Aftermath: The Accident
I want to live.
That was the only thought that went through my head before the impact. The car spun 180 degrees, skidded 20 feet, and came to a halt. It was over before I could even react.
But let’s start from where it began, shall we?
Thanksgiving. A time to be spent with loved ones, and not-so loved ones, of large meals, and stories of good times. Seeing my family was great, and I left my Uncle’s Fiancée’s house feeling satisfied.
My Mom and I had a nice conversation while she drove us back to Manhattan Beach, saying that I had potential to change the world. It looked like the night was going to end on a high note.
We got back, and I stuck around for a half an hour, then got on the 405 and headed back to my home in the San Fernando Valley. I decided that I wanted to check out the line for Black Friday at Best Buy, so I drove over to Woodland Hills.
I got off the freeway, pulled into the parking lot, took one look, and said “Fuck That!” I then proceeded to exit out back onto the main drag, Victory Blvd.
I got into the left hand turn lane. The arrow was green. I pulled out into the intersection. The light turned yellow, and I started making a left. I looked down for a split-second, looked back up and…
I remember seeing a Black Saturn coming at me going at least 40 MPH without their headlights on. I knew I was fucked, so I braced myself.
I don’t remember hearing anything, but I do remember the impact… The airbag exploding in my face like a punch, the other car hitting me like a linebacker coming full force, my dashboard mangling as I sat on this rollercoaster ride coming off the rails.
Darkness fell for a moment. When I came to, I looked up to see smoke rising from my engine. I breathed it into my right nostril. My thought was, “The car is on fire. I have to get the fuck out of here.”
I checked my body. No scratches, nothing felt broken, but I also could tell I was in severe shock. I needed to get out. I couldn’t stay in there.
I opened the door. It made a screeching noise like the sound of the most foul of Harpies. A few good Samaritans rushed over to me, asking the typical “Are you okay?” I couldn’t really say because I really didn’t know.
I stood up and the Samaritans grabbed my arms, leading me over to the corner of the intersection. A humongous crowd stood in awe of me, that I had just survived a head-on collision, and I had ne’er a scratch upon me.
The first thought that came to my head was “I have to call my Mom.” One of the Samaritans asked for her number and she called her right away as I sat on the grass, almost blind. The airbag had hit me so hard that my glasses flew off my face, effectively leaving me with my true, horrible vision. I didn’t know what was happening, but I was apt to suggestion. Someone told me to call AAA, which I did.
I did not panic, I did not falter, and I did not relent. Everyone told me it wasn’t my fault, but most of all, I knew it wasn’t. Despite all of the reassurances I received, I knew I was in the clear from the moment of impact. I had the light, and they blew their red. I don’t know if they were drunk, but it sure seemed likely given the circumstances. I was most assuredly not. I was sober as a Judge, and would never take such a stupid risk.
After 10 minutes, the paramedics arrived. In my blurry, unclear vision, I saw 2 to 3 figures standing at the other car. One was holding his head, another was being taken away on a gurney. There was no blood, but I am unaware of their current status even now. The driver never even came up to talk to me or check if I was okay. They got in the ambulance and left without saying a word, an obvious sign of guilt. I refused treatment after directly talking with one of the paramedics. I showed him I was okay, and he agreed, though it was obvious I was in shock.
10 minutes later, after someone had cussed out one of the firefighters, I was finally able to retrieve my glasses. They weren’t broken or damaged, so I put them on, and to my horror, I saw my car with my real eyes.
The front was mangled; oil and brake fluid was running into the gutter. My windshield on the passenger side had cracked. There were pieces of my car 50 feet away from the accident. As one of the clean-up crew said, “The car just exploded!” My left axle had broken, my tires were popped, and the inside of my car looked like a freak show. I was flabbergasted to be alive.
Finally, the Police arrived, and talked to everyone before they talked to me. The tow truck driver begun loading my car on a flatbed. He attached the hook to the bumper, but the damage was too great, and it ripped off with a brutal crunch. The Cops took my statement in which I proclaimed my innocence, which seemed most obvious as the other people had left the scene. Despite my hatred of the law, I absolutely understand the necessity of it, and in this case, it was important.
My Mom finally arrived after 40 minutes. The crowd was long gone. The cleaning crew was cleaning up the debris. She pulled up. I walked to her. She ran to me. We embraced, and I lost it. After all the intensity, I could finally let all of the emotions run free. I wept, and wept. When you come as close to death as I did, you learn that we are all vulnerable, and no one is invincible.
