[Tyr Zalo Hawk]: 712.Scraps.ShadowsOfADream

Now 17, Damien thought he had it all. Good–looking. Athletic. Popular. He may have only been a defensive end on the football team, but he was also dating the best looking girl in school, Michelle. To top it all off, he was smart. Not the ‘best car’ or ‘NBA stats’ kind of smart, even though he was getting those down now, but more like ‘Jeopardy’ smart. There were barely a handful of guys at school who didn’t want to be him, and even less girls who didn’t want to date him. Of course, life isn’t all school, but his home life wasn’t bad either.
His parents were always proud of his accomplishments, even if they might not have been large ones. His sister, eight years his younger, was extremely understanding and controlled for her age. None of them bothered him, or interfered with his happiness. Everything was great for Damien. Everything except…
His middle name was Orion, so most of the kids in his school called him ‘D.O.G.’, his initials. People who watched his football playing however, called him ‘G.O.D.’ He didn’t mind, it was just people and their nicknames, and besides, it seemed to fit. It was rather fun, like a game to him. When people would call asking for ‘Damien’ or try to talk to him in the halls he’d say ‘What?’ or “Who?’, even his parents had taken to calling him ‘D.O.G’ now. God, the Father of all. Even today he’s been revered as the most perfect being in existence. ‘G.O.D.’ was more…
Friday was the big game against Rothschild High, the school’s biggest rival. No one had any doubt about who would win, especially not Damien. Rothschild’s team had lost nearly half of its best players last week, most of them ineligible. He’d shine on the field, as usual. “And now, number 36… Damien ‘D.O.G.’ Garrison!” The crowd would roar. He was a thoroughbred champion. Their hero. So then why…
The thunder roared in with a vengeance no man could hold back. The game was over, 69 - 5, and Rothschild team was heading home with dirt, blood, and defeat still fresh in their mouths. Damien was walking home, only a few blocks from the arena, leaving the celebrators behind to enjoy the victory he had helped ensure. Rain would be coming soon, but it wouldn’t deter them in any way, it never had. That same rain would bring…
He spotted his house and smiled, starting to jog back so he could shower and change as soon as possible. Then, in the last 200 yards, it started to rain. Damien bolted the moment he felt the first drop slam across his cheek. If he ran fast enough, maybe it wouldn’t catch up to him, maybe he could escape just this…
150… 110… 82… 46… it hit. A sudden, bone chilling plummet in temperature engulfed his entire body. Skin, bones, muscles… even his soul froze in an instant, trapping him, so close to freedom, yet so very far from safety. The shadows took form slowly, slithering their way into the air and metamorphosing into vicious nightmares, terrors that can’t exist in any world except the human mind. Yet here they were.
“No!” He screamed out, but his voice was already gone. The shout was only in his head, echoing through the emptiness of the void fear had left in his mind. Slowly other voices flooded in, taking control of his senses, of the rationality that he normally had, transforming it all into pure, unending dread. Every thought vanished… every word silenced… every breath lost… until all that remained of the mighty Damien was a quivering shell of grotesque emotion.
As his eyes fell back onto the shadows, vision blurred and unsteady, he noticed a single one take form into something recognizable… his older brother, Mark. The shadow smiled at him, in the calm, yet horrifying manner that only a faceless being can, and then whispered a solitary sentence into the winds which carried across the air, booming through Damien’s head. “You’ll be alright…”
A pang of repressed guilt and searing pain swallowed him, as it always managed to, and he fell onto the pavement with a cold, wet slap…
He woke in his bed, still soaked through to the bone in a cold sweat, his breathing heavy, and heartbeat pulsing through his body, making him shiver with each resounding ‘thud’. His little sister looked up from the foot of the bed with a smile and called out. ‘He’s awake!’ As if it had been some sort of surprise.
Both parents quietly walked into the room and smiled at him. “Hey… how ya doing?” His father asked softly, smiling feebly at the boy.
“I’m ok… what happened?”
“Well…” His mother started, then gave a quick glance at the other two before continuing. “I’m afraid… Damien died. They could only get you out…”
Mark looked down into his hands, both were bandaged and blood had seeped through. “So…” He whispered, closing his eyes. “I guess that means he’ll never get to play in that game, eh?”
“What game?” His family asked in unison.
“Never mind…” Mark said solemnly, shaking his head. “At least he was a winner in my mind…”

© Tyr Hawkaluk (2004-Present)