Damon the Demon

Prelude

There’s nothing like a dead silence. An absence of sound is only half the explanation. It’s also, and perhaps more accurately, the absence of vibration. Throughout the universe vibrations resonate into one another like ripples in water.  Dissonance and harmony clash back and forth continuously and, maybe, that’s the way it works always… and forever. It’s those empty pockets in space you must worry about…  

Part I

Year 2200 A.D

For just a moment, one of those empty pockets was in a smoky room, in a city, on earth.  A drop of blood had just fallen out from a skull into a larger pool of blood on the floor. The resulting ripple sent waves outward toward the edges before coagulation made it reach a state of equilibrium. Dead silence. Then came a thunderous sound that sent a pulse through the room. The sound traveled through the blood, through the skull, down the spine, past the legs and into the toes of the corpse. There was another moment of silence.

 

Next to the body was a relic from an earlier time. It was a rectangular box from centuries ago... it began to emit jolts of electricity before emitting a static sound from two large circular indentations on it. The smoke began to churn and the sparks surged back and forth in a dance like lightning in a thunderstorm. A vibration started to emanate before turning into words.  

“You know what this means?” Said The Voice with a low grumble. Sparks and static came from the box’s once again before the sounds of a single, more mid-toned voice spoke. 

“It means you got what you wanted.” The second voice said, in a more subdued, but resentful manner. The room began to shake before The Voice spoke again. 

“It does... and that you didn’t deliver.” It replied. A shock burst across the smoke, following this response. 

“What do you mean I didn’t deliver?” The second voice said with a lower and clearly agitated tone after hearing such a claim. The Voice grumbled before giving a small chuckle with sparks fluttering in the air mixing with the palpable tension before responding. 

“I asked you to bring it to me... instead... it appears it brought itself.” The Voice laughed. Clearly a fan of its own humor.

“I should have known you’d pull a bitch move like this!” Said the second in full blown anger that shook the box before sending a jolt out that briefly flickers the lights in the room. Amused, but no longer as playful in its response, The Voice made a low, bass heavy grumble.  

“Free will must have done this... What can you do?” It asked rhetorically. The second voice that emanated from the box took a moment before calmly asking a question. 

“So, what happens now?” 

Year 1999 A.D.

Damon was a king... when he was still alive. Between the power and money, he garnered jealousy amongst his six workers. He called them friends, but that was to make it seem like he cared. Everyone knew he didn’t. Damon was never a “we” sort of guy. Ultimately this jealousy festered amongst his “friends” who, understandably, resented him more and more each passing day. Though they were united in their disdain for Damon, they each had selfish ambitions of wanting his rank and fortune. Even though they knew Damon was always prioritizing himself… deep down they were doing the same.  

The mutiny would be simple. They would wait until late in the night to creep up on Damon’s house and execute him while he slept. It was a simple plan, but unfortunately for them… Damon never slept. Damon had, throughout his life, become more and more restless in his resolve for power and control. With the power and wealth that he had amassed came a sense of paranoia and insomnia. To help ease the nerves Damon always kept a Smith and Wesson Model 29 .44 Magnum Revolver loaded. One bullet for every defector he expected to come but also... he just loved Dirty Harry.  

Finally, the night came where Damon heard a car pull up his street and park in the darkness before his driveway. He picked up the revolver and peaked out of the guest bedroom window of his house. He never stayed in the master bedroom. He slowly made a sliver between the curtains, to see a familiar black BMW M5 parked with the headlights turned off. All the doors opened, and five shadowy figures walked toward his house. Damon raised his gun and took aim out the window. Right as they were hitting his doorstep Damon rapidly fired three shots. Seconds later was the sound of three thuds followed by two shadows running either direction around the house.

 

Damon then ran down the hallway and laid on the ground that overlooked the stairway. He waited only a few seconds before hearing three separate sounds of glass breaking. Damon then whispered to himself.

 

“How dare you fuck up my windows.” he cocked the hammer back. He then saw a shadow slowly walk up the stairway, jerking its head back and forth with each step it took upward in nervous vigilance. Damon took sight after the sixth step and aimed into the darkness before letting a shot ring out. The shadow collapsed and tumbled down the stairs. Damon knew the last one wasn’t dumb enough to come up the same way. This left the only other options being in the back of the house where someone might climb up the balcony or be hoisted up to a window that sat above his garage. 