After everything was over, I got into my Mom’s car, and broke down completely. I couldn’t stop the tears of agony, of happiness. “Why am I still alive? How am I still alive?” The thoughts of people I loved, my friends, my future, everything… It came rushing to me like bolt of lightning. I realized that this was, personally, the worst thing I had ever experienced in my life. Granted, as most of you know, I have been through a lot, but this? This takes the cake. I had a 1 in 5 chance of walking away unharmed from a Head-on Collision. 1 in 5. 20%.
My Mom stayed the night at my apartment. Pain began to set in, bruises began to appear. My nose hurt the worst. I tossed and turned in my bed, going over the accident in my head second after second, reliving the memory fresh in my mind. I shivered with fear under my covers.
It has been 2 weeks since the accident. The bruises are beginning to heal, as well as the emotions, and PTSD. I am tough, and this was only proof. To walk away without a broken bone, a head injury, or a major laceration is a miracle. I am still not a God-fearing man, as I believe it was my intense willpower that saved me.
I still have much yet to do. What I do know is this; I want to live.
Days Gone Bye
I’m typing this while sitting in bed, while my cat, Splotchy, makes strange noises and enjoys her senile behavior. This is reminiscent of when I was younger. Her story is as much mine as it is about what’s happened to me and my family.
Splotchy was born in April 1995, when I was about 7 years old. Her mother, Chili (the family cat at the time), had relations with some stray that was roaming around near our neighborhood, and she one day, gave birth. The cat went to the darkest, quietest place in our house, which just happened to be my closet.
For the first few weeks, I was not allowed to even enter my own closet, but after about 6 weeks, the kitties were starting to develop their own personalities and looks. Splotchy was an interesting looking cat, a tortoise shell (or a Black Cat hit by a pumpkin pie as my mom used to say), but she and I immediately developed a deep bond when one night, she jumped on my bed, and crawled under my covers, purring and rubbing up against me. She was so sweet, but at the same time, she was the first of the kitties to even figure out how to do this. I knew from that moment she would be my pet forever.
Splotchy’s brothers and sisters were all given away, and I begged my parents that we keep her, which they let me, and my sister chose the runt, Sally, a tabby. Sally ended up being completely insane, and my mom had to take her to the animal shelter, while their mother Chili ran away one day and never came back. We believe she was eaten by a Coyote. Ironically enough, Splotchy is the only surviving cat of the litter, as all of her brothers and sisters, save for Sally, have all run away, died, or been euthanised.
When we made our first major move out of Palm Desert when I was about 8, I had anticipated she would not be coming with us, as the owners of the place we had rented did not like cats, but my mom snuck her in with us, not telling the owners until after we had moved.
Since then, she has come along with us for every move we’ve made, surviving, exploring, hunting, and enjoying herself. She’s gone from a huge house in Beverly Hills to a small Hotel room in El Segundo and everything in between, and whenever I’m around, she always wants to be near me, even though she’s now almost 16 years old and near death.
Yes, my cat is not in good shape. She’s old, she’s tired, bored, and she’s becoming skinny and bonier by the day. I love her, and I hate seeing this happen, but I also realize that this was going to happen some day, whether I liked it or not. She might be soon talking to Dr. Death, but she’s still as smart, if not smarter than she ever was, just maybe a little more senile, and louder.
Splotchy is one of the greatest pets I’ve ever had, and one of the best friends I’ve ever had in my life, staying with me, and loving me for me as all pets do, instead of loving me in all the wrong ways that some of my personal relationships have proved with other humans.
Some people might think that it’s a little nutty to call my cat a member of my family, but she’s been a constant in my life for the last 16 years, one of the only ones in a dynamic that has changed multiple and innumerable times. Though her time is near, she will always hold a place in my heart, and I will never forget how much she’s made me smile throughout the years.
So here’s to you, my little keedle-deedle, Splotcher, Splotch, kitty kitty, meow, and otherwise one of my best friends; a remembrance of days gone by.
I love you with all my heart.
Outcast (The Jaime Berger Blogs: Part One)
Folks, as a writer and a creative person, sometimes, I have problems getting motivated. Other times, I just have lack of ideas, or things just aren’t clicking. Today, I had a thought.
Charles Bukowski was a famous author who used a persona for the main character of his novels, though this persona was really just him using a false name and changing the names of those involved. Some of the best writers in the world say to write what you know. I had an idea today to do something similar. I figured I would write about true events that have taken place in my life the last decade and the last year, and combine them together into one larger story arc, using false names, and using an alter ego. I decided to split it into 4 parts, the first being this post right here, Outcast, which is Part 1 of the Greater arc I call "The Jaime Berger Blogs".
