His father holds up the book. The eye darts about the room and then settles in the corner. It locks eyes with Sol.
He places the book down. He flicks through the pages—nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing. Sol.
His breath escapes his trachea in seconds. His eyes widen, protruding from his skull; his hands shake, and his words stall. The crowd look about in unease and confusion. This usually idyllic man has been reduced to a bumbling mess.
He slams the book.
He flips through the pages frantically again, mumbling a plea.
Every word in the book has now been replaced with SOL. SOL. SOL. SOL.
Taking a moment to gather his thoughts and composure, he looks up at the callow crowd. Then towards his son.
“The book has chosen. My son.”
The room fills with disappointed gasps, which in hindsight should have been sighs of relief.
They all turn to Sol, standing confused and slightly unnerved by the energy of the meeting and his father’s behaviour. He walks towards the altar as his father raises his hand towards him, tears in his eyes. They shake hands, as per routine, and he says solemnly, “Let’s go home, son.”
The meeting is disbanded, and as they leave, people antagonistically approach the father and son, asking to see the name in the book—thinking he perhaps wanted the glory for his child and had performed sacrilege against tradition.
Unfortunately, his name was on every inch of every page.
A curse that they wanted so badly; the na?veté of the masses was allured by the notion of power, ignorant to its cost.
Sol’s hand is grabbed by his father as he rushes towards the carriage, clutching the book.
They sit in silence. Sol can only look innocently at his father, his head tilted towards the sky, eyes closed, hands clutched in prayer. The carriage stops abruptly at a riverbed as his father rushes out, still muttering, holding the book. He throws it on the ground, kicking and stomping it into the dirt, grinding his heel against the eye. He picks it up and throws it as far as he can into the river.
Leaving the curse to another.
He gets back into the carriage, ordering the driver to continue onwards. The remainder of the trip passes once again in silence until they reach the manor.
Sol’s mother is waiting at the door, illuminated by lantern light, her face as wistful as ever.
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His father switches, as if nothing had ever happened, and kisses his wife before running into the house.
Sol follows behind, evidently concerned and confused, looking to his mother for guidance. She looks into his eyes.
At the dinner table, the family sits.
The two youngest, galvanised by the length of the trip, ask what it was and how it went.
Sol sits in silence, twirling his spoon in his soup.
“Well, kids, we just went for a ride in the carriage… and then we met with the Verez alien, and—and—and then…” He stutters and stammers. Sol and his mother are deep in thought, sharing a pensive expression.
Sol twirls his spoon in his soup. He sees his reflection—and then, blink.
He sees the dining room: chairs tipped, table broken in half. He drops his spoon into the soup, his face grafittied with horror. His mother looks at him, again wistful.
This was not an intrusive image. It replaced his sight, more vivid than the present.
His father’s words bleed back into reality. “The sky was—” His words slur together, trailing off.
Sol abruptly gets up. His father fails to notice as Sol walks to his room.
Sitting on his bed, Sol places his thumb and index finger over his eyes, straining. His eyes feel strange, as if they are shedding—as if the film of tears had dried up after eons of staring.
Blink.
The fireplace is extinguished. The room is cold. The chair remains in the corner, dented at the armrest.
He gasps and coughs.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
Hundreds of thousands of visions, one after another, becoming more and more Lovecraftian and foreign.
A creature bolts into his room, head twisted towards him while its body faces the ceiling. Its mouth oozes a black substance as it moves its tongue, as if the taste is unpleasant. The creature leaps onto him, wrapping its arms around his neck.
He snaps—fearful, hysterical. He lifts his hands, wrapping them around the monster’s neck. He strains, popping blood vessels in his eyes as he tenses every muscle. The creature convulses. Its eyes ooze the same black liquid. It squeaks and squeals like a mouse. Its body becomes rigid, eyes lifeless.
He drops it to the ground. It lands on locked knees, buckling and collapsing.
He gasps, catching his breath. Only now does he notice: his handprints are engraved into its neck as if stamped with a hot iron. His strength has increased tremendously.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
More visions—stranger, more disturbing, more evil.
At his door, another creature peers in, wide-eyed, echoing some strange frequency.
He is delirious. Psychotic. Insane.
He jumps off his bed, landing on all fours, pouncing at the monster’s leg. It squeaks. He drags it inside, slamming the door shut. He grips its neck with one hand, tensing, teeth gritted so hard they creak—and one cracks. He opens the door, forces the monster’s head against it, and repeatedly slams the door shut. Black liquid oozes more violently than before. After five slams, he stops, breathless, and runs through the house to warn his family.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
A tall, frail monster stands before him, chanting spells. Sol cannot allow this. He charges, shoulder driving into its torso, lifts it, and slams it into the table. He grabs a chair and beats the creature until black liquid pours from its eyes.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
Through the window, a monster sits in the garden—on his mother’s rocking chair, holding her flowers. Rage fills Sol. He screams and launches himself at it, pummelling it with left and right blows. His eyes are red from ruptured blood vessels, his irises crimson with the curse, his face slick with blood.
Blow after blow.
He stops only when his body permits. He pants, still mounted atop the monster.
It raises a hand to his face, gently stroking him with the back of it.
He swats it away in disgust and strikes again.
No more blinks. No more visions.
Just his mother—brutalised.
Sol had killed all but the monster that plagued his family.