 

Damon ran into a nearby closet. He would leave the door slightly ajar and take his shot to the unexpecting passerby. Sure enough, he saw a shadow gingerly take its steps past his line of sight. Damon quietly opened the door further and shot the shadow in the back of the head. The flash showed him only a glimpse of who it was as the body fell. Damon lowered his gun, took a breath, then turned around only to see a shadow behind him pointing a gun at him. Damon tried to respond by raising his gun in retaliation but it was far too late. He saw the flicker of light in front of his face and a burning sensation consumed his chest before his body collapsed to the floor. The last thing he thought was… 

“Five shadows… six betrayals.” 

With the last bit of light entering his fading vision, he saw lights turn on through his back window in the alley from the getaway car. The last thing he heard was a car screech off to leave him in darkness. 

…Judgment…

After the light faded, Damon had a sense of falling. He dropped down into complete darkness. After some time, a voice emerged from the blackness. 

“Nice of you to drop in, Damon. I’ve been waiting for you for some time now.” Damon continued his descent and thinks to himself, 

“I’m going straight to Hell.”  

To which The Voice replied,

“You certainly are.” 

“Fuck…” said Damon, making The Voice laugh. 

“Let me make this simple Damon. You have two options, which is better than most get. Do something for me and I’ll give you another chance in the world. Refuse… well let’s just give you a taste of what the second option would bring you.” Then The Voice paused for a moment and before saying “More precisely, the second option will have a taste of you...” 

Before Damon can respond, his body hits the floor. He couldn’t see his body but felt all the air knocked out of his lungs and his bones break from the impact. For an instant he felt extreme pain and wanted to scream but the next moment, he couldn’t feel anything at all. With no idea how to explain why this pain just disappeared he felt relieved as he laid there motionless. His relief was quickly supplanted by confusion as he looked into the darkness before him. In the distance he saw what looked like orange, red and blue lights flickering, almost dancing as they grew. Then The Voice spoke again. 

“Before I make this proposition to you, I will take what you no longer need… That flesh of yours is full of a lifetime of sin. One might say it has been marinating in it for some time now.” The Voice gave a chuckle followed by a loud piercing whistle as almost the signal for Damon’s pain to return to his body as well as to have the lights move in his direction. It was only a few seconds for Damon to realize these lights were actually made of fire… only a few more seconds to see it was dog-like creatures on fire. Below the flames he saw boiling skin between ripped flesh and bone. They had no eyes but, instead, empty sockets. They didn’t need eyes when they could smell the blood around Damon and heard him wheeze and cough with what little air his chest could pull in. They didn’t waste a moment as they ran over to Damon and began to rip the flesh from his bones. 

…Breaking Point…

As Damon was devoured, puddles of blood grew larger and larger until they merged into one giant pool. This went on for some time until these bloodlusting animals gnawed through his neck. His head fell face first into his own blood. Strangely, he was acutely aware of all this. Damon knew he was dead but how could he still perceive it all? Especially the pain, which he began to wonder if was real at all? Or was this just all an illusion of his senses? In the end did it matter, especially when it seems to be real and hurt so bad?    

Even more strangely, his head never stopped sinking in his blood. It was as if the ground no longer existed and he was falling into the depths of a red ocean. He looked through the dark bluish-red medium as he went down further into the darkness from the light of the fires above. He had a sense of relief that it was finally over. He felt the urge to take a breath but knew he couldn’t. His windpipe wasn’t even connected to his lungs anymore. Yet the desire remained. Once again relief turned to horror as he realized now that he felt like he was drowning… such a cruel  sensation to endure. The Voice then tells Damon,

 

“This can all come to an end… you can settle your punishment by offering your allegiance to me.”

Although Damon suffers, he is defiant and stays silent. He still isn’t sure if this is real and if this torture will ever stop anyway. Not to mention he just had a lifetime of self righteous pride. Damon simply didn’t know how to bow down. Witnessing this contemplation, The Voice snickered, and Damon felt his head rise out of the bloody pool. As the blood dripped away from Damon’s eyes, he wasn’t sure what he was going to see. As he felt the blood fall... he continued to see nothing. Just blackness. Then The Voice said, 

“Y’know Damon, just because you can’t see me… doesn’t mean you should respect me any less.” The Voice sighed before continuing. “Time means nothing to me because there is no such thing. I will break you into submission. You lack fear is all… but you will have it… I assure you.” Then Damon felt heat rising from below him before he was engulfed in flames. 

Damon burned in continuous fire. In the flames he heard familiar voices from his life. All the arguments,  threats, betrayals, lies... they would cycle through playing on a loop. These moments that shaped him to be a hard and cruel person in life would now serve as fuel to breakdown his resolve and psyche. Although Damon lost all perception of time. The Voice was right, it was as if time didn’t exist at all. After what seemed like an eternity, the flames subsided. 