Most of the things in the story are true, in fact, almost all of them are true, but I have changed the names as not to hurt those I care about, and actually want to keep friends with. They will remain unnamed, and you will have to figure them out on your own if you really want the full story. Some may be shocked by some of the things you’re about to read, but I assure you, I do this as a form of therapy, but not only that, I do it as a form of creativity. I am so proud to have written this, and this is just the beginning of something huge. I know it.
So without further ado; this is Outcast.
As he sat at his computer, looking endlessly at websites, James Berger was thinking. Thinking about mistakes he had made in the past, mistakes he would probably make in the future, and why he couldn’t seem to figure himself out. When he was 13, James, or “Jaime” as his friends affectionately called him, was diagnosed with Asperger Syndrome, a mental disability that meant he had trouble reading social cues in normal conversation. Throughout his early years, he struggled to try and maintain a normal life, but he could not. Friends that understood him best would often say that he worked on a ‘higher level’, and had extraordinary gifts, the biggest of which was his writing ability.
In high school, Jaime struggled to connect with others, and he didn’t have many friends. He was so caught up in his thoughts most of the time, that when he said anything, he was already in the middle of another conversation with himself. This led to him blurting out random things, answers, and that led to him getting in trouble. The thing was, James didn’t go to a normal high school where he would immediately get sent to the principal’s office. Instead, they had counselors assigned to each of the kids, and Jaime’s counselor, Garry, would try and figure out the issue with him, whatever it may be. Garry however was befuddled by Jaime. He tried to get to him, console him, to make him see, but James was uninterested, still communicating with himself.
He would daydream about becoming a movie star, being a hero of some kind, even a Christ-like figure at times. He was always stuck in his head, always thinking, never changing. His lack of communication lead to his outcast status on the yard during breaks and lunch. He would jump from group to group, never really having a place among people. It didn’t help that his family life was the same way. From a young age, his father had been in Real Estate and when things got better to worse, they would move. Their family had moved over twenty times by the time he was in his early twenties.
It had also strained the relationship he had had with his family in general. His father, ever an optimist, was also a gambler, and a liar. James tried to connect with him, but because of their different varying opinions on things, he never felt respected by him because he didn’t want what his father wanted for him. At the current moment, searching on the computer, his father had been in jail for a little while for bad business dealings, and manipulating others. Jaime’s mother was a lovely woman, and despite trying to connect with him, and feeling similar to him, she was ever pessimistic. She drank sometimes, and tried to mask her problems, but he could see she was in constant pain. He felt that because she had never achieved her goals that she felt like her life was stolen away. Jaime’s sister was a big point of contention. As much as he loved her, there was an air of envy between the two of them. She had the connection with their father that he had once desired, and this caused a rift between them. She was bright, business-minded, and at the same time, almost calculatingly cold, but never callous or mean-spirited.
When he got out of High School, James went to Southern Florida to a program which he was told would help him, teach him to deal with his social anxieties, and make him learn what life was really about. Though this ended up happening, it did not happen when he went to this program. From the moment he got there, he was miserable. Though he made fast friends, some better than others, and he was well liked, the program itself was understaffed, and treated him the same way he was treated in High School; like an outcast. To them, he was another paycheck. He had to wake up at 7 in the morning for tutoring, and went to classes at a Junior College, not a real one like he was originally promised. James never really wanted to be in the program in the first place, but he was forced by his parents. His father had said that if he didn’t go, he would be kicked out of the house, and Jaime also saw this as an opportunity to get away from them, so he jumped at the chance.
Now, Jaime sat at his desk, a 22-year old man, an almost drifter, unknowing of what the future held for him, and feeling alone. This did not deter him however, as life had been like this for him for a long time. He lived on unemployment he received from when he worked as a Game Tester the year before, and he wrote in his spare time. He was not writing for money, or for any publication, but he wrote. His blog, his twitter account, and his Facebook had become his only real link left to the outside world. When Jaime wrote, he felt like he could do anything, that he was creating the world around him, that he could share his opinions, his dreams, and his reality with anyone and everyone. He wasn’t afraid of what he wrote, he had long since realized that the more truth he wrote, the more people would understand and connect with him.
