, Dr. Brigbates, would probably be handing out doughnuts, as this was Monday. He would miss out on his report cards!
He glanced pleadingly at Matron, but her finger still pointed toward the door. John sighed. He didn’t want to enrage Matron, so he slunk quietly out the door.
He sprinted toward the Mission Base, vigorous exercise showing in the way that he kept his posture while running. It was a challenging task, and most people were too weak to do it, but John was always ready for a challenge.
Mission Base loomed ahead, round dome twinkling in the light of the sun. Its large, battered doors were painted a bright, attractive shade of yellow, and its mound-like shape kept the whole building well proportioned.
It was rumored that tests were being run on people with dreams in the Mission Base, but John had been there before, and he had been assured that it all was just an urban legend. Besides, what could possibly happen?
John reached forward, grabbed the moon shaped knocker, and rapped twice. A bolt slid back, and two small, beady eyes peeked down at him through a high slot in the door. “Whaddya want?” sounded a soft, lilting voice.
“I’m… I’m here for my initiation,” muttered John.
“Oh, so are ye? Well, come on in then, lassie,” said the voice, and before John could do anything about it, the door opened and out stepped the shortest man John had ever seen.
He was dressed from head to foot in a bright green jumpsuit; similar to the ones wore by the adult members of the Society. His eyebrows were a bushy red, and his eyes were the strangest John had ever seen: they were a bright neon green.
“What?” asked the little man. “Ye never seen the Clan O’ the Little People, have ye?”
John shook his head.
“Anyway,” the little man went on, “me name’s be Frederick McDouglass, and luck be with ye.” He bowed “I be the doorman here at the Mission Base, and this here,” here, he pointed to a woman in a red jumpsuit,” is me wife. She be leadin’ ye down to th’ol’ ‘nitiation chamber, where ye’ll enter manhood! Ha-ha!” He gave a jolly laugh. Then, he sat on his stool, straightened himself out, and fell asleep.
His wife laughed. “He’s just a silly old sillybeard,” she softly remarked in the same lilting voice. She giggled.
“Now, follow me down the steps,” she instructed, and John did so, over and down, over and down. As they traveled downward, John noticed shelves upon shelves of books, some barely stocked, others so full that John almost tripped on a popped-out one.
It seemed almost eons, but, eventually, though, they reached a silver-and-black chamber. Mrs. McDouglass punched in a code on her pocket calculator, and the wall vanished.
John gasped. Was this… magic?!
Mrs. McDouglass looked back at him and laughed. “In case ye be wonderin’,” she gently smiled, “this here be a hologram, controlled by me calculator here.” She turned her head and walked into the open room. John followed, murmuring hard.
Inside the room was a control booth with a glass panel, set to the side to leave room for the two man-sized, clear glass canisters in the center, which were slightly elevated by a small, circular platform. In one of them, a boy, about John’s age, with wavy blond hair, stood, chatting with a viewscreen image of one of his friends.
“Wow,” spoke John in awe. He looked up. The ceiling was nothing more than a circular fan, circulating fresh, warm air throughout the room. John smiled. He was going to like his initiation.




Chapter Five

“Now, if ye’ll jus’ step right up here,” Mrs. McDouglass instructed, “we’ll settle ye in, and ye can make yeself as cozy as a conch.” John pushed the canister, and a door opened , revealing the inside to John. He stepped up, and the panel whooshed back into place, as if the canister had never been disturbed.
“Whoddya want to talk to?” asked Mrs. McDouglass from inside the control booth.
“My father,” John replied. He was eager to have his father see him grow up.
“One moment, please.” The woman punched in some numbers, and a few seconds later, his father’s startled image appeared in 3-D.
“John!” Father seemed unnerved, but regained his posture. He started again. “I… I thought you’d be initiated by now.”
“Not yet, Father. Just a few more..”
“Initiation started,” droned a monotonous female voice. John felt green powder settle on him, and a perfume-like smell wafted through his nostrils. He sighed deeply.
Then he looked to his right, and started to scream.
The boy in the other canister was writhing in pain as a cloud of reddish-black smoke circled him. The canister rose, and John felt a pang of terror grip him as his own canister started to float.
A cloud of purple smoke drifted down from the top of the canister, and John was beginning to feel terrified.
Then, the canister turned green, and darkness ensued.




Chapter Six

John heard the boy’s screams from afar, and as he felt the smoke encircle him, a feeling started growing on him: Mortal Fear, the fear for your life. It squeezed him up like a wrinkled lemon rind, and, as the unseen sweat slid down his moist forehead, John knew, with clarity unsurpassed in man, that he would die.
Then, he heard a hacking, a sort of wretched cough. John shivered, and had a feeling that something would happen that could drastically change his life’s course.
“Ah!” A short, shrieking scream pierced John’s ears. He felt the smoke dissipate, and the canister came down with a bump.
The canister unveiled itself, and the small panel in his canister opened again. He looked around, and saw Mrs. McDouglass helping out the blond-haired boy, who was now frightfully pale and thin. The boy looked over at John, and his eyes widened. He quickly whispered in Mrs. McDouglass’s ear, who nodded. She quickly ran over to the control booth, slipped inside, looked through the console, and pressed a button.
Alarm bells went off in John’s head. Something had gone wrong. He quickly looked around, spotted an exit door, and sprinted toward it.
A loud crash came from the other end of the room. He looked over. A group of men, presumably guards, were charging towards him, flame-throwers in hand. John bolted for the door. He quickly pushed, opened it, and charged out into the bright sunlight.
He panted, turning every so often to see if they were still chasing him. He steeled himself, leaped over a fence, and ran on.

This post has been edited by Bond: 04 August 2007 - 12:00 AM

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You only live twice:
Once when you're born
And once when you look death in the face.

--Ian Fleming
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