The Lost and Found Boy [PIC2016]

PROLOGUE: On The Edge

A brisk wintry breeze gently lapped at his long blonde hair, sending spider webs of it's greasy strands whirling about his round, acne scarred face.

"What am I doing?" He asked. The trees, bedecked with Spanish moss and shelf fungi, deigned not to answer. So he asked again. This time there was an answer, The Voice, it's tone both malign and syrupy sweet. "You know why you're here ,Vik, because you are a human trash heap with nothing to live for. Everyone hates you. Your parents, all the kids at school. This'll show 'em Vik. This'll finally teach 'em. Maybe they wont miss you, but they'll have to at least acknowledge the fact you had the balls to do it."

Vik looked over the edge of the cliff. It was a good hundred feet of sheer rock that lead to a spiky growth of winter-worn tree tops, each naked branch a talon reaching out for weak prey. Well... prey they might have.

"Just jump already, you pansy!" Said The Voice.

"F***..." whimpered Vik, "I don't wanta."

"You have to teach them a lesson Vik."

"I know." He moaned.

"Then jump!"

"I got to." Vik said, feeling molten tears begin to well along the rims of his dark azure eyes. His mothers eyes. She would never see them again. "I gotta teach 'em." Said Vik clenching a fist so tight his tooth-trimmed nails bit into the flesh of his palm. It didn't hurt, why should it?

"Juuuuump." The voice sang wickedly.

"Okay." Said Vik, jumping.

The tree claws almost seemed to catch him. Then the world went first black then a red so sickly Vik's last waking though was of old, sticky blood.

PART I: The Lost and Found Boy

"Shut up you tool! I said gimme the freaking phone!"

Vik handed over his phone. When Marshall Lando was in a mood like this it was best to comply.

"This is gonna be hilarious." Marshall giggled, tapping away on the phone's screen. Laughing, Marshall handed Vik back his phone.

Just as he thought. Marshall had updated Vik's Facebook status.

It read: 'I love you long time, Mrs. Gansky. '

"And you better not f***ing delete it either." Marshall slapped Vik's head to the side, not playfully the way adolescent boys sometimes do but not hard enough to actually hurt him either and strutted off down the crowded, locker lined linoleum highway.

The Voice had made up Vik's mind right there. Vik knew he was lost.

°°°°°

Vik stood in the front office after school, waiting for Mrs. Gansky to come and unlock the lost and found crate. It was the end of November, time to clean it out. All the stuff that was lost but never found was sent to the Salvation Army thrift store where it was sold cheaply to raise money for poor people, or something like that.

Vik really didn't care. He took every opportunity to stay after school, for reasons that he hadn't been able to admit to himself. It was Friday too and that would mean Dad had gotten paid which meant he would be drinking tonight.

Mrs. Gansky arrived. She had in her hand a large key ring with what seemed to Vik like every damned key in the school, which, Vik thought stupidly, was probably the case.

"Its pretty full Viktor. Apparently with the holidays right around the corner your narcissistic colleagues seem to think they can just abandon their old s*** wherever they want." She sighed, "Whatever, it will probably take you an hour or so to bag it all up and bring it out to the car. You sure you're up for it?"

"Yeah, I don't got anything else to do."

"Well... I'll be in my classroom grading papers. Let me know when your done."

"Okay."

Mrs. Gansky shuffled off down the hall, her high heeled shoes clacking sharply all the way.

Vik began rooting through the box and bagging up coats, undershirts and other articles of clothing.

Mrs. Gansky was right, the crate was pretty full. Vik continued his cycle of rummaging and bagging for a good hour before he finally saw the bottom of the crate. He grabbed up the last few articles of abandoned clothing, a deflated football and an old necklace and bagged them.

As he was cramming the last items into a bag something fell from a coat pocket and clattered across the floor, sliding beneath a filing cabinet. Vik dropped the bag and went to his knees, fishing beneath the cabinet.

At last his hand closed around a small, cold object about the length of a finger. Vik opened his palm to inspect the trinket. It looked like a little miniature angel figurine but this angel did not seem at all pleased. The fetish chilled Vik for some odd reason and filled him with a sense of longing and nostalgia, a strange sort of dejá vu.

As Vik stood staring at this strange object in his hand, Mrs. Gansky had come back to check his progress. Seeing he had finished she said, "Right on time, Viktor, I was just getting ready to head home. You need a ride?" She asked.

"No. Can I keep this?" He asked showing Mrs. Gansky the strange little knickknack he had come across.

"What is it?" She asked.