James wrote so well that he attracted a lot of attention, and a small following of people. One of these people would eventually become an object of his obsession. Her name was Priscilla. She had once been an actress, and was only a few years older than Jaime, but was starting to attract major attention from people for her ability, as well as document her life through pictures, writing, and video on the internet. She was absolutely stunningly beautiful, even more beautiful in person than her pictures would only show. Not only that, she was funny, she was smart, and Jaime felt a connection with her.
The first time he had met Priscilla, James had come back from getting some burgers at a local fast food joint. He was wallowing in misery at the impending criminal sentence of his father, so he decided to put that effort into a cheeseburger and his stomach. He was talking to another blogger on twitter, when he was told that this cool blogger chick was close to his apartment attending a party in Downtown. Jaime didn’t have a car, for the bank had taken it away, but it was close enough that he could walk. He immediately started talking to her, and she invited him to a party that was going on over twitter. He jumped at the chance, put on his coat, and ran out of his apartment.
After a few minutes of convincing the security person at the front desk that he was there for the party, he ended up at the lounge area. When he entered, a beautiful, black haired goddess approached him, and with the force of a grizzly bear, gave him a tremendous hug and said, “Hi, I’m Priscilla.” Jaime was as caught off-guard as he was delighted by this. It had been the first time he had ever met her, and he had not had a lot of social contact with other people in the real world for quite some time, but he held it together and said, “Hi, I’m James, but you can call me Jaime.”
Her beautiful, bright, bubbly smile was relieving, but at the same time, petrifying. He quickly bolted to go grab some coffee from one of the machines nearby, trying to calm himself down. He was slightly shaking with exhilaration that he felt actually having met someone online that wasn’t a totally creeper. Jaime didn’t look so hot himself though.
He had long, curly hair, and major Five O’clock shadow. He had lost sixty pounds the previous year, but was still getting used to the fact that he was now rather handsome in other people’s eyes. He was also unconfident of the scars he had on his nose, which no one seemed to notice most of the time, however every time Jaime looked in the mirror, he saw them. They were like 2 giant marks of shame on his face. He had once famously proclaimed to his therapist that that were signs of his past, one was deep, and one was visible, similar to his relationship with his father.
After taking a seat and drinking some coffee, he calmed down enough to start talking to Priscilla and her two friends. He quickly learned what she was all about, and how truthful she was with her words, and the confidence of the way she carried herself. It was intriguing to him, so intriguing, he found himself clinging to every word she said like it was gospel from the bible. She knew what she wanted, and she knew how to get it. She wasn’t afraid of what others though, and Jaime instantly thought of how he acted the same way, just on his own terms.
His twitter account, though popular, was a stream of consciousness for James. He came up with witty sarcasm, social commentary, and had expressed his views on how mutual respect for one another was the most important thing in the world, and to the future of the world. Some people were turned off by all of this, especially since he sometimes rambled so much, but most realized how important the things he said were, and how down to Earth and truthful he was being. Unfortunately, the Jaime in the online world was different from the Jaime in the real world, and he could not just assimilate the personality immediately. It was like an on and off switch. His writing, and how he acted in reality were different, albeit similar.
James started talking to Priscilla about his time as a Game Tester, explaining that it was not like depicted in films and television shows, on the contrary, it was hard work, and mentally exhausting. After some time explaining all of this, Priscilla asked if he wanted to write for the site. He was shocked by the offer. He had met this beautiful woman for the first time not thirty minutes earlier, and she was already giving him a chance to show off his writing ability to a large audience. Jaime accepted, and said that he would have something prepared for her soon.
Later that evening, they were upstairs in a penthouse, talking, and having a good time. Jaime had a couple of beers, and Priscilla had a few drinks as well. They kept talking and talking, and Jaime actually found himself having a good time, especially in the company of this amazing person. Her knowledge of technology, the internet, social media such as twitter and Facebook, her pop-culture references; Jamie slowly started falling to her allure. He had never met someone who understood how he felt so well without even saying it. Naturally, James was having a bit of trouble talking to her, not only because of the booze, but because she was so quick and cool, it made it hard for even him to keep up. He was stepping on his own toes, and he started to say a few weird things here and there. He needed to keep himself under control, and lock himself down lest he ruin this new friendship, and possibly potential future relationship with this woman.
When he was originally diagnosed, Jaime was severely emotionally compromised. He had trouble sharing his complete thoughts and emotions with others, and getting them to understand where he was coming from. He had a memory like an Elephant, the cunning of a Hawk, and was smarter than the average bear, but he didn’t know what to do with all of it. This is something that would not fix itself, though medication tended to help. Unfortunately for him, the medication also made him grow a pair of man boobs, and caused hypoglycemia. Though this bothered him severely, he realized that there was nothing he could do about it, and he would have to live with it until he could figure out a way to fix it.
