The Detonator

    He wasn’t too far. As he rounded the curve with a vigorous turn of
his wheel, he saw the wildly bustling airport sprawled out ahead of him,
animated by the life giving beams of a sprightly summer sun. The annoying
noise of the planes cleaved through the morning air, tearing along the runway.
Though it wasn’t too hot for the time of the year, the man perspired uncontrollably.

    There seemed little reason for him not to. His nerves were worked up to a crescendo
of unmitigated tension, as he briskly shuffled out of the car. He couldn’t keep himself
from visibly quivering as he approached the rear of the vehicle, and swiftly unlocked the
trunk, casting furtive glances around the area. The airport personnel were still
shaking away their languor, waking up to the rays of a new day. They were situated just
as the man could ask for, as he certainly needed to shirk their attention at all costs.

    He was clad in the most inconspicuous manner, a quiet overcoat, a blue shirt, and
mauve trousers, besmirched from extensive wear. He had on a pair of round eyeglasses,
and sneakers.

    A sense of paramount mission consumed him as he got the travel bag out and
shambled nervously along with it, steadying his jittery self, turning over in his mind
the tenets that had stoked the fires of rebellion in him all his life. What had made him
resort to the step he was taking. The injunction had come, and it must be executed
for the God he’d always adhered to, and the just government he always wanted.

    He stole up to a shadowed corner by a column, ranged around by several occupied
benches. Glancing around at the teeming multitudes, he dropped the bag and moved
away with a rapid plod as he flicked out a blinking device. He had just under half a minute,
he had been a bit too late! He made an insane rush for his car, alerting all around him,
but that was past praying, he was dashing for his life. After the magical fashion of
conversation, the alarm had spread like wildfire, with numerous people already running
berserk.

    Even the officials in pursuit evidently valued their lives; he didn’t see any as he took
a backward glimpse amidst moments of mind numbing senselessness as he sprinted like
everyone else, irrespective of faiths, of beliefs, of inclination, of mindset. He felt it all
trickle suddenly away, the truths he always thought were truths. The device vibrated,
initiating the final countdown….5…4…3…2…1. He shut his eyes in tumultuous emotion.
He opened them again, in a dreaming ecstasy of disbelief. The device had reported an
error in the wiring, beeping in mechanical disappointment. The bomb had not exploded!

Entombed

    The slumber had been placid, replete with wispy visions of joyous fancy which abruptly changed to dreams of verdant harmony, the images pulsating with animation, each to each, before rippling away into the nothingness from which they emerged. Hazy likenesses of gardens, green fields, gleeful children, all coming to life, perceived as if through a frosted windowpane.

    The tranquil trance was rent asunder abruptly, by tumult and clamour of proportions assumed only in nightmares. It seemed as if somewhere in the distant, yet engulfing blackness of sleep, a thousand nether portals of cataclysm had invisibly materialized, issuing forth ever marcid oceans of unmitigated chaos and excruciation…

    When the man came to, it was still dark. It was just that the murkiness was not wholly as intangible. Senses seeped back into him, bringing along a wave of painful comprehension. He was entombed!

    He could not muster enough courage to open his eyes, for they would certainly be assailed by the weight of many layers of dust resting upon them. Indeed, it was now that he began to understand that it was the weight upon him which seemed insuperable. The darkness was unyielding, adamantine; swiftly undoing him. Yet the weight was not of that alone, but even of the limbs he knew he possessed in a perfectly functioning state when he went to sleep. Upon trying to budge them, the only response was a pulse or two of agony through the numbness.

    Memory and consciousness returned in due order. The complete understanding of the situation impaled him with paroxysms of purest, soul-wrecking terror. It was with titanic effort that he prevented himself from throwing up, fear constricting even his lips as he uttered muffled cried, using all the air he could find in the space. He had dozed off in his hotel room, an earthquake had occurred, and it had all caved in upon him. With little idea of how long he’d been unconscious, it was only a matter of waiting for death.