He held it out to her, "A little angel, I think."

"Oh. Yeah, sure, you can keep it Viktor."

As he left the school, pulling his hood over his head, he was thankful that if she had heard about the Facebook post, she was nice enough not to mention it.

PART II: The Ghost Sky

Vik stirred, slowly coming to. He cautiously opened his crusty eyes. He lay on corpse cold dirt beneath a haunting sky that seemed entirely unrecognizable to him but at the same time intimately familiar. Its clouds were an intense angry gray and instead of its usual fanfare of opalescent blue darted vigorously with brilliant sunstreaks, this sky was a depressed mauve that made him feel ill.

The bony tree-claws grasped desperately at the disgusting ghost sky with what felt to Vik like pure predatory intensity. Their needle point fingers held scraps of what seemed like shredded clothing.

Vik felt an absence in his mind that he had not felt in a year or more. It seemed that The Voice had finally departed but...

"Am I..." he couldn't seem to finish.

Suddenly Vik felt a warming in the front right pocket of his jeans. "What the?" Then he remembered the strange angel fetish he had come across in the lost and found crate yesterday afternoon. It hummed and warmed in his pocket.

Vik took the fetish from his pocket it was warm to the touch and somehow appeared less wrathful than when he had first found it. It now seemed sad, almost, but still angry. Then, the trinket opened its eyes. Dark. They were so damned dark with just a pinpoint of gold for the pupil.

Somehow this did not frighten Vik at all. Somehow he had expected it. How, he could not begin to fathom.

"Viktor." The fetish intoned with a voice like oil on water. It spoke with a familiar voice: Mrs. Gansky.

"Mrs. Gansky?"

"No. I simply speak with her voice for she was one human with whom you felt you could relate. Even if you were too introverted to actually embark on such a human endeavour."

"Uh, what?"

"I am not, nor have I ever been the human embodiment of the soul currently known as 'Mrs. Gansky'".

"Umm, Okay, am I..."

"The answer to your rhetorical albeit understandable query is 'yes'. Your body, Viktor, is not quite deceased but may very well soon be. You are now in the transient realm between what you humans, quite simply, refer to as life and death, though these concepts have no real meaning in the Grand Scheme, as it were."

"Then what should I,"

"Walk. The 'direction' matters not."

Vik began to walk, not understanding but compliant nonetheless. The angel probably knew what she was talking about, anyway.

PART III: The Doll Horde

Vik walked for what may have been hours, may have days but was likely just minutes. Time seemed abstract here, almost flaccid in its passing if pass it did.

As he continued Vik noticed a shimmering on the horizon. The bony trees had become more sparse now and a thick brown grass covered the ground. The sky still gurgled languidly its pink-gray tide of dead clouds. As he neared, the shimmering became more concrete and eventually solidified into a disturbing heap of cracked and dirty antique doll heads. Each of the heads bore a resemblance to one of his schoolmates.

"What is it that the Soul Horde shows you, Viktor?" Asked the angel fetish.

"Its... its a pile of old doll heads. What the f***?"

"The Soul Horde is a mimeoplasm, Viktor, a conscious entity that displays a high definition holographic imprint onto its, well, I suppose 'skin' is what you would call it. What else?"

"They look like the kids from my school."

"Interesting. Speak with it, Viktor."

"And say what?"

The fetish did not speak. Instead the Soul Horde, each individual doll head fixing its dead eyes on him, impossible jaws articulating in a profane almost arcane manner, began to speak in a voice that seemed to reek of decay.

"Welcome young soul. I understand you have, most recently, gone by Viktor. So, Viktor what is it that you have gone and done to yourself, now?"

"I," Vik stammered, trying to think of an excuse and realizing there was none. He felt as though he were being scolded by his grandfather or perhaps a cop. It was unnerving to say the least. "I think I killed myself." Was all he could manage. He felt as though he should cry but somehow he was not able.

"Yes. It appears you have. Why then is it that you've done this, lad?"

"I don't know, The Voice and... I mean, everyone hates me and my dad, he's a drunk, he hits my mom and me too, he's a real bastard, ya know. " Vik sniffed derisively, not knowing what else he could add and feeling uncomfortable.

"Viktor," began the Soul Horde, "this thing humans have come to call life is, like most tactile experiences, a learning experience. Now, how do you suppose you are to learn anything if you go hurling your jolly self off every cliff you happen to come across, lad?