After Florida, Jaime came back to Los Angeles, his hometown, and once again lived with his family. He explored drugs, alcohol, and partied. When he had come back, he was a different person. Five months is a long time, and being in a different environment for that long can have lasting effects on people, especially Jaime. He never forgot what happened to make him leave.
As the night wore on, so did Priscilla and Jaime’s conversation. They agreed on so much, to the point that she actually laughed at one of his jokes. A woman, let alone a beautiful one, had never once laughed at any joke he’d ever told. He was always usually shunned for being overweight (which was no longer the case), or his glasses, or the way he looked, etc. But Priscilla was cool, and she had even said how impressed she was at the casual nature of his clothing too. James looked completely out of place at this party. Most people were dressed up snappy casual, while Jaime was wearing a pair of baggy jeans, a hoodie that looked like a character from Star Wars, and a T-shirt. He felt out of place, and he kept getting looks from a lot of people. He didn’t care. By this time, he only cared about what Priscilla thought, and by her gauging, it seemed peachy.
The last real contact he had with a woman so stunning that he actually saw was in Florida, and was one of the major reasons why he left. One night, walking over to a friend’s house, he saw her undressing with the blinds open. She lived on the bottom level of the apartment complex he was living in at the time, and this girl was oblivious to the fact someone might, and was watching. Jaime had to cross in front of her window in order to reach his friend’s apartment across the complex. Though he hated himself, he spent a little time watching this go on, his heart thumping away the whole time. He was sick to his stomach, and he felt that this voyeuristic behavior was uncalled for, but he was only 18, and his hormones were raging. He could take anything he could get, even if it meant sacrificing a little bit of himself in order to get a view of some breasts.
She was a pretty young thing. Blonde hair, D-cup breasts, perky ass. Unfortunately, she was also a bitch. Though he hung out a lot with her, she obviously didn’t like him that much, and had something against him. It could have been his weight, or it could have been his strange attitude, he did not know. He did know however that she was mean and stupid. She claimed to be engaged to some Hawaiian dude she had met 4 months earlier, and she was in love, or she “thought” she was in love. Obviously, he figured that sometime later, they would probably be broken up, and she would end up with some douchebag or sugar daddy. He didn’t care at that moment. He was more interested in her beautiful figure. It only lasted less than three minutes, and when it was over, he continued on his way like nothing had occurred, and it was just business as usual.
He arrived at his friend’s apartment, which smelled to high heaven like cigarette smoke. His friend, Mike, was a chain-smoker, and a drinker. He had chronic bronchitis, but wouldn’t admit it, nor would he see a doctor for it. Jaime didn’t care. He liked the man for who he was, and felt they had a lot in common. They were both kind of stuck there together, and on the first day at the program, Jaime approached him, and they had made fast friends. They were both huge movie buffs, loved to drink and smoke weed, and loved to just sit around like lumps letting their asses grow. Their conversations were really nerdy, some of which involved superheroes, Star Wars, and the like. Jaime thought that Mike would be one of his best friends forever.
After a few drinks and a few puffs of the joint, Jaime decided to confide in Mike what had happened not hours before. It was a mistake he would soon regret. Mike reacted as he always would, nodding his head, laughing, and also having some back and forth banter about it. Jaime may have exaggerated a few of the details, but overall, he told the story as it had happened. A little later on, Mike asked him if he wanted to stay the night, to which James said yes, though he needed to go back to his apartment to get a few things. Mike said he would wait, so Jaime headed back to his apartment, grabbed some clothes and his laptop, and proceeded to head back. It was dark out, around nine, but not so late that Mike would go to bed.
When he got to the front door, Jaime noticed something odd. The blinds were shut in Mike’s apartment, the lights were off, and the door was locked. He knocked on the door, thinking that Mike had just gotten ready for their little “slumber party” excursion. He waited a moment, and knocked again. No answer. Jaime was starting to get worried. He banged on the door again. Still no answer. He called out, “MIKE!” Nothing. Jaime cussed out in anger, “Mike, what the fuck, man?” He tried calling him, and texting him, but finally, after fifteen minutes, he gave up and went back home, and fell asleep.