    Gradually overcome by utter resignation, he resolved to confront it with some spirit, like a man. As the petrified blood subsided from his head, he endeavoured to compose his nerves, or what was left of them. Life, or thoughts of it, seemed bliss itself, and he entertained such sprightly ideas, in an attempt to make the end as painless as possible. His strength and will had been wholly sapped.

    Suddenly he heard a sound in the darkness, a noise, sharp, distinctly tearing in manner. With great wonderment, the sufferer strained his ears in anticipation, determined not to miss even a slight scratch. The hopes were fulfilled when the noise was followed, after some vacant moments, by several similar crackling ones, each consequently louder. Splitting their way through the rubble to his ears, the noises seemed far off, but sent his heart prancing with renewed hope and vigour. He fathomed that a rescue party was cutting through the mounds of death to find the living. The noises seemed to be nearing him, and he tried to shout out of his sealed lips. His eyes, which he now bravely opened in narrow slits, were suddenly struck by an unexpected fulgence, much like sunlight. Yet the vision was instantly clouded by a grey pall, and he felt a warmth which was anything but comforting. The earthquake had caused several fires, and this was one of them.

The Thirteenth Birthday

    Dan Williams was jubilantly unwrapping the presents of his thirteenth birthday. Also rummaging through the pile were his siblings Edward, Bessie, and Annie. Their parents had retired for the day, and asked them to put it off till the next morning but, like each year’s celebrations, they had sneaked down to the sitting room and were gleefully examining every gift.

    Their efforts unveiled a set of toy cars, a baseball bat, a guitar, a fantasy chessboard, all of which received joyous commendation until the process was abruptly interrupted by a cry of disbelief.

    “Hey, what’s this?” inquired Bessie sharply.

    “Shh! Not so loud! Let me see it”, said Edward.

    “But its got no name on it”, continued Bessie, disregarding her brother as she uncovered a reddish box, gazing curiously at the label.

    “What is that thing?” asked Dan impatiently.

    “Can’t even pronounce this. Oo-ja or something. Weird!”

    “That should be Ouija I guess. I’ve heard of it. Lets check it out”.

    The box contained a rather soiled, tattered sheet of parchment, emitting wispy dust-clouds as it tumbled out, along with a thin, triangular piece of wood.

    “There’s letters and digits all over it!” exclaimed Annie.

    “They use this thing to summon spirits”, explained Dan.

    “Spirits! You believe in all that filth! Come now, Dan, you’ve grown up, thirteen!” they uttered in unison, with an air of raillery.

    “Oh? How about I prove it to you?” he retaliated.

    “Really! You think you can call up the ghost of some great big monster?” jeered Edward, patting him on the shoulder.

    “ We’ll see. If you want to try it out, all you have to do is steady your nerves as you place your forefinger gently on that marker along with me. And make sure you don’t get scared or drag it with your finger. I’ll do the rest. Up for it?”

    They nodded. Outside, a storm had commenced, the torrents battering incessantly against the windowpane; the winds hollering like some wild beast struggling to be free.

    At Dan’s instructions, the marker was slowly shifted in circular motions around the middle of the sheet before bringing it to the centre, all four of them trying to focus, fingers on the triangle.

    After a brief pause, Dan suddenly spoke up in a hoarse whisper-

    “Is anybody here?”

    They waited, Dan visibly impatient. Nothing occurred.

    “This is stupid”, cried Bessie with exasperation.

    “But I think I-“ began Annie, only to be snubbed.

    “You’re just a fraidy cat, that’s it. There’s nothing. We’d better wrap up, its late”, ordered Edward, with ill-concealed trepidation.

    But Dan implored them for another chance. It took much persuasion. The process was resumed, his eyes glowing with determination.

    “Is anyone here?” they asked again.

    Their fingers were yanked to the letters, forming the word ‘Yes’. After many moments of complete petrifaction, Dan managed to squeak out-

    “What is your name?”

    The marker moved slowly this time, stopping at the letter S for some seconds before scraping coarsely across to A.

    “Must be Sam or Samuel”, muttered Annie, looking on hopefully.

    The marker suddenly pushed forward with enormous speed to the letter T and then nearly hopped back to A. They had only time enough to cleave the night with their screams before the marker scurried over to the letter N.