"You see, child, you, in this state, lack access, well, full access I should say, to what is called an Oversoul. This Oversoul is essentially a sentient storage device. It is the prime essence of you. Not Viktor, not Robert nor Jonathan. Just your Oversoul. It is to your Oversoul that each life, each new terabyte of human experience is downloaded and assimilated into nourishment and enlightenment for your Infinite Self. Eventually you move on, transcending even your Oversoul. I fear I do not now what happens after that.

"Now, Viktor, you made mention of a voice?" Asked the Soul Horde.

"Yeah, The Voice in my head. It never really told me to do anything bad, not like one of those voices, you know. It just told me how I was, like, worthless and s***. It told me my parents hated me and that it was my fault that their marriage was so f***ed up. It told me I was ugly and that girls would never like me. I hate that damn voice."

"Yes, we are seeing this far too often. Quantum hackers, life-jackers. They are malevolent entities that gain control of human consciousnesses by latching onto its fears and insecurities. They have begun driving young souls like yourself here in what seem like droves. Well, it's a good thing that someone else was toying with your program. Its a good thing you met me, lad."

PART IV: The Screen

The Soul horde had gone on to tell Vik of a device that would process him. It instructed him, as the angel had, simply to walk and he had.

Eventually (that's just how things seemed to happen in this timeless expanse) he came upon a fluted ebony pedestal. Upon it sat a mirror whose frame was intricately decorated with a finely wrought motif of wilted roses.

There were spider webs, or what seemed like spider webs, covering the mirror. As Vik reached out to brush away the webs the mirror seemed to leap suddenly to life. Vik retracted his hand in astonishment but, realizing the futility of his gesture, wiped the webs from the glowing screen.

"Processing..." The screen said.

"Okay..." mumbled Vik.

"Oversoul located," it went on, "current consciousness directory... null. Greetings human you have been sent here for processing. Please extend your hand and touch the screen."

Vik silently did as he was told.

"Pathway is currently obfuscated, redirecting. Adjusting for entropy. Thank you human you may remove your hand. There are some things I have been instructed to show you. Please stand by for predictive program."

The screen flickered and an image of his mother began to be displayed in high definition. She sat in front of a headstone, crying madly. She wore all black including a funeral veil. The dirt upon which she sat was freshly disturbed. It was appearent she was grieving the loss of her only child.

"Dammit," Vik said, "I didn't mean to hurt ya Mom."

His dad wandered in from off screen, putting his hand consolingly on her shoulder. She stood and twirled in a single motion slapping at Dad frantically. He couldn't hear what she was screaming. His father just stood and let her, he was amazed. His Mom was screaming and pointing, first at the freshly filled grave then off in the distance. His dad turned slowly and shuffled off in a despairing manner.

"What the..."

"Predictive program complete. Emotional scan in process. Scan complete. You seem bereaved human. Do you regret your path?"

"Yeah." Vik muttered quietly.

"Error. Please answer 'yes' or 'no'."

"Yes, dammit. Yes. I regret my... my path."

"Recalculating quantum trajectory... I have been cleared to allow you to continue. Also, I have been instructed to give you a message."

The screen began printing something, how odd this all was. Vik took the paper.

It read: 'Things will not always be as they are.'

PART V: The Stairway to Enlightenment

After his interactions with the screen, Vik simply began to walk. He came upon an extravagant cathedral complete with stained glass and gargoyles. It was an unnerving sight but it was also somewhat comforting.

The angel fetish spoke for the first time in a while. "There, do you see the niche? It is a keyhole. Place this fetish there."

Vik did so.

The doors of the cathedral emitted a pneumatic hiss and slid open like something out of a sci-fi movie.

Vik went into the cathedral. Inside, it smelled like salt water and patchouli. There were rows and rows of mahogany pews. Instead of a pulpit there was a huge statue. It looked down upon Vik sternly, watching intently as he approached. It looked very similar to the angel fetish he had found but this one was male. To either side of the staring statue, a staircase, the right was white marble the left was black onyx, seemed to wind infinitely into an undulating void of stars and pink and purple swirling galaxies. An eternal cosmos.

As Vik arrived at the statue's red marble plinth, it said morosely, "Why, human, should I let you choose which path you take?"

"I, uh..."

"Speak!"

"I, dammit, I was wrong, I think. Dammit, yeah, I was real wrong. I can't believe I,"

"Silence, now, human. I can verify your regret. If I had the capacity, I may even feel sorry for you. I understand you fell victim to a life jacker? This is the reason for Our leniency. Most that destroy their vessel are ushered immediately into detention. It is a great sin, you see. However your case is... exceptional, to say the least. Well then, you understand that returning will not be easy, yes?"