Priscilla was doing some work at the party, showing off her little gadgets and such to Jaime, schmoozing with other guests, but finally, she found what she had come for; An interview with a famous rock star. He was dressed in all black, but was not so scruffy like he had appeared on his albums and in music videos. Priscilla introduced herself, and her crew, as well as Jaime. He had a double-take for a moment when he met Jaime because of his appearance, but still shook his hand and was very pleasant. After all was said and done, Jaime continued to chat around with Priscilla. Her presence was calming to him, like he could really be himself around her without fear of scrutiny or shame. He was confident with her. It was rare for him, though he knew that she was worthy of it, if not more so than almost anyone he had ever met. He felt lucky to have even met her just because of how amazing she was. She was a real person, not some fame driven bimbo robot like most of the people in Los Angeles. She was doing this for herself, and that turned Jaime on.
It was beginning to get late, and Priscilla and some of her friends had to leave. Jaime, in a rush, tried to finish his beer quickly. He had a few little snacks that they were bringing around including a little Coconut Shrimp skewer. Jaime soon realized that this little item might cause him some trouble the second he finished his beer. Though nauseated, he managed to say his good-byes to Priscilla, telling her that he would contact her soon, and gave her a hug good-bye, as she had given him a hug hello.
After not hearing from Mike most of the next day, James decided to give him a call. He did not pick up, which was unusual, as he and Mike talked incessantly all the time on the phone. He decided to go visit one of the other people in the group, who informed Jaime that Mike had ratted on him to the girl about what he saw. Jaime was devastated. He had been stabbed in the back by someone he trusted, someone he considered to be his good friend. He was so shocked, that he had to confirm this with another person in the group as well. On the way, he ran into the girl he had seen, and who was at the center of this. She was angry, humiliated, and wanted to punch him in the face. To be fair, Jaime was angry at himself for having even shared it at all. He caused more harm and damage over something that he considered just a little teenage silliness. He felt hurt, betrayed, upset, sad, and most of all, he felt manipulated.
Things were not the same after that. For the next few months, he tried making friends with a new group of people, and though they were nice, Jaime didn’t feel the type of connection he felt with Mike or his former group of friends. He contemplated suicide. The program was getting more intense, people coming to help him clean his room, tutoring at six in the morning instead of seven. Finally, he called his parents and said, “I have to come home. I’m going to kill myself if I stay here.” In February, after Five months, he finally came back to home. He had changed, and his dealings with friends would not be the same ever again.
After Priscilla had left, the party started to ramp up. The music was blaring, and Jaime felt more and more nauseated. He held it in as long as he could, and finally excused himself to use the facilities. He got in, locked the door, lifted up the toilet seat, and vomited. He felt ashamed to have done it at all in this beautiful penthouse. It smelled terrible as well. All of the emotional excitement, booze, and food had finally gotten to him. As upset as he was, he cleaned the bathroom and toilet to the best of his abilities, washed his hands, and zipped up his jacket as not to show the small stain that had appeared. He walked out of the restroom, said his goodbyes to the last of Priscilla’s friends and went home.
When he got back, he immediately started writing about his time as a Game Tester, and things began to come clear. He felt something good was on the horizon for once, something he wanted; A chance.
So there you have it. Part One. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it, and I promise that there will be more to come in the coming month.
The Battle: A Short Story
The Battle: A short story by Henry Abrams
The air cooled around the two warriors as they stared each other down, neither of them yielding to the other. One, draped in shadowy black flames, eyes sanguine as a pool of spilled blood, the other, covered so brightly in white cloth, eyes blackened, filled with determination. The dark one sneered at his opponent, seeming to cackle under his breath. The light one frowned with a look of intensity, ready to strike the dark one down without a moment’s hesitation.
There was a quiet in the air. The wind blew, and mist poured in around their ankles. Their plane was not an earthly one, for this battle was not taking place in our physical reality. The area was muted, a sterile white, no colors to be found save for the two warriors standing a few yards away from each other.
The dark one drew his sword, a large katana made of black steel with an obsidian handle. A ruby sat in the middle of the blade, dripping tears of blood on the ground as he swayed the blade back and forth, preparing himself. The light one drew his blade, a Claymore with little accessories save for an inscription on the blade. It read, “In all things, we must persevere.” He closed his eyes and held the sword to his chest, seeming to pray to some force. The dark one showed his teeth, sharped and putrid like a wolf waiting to strike down his prey. The light one opened his eyes and held his sword high above his head. The dark one held his katana to his side and took a wide stance, ready to strike. The battle had begun.
The two ran at each other, leaped high into the air, and clashed. There was a flash of light, and then, nothing.