"I understand."

"You understand that if you find yourself in this situation again We will not hesitate to detain your current consciousness thereby hindering your Oversoul's ability to assimilate this specific pathway and all its experiences, limited though they may be?"

"Yes."

"Then choose. Go left and this pathway will be immediately assimilated into your Oversoul. Choose the right path and you will return home. You will be hurt, badly but you will survive. A hiker has already found your nearly dead body. The path you choose now will determine your status when the paramedics arrive."

"I'm going to the right. I just wanta see my mom again. I want my Dad to get help. I just wanta be happy."

"You and everyone else, young soul." Said the statue radiating waves of sadness Vik could not comprehend.

Vik began walking up the white marble staircase.

The cathedral and the strange ghost world vanished behind him for sixty-seven more years.

PART VI: The Awakening

Jarrod Barney was walking his pit-bull, cheech, and eating a honey n' oat granola bar when he seen something pale and red in the underbrush beneath a copse of windswept poplars.

Cheech whimpered anxiously and began barking in the direction of the tangled pale mass.

"What the hell is that?" Jarrod asked Cheech. Cheech barked and looked at Jarrod. The hiker put the granola bar into the front pocket of his flannel and walked closer. As he neared he could make out an arm, then a pudgy bloody face with its eyes rolled back, twitching rapidly. The broken body breathed shallowly and occasionally spasmed. As Jarrod drew yet even closer he could smell blood and stool. "Holy s***! Its a kid Cheech! I gotta call nine-one-one, boy!"

EPILOGUE: The Aftermath

The paramedics had to airlift Vik out of the woods. He would spend eight weeks in the hospital encased in a body cast. Once he was discharged from the hospital it would take another twelve weeks of intense physical therapy to get back to some semblance of normal.

His dad left for rehab two days after Vik had tried to kill himself. By the time Vik had finished his therapy his dad was officially two weeks sober. He never touched a drink again. Even when his father died of natural causes in bed.

Mrs. Gansky was so distraught she took a sabbatical from her teaching job. She visited Vik in the hospital every week and organized an anti-bullying campaign that later became a leading non-profit organization and ultimately helped thousands of teens deal with their bullying issues and guided thousands more away from suicide.

Vik never heard The Voice again. Nor did he remember ever having found the angel fetish. He did, however, remember his experiences in the ghost world and later went on to become an author of some renown. His first full length novel 'Beneath a Phantom Sky' became a New York Times best seller.

On nights when the sky is awash with twilight pink, Vik sits on the porch of what was once his parents' house, drinking Arnold Palmers and smoking cigarettes thinking about the time he killed himself.

a reply to: CagliostroTheGreat

I am half way thru reading it and damn that is great writing, I knew you would write one!!!

a reply to: Quantum12

Thanks man. I got to at least try. It's fun anyway and I think Gordi did a bang up job of choosing the theme. Now I can finally start reading others entries (I don't like others' work to influence me before I finish my own entry).

a reply to: CagliostroTheGreat

Right on. I did read one then wrote one. Your story rocks!!!

a reply to: CagliostroTheGreat
That's a great story! I love your take on life after death. Good job!

a reply to: Skid Mark

Thanks, dude. I'm glad you liked it.

a reply to: CagliostroTheGreat
You did all that on a phone? That alone gets you a thumbs up. That takes skill lol. I didn't catch a single typo.

a reply to: Skid Mark

Haha, yup.



I hope there aren't any typos, I proof read the damn thing like four times before posting.



I should mention I've been working on it since day one, though.

a reply to: CagliostroTheGreat

I should mention I've been working on it since day one, though.

I was going to say, that's one hell of a fast typing job lol.

a reply to: Skid Mark

Haha, I don't even consider myself good. Definitely not that good.

a reply to: CagliostroTheGreat

Whats you talkin bout Willis you de man

a reply to: CagliostroTheGreat

This is truly brilliant ! The descriptive narrative really draws you into each scene, and I loved the afterlife / afterdeath theme.

Kudos to writing it on a phone also !! should be able to give double S+F for that !

excellent job

a reply to: cosmickat

Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed it.

a reply to: CagliostroTheGreat
That was an awesome story!!! Thank you so much for sharing!!

S&F!!!

a reply to: Martin75

Thanks for reading!

a reply to: CagliostroTheGreat

That was excellent, so well written. You make it really easy to visualise the characters and scenes in your story.


B x

a reply to: beansidhe

Thank you kindly, I appreciate your compliments.