Damon’s body and humanity were up in smoke. All that was left was an electric haze and eyes of shocking red iris’ against blue pupils.

 

“Welcome back Damon… the Demon.” Said the voice before giving out a  chuckle. As Damon began to speak, the smokey haze parted to become a mouth that shot red and blue bolts. As this was happening, Damon said, 

 “Let’s make that deal.” 

…Transformation…

The Voice didn’t say anything at first. Damon felt as though he was being circled… almost inspected. Finally he grunted and spoke.

  

“Are you familiar with the idea of a soul? Damon thought for a second but before he could say anything The Voice continued. “Let me save you the trouble because it isn’t about life after death or good as opposed to evil. It is much simpler than that.” To this Damon squinted his eyes in such a way that showed confusion. Then the hazy smoke parted again, and Damon asked, 

“Where are you going with this? I just want to know what you want so I can be done here.” Damon’s tone was clearly impatient, but he quickly silenced himself. He knew making this bargain was his only way out of this hellish darkness he was in. The Voice ignored this minor outburst and continued. 

  

“Think of the soul as energy Damon, something neither created nor destroyed. However, there are certain souls that have an energy not so mixed or tainted. Some souls can go through existence and maintain a sort of… purity. They are rare to find…”  The Voice then gave a sharp whistle that set a fire ablaze to the left of Damon’s ghostly smoke of a form. “I happen to know where one is now… and I want it. I want you to get it for me.” Damon heard this but looked closer at the fire and saw what was in it.

  

“Is that a boombox? What the hell is that doing here?” Damon asked as he looked at the familiar object. This reminded Damon of when he was a child. Growing up he would sit around it and listen in awe of the idea that sounds could be broadcast everywhere at the same time. He wanted that “bigger than life” feeling that he thought the music and voices had in a figurative and literal sense. In fact, it inspired him to take up the craft of writing and production. From there came the exposure and then the wealth, as well as his corruption.  

“I thought you might get a kick out of that. Now I just hope you come to love it as much as you did and more.” The Voice said then laughed as the cassette compartment opened.  

“The fuck are you talking about?” Damon asked before he felt a sudden pull toward the boombox. He tried to pull away, but the force was too great, and his gaseous body was sucked in. The Voice asked one final question…

 

“So Damon… will you go get me my soul? Damon responded. 

“Well what choice do I have? You want it? You got it. Then that’s it… but how am I going to get it?”  

“Just bring it to the darkness Damon.” Said The Voice. 

Now that he had his demon ready, he sent the boombox into the world to find the pure soul. It was a world of two extremes; great metropolises of wealth and the wastelands of poverty that surrounded them. In the latter environment, Damon would wait for the purity to bring over to the darkness. 

Year 2199 A.D.

Amongst the mountains of landfills is a collective of scavengers. The ones that lost the genetic lottery. The ones who had been forgotten. There, amongst the shacks,  lived a boy named Zacchaeus. He was a loner in his group… not because he wasn’t accepted, rather, it was by choice. Though life was hard for everyone here, Zaccheaus had a particularly difficult one as a mute orphan. The result was a kind and humble soul that would keep others at a distance. 

…Discovery… 

Each day the people of the community had to forage for food and search for any  valuables to sell. Zacchaeus was exceptional at this as he would often travel off the  beaten path. Then came the day he heard something off in the distance, faint and  rhythmic. He followed the sound as it got louder and louder the closer he got.  Eventually Zacchaeus realized the sound was below him and he began to dig. Down, down, down he went until he discovered a box emanating the sound that he had heard. He had never seen anything like it but he knew working electronics always had value on resale. As soon as he touched the box the rhythm cut out. Zacchaeus paid little attention to that while his stomach growled at the idea of buying food. This was something old and probably glitchy throughout the years. He pulled it from the trash and headed home with his new find. 

…Home…

Zacchaeus lived in a shack made of plastic and wood. When the rains would come his house would shiver in the wind and water. In the summer sun his home would bake under the sweltering heat. Night had fallen by the time Zacchaeus arrived back at his fifteen by fifteen foot home. In it he had one table, one chair, a bed, a fire pit and a window in the ceiling so smoke from his fire pit could escape to further pollute the starless sky. As he walked in, the insects and vermin would scurry past him and up the walls. He walked over to the table and set the box he had found down. Next to it was a stack of paper he collected. He grabbed several pieces of it and put it in the pit next to scrap pieces of wood he found earlier. He then grabbed a canteen of lighter fluid and carefully put a few drops on the paper. It was a precious commodity he found months before. He then grabbed a flint that was given to him by a neighbor some years back. After a few strikes, some sparks finally ignited the paper and the fire grew and filled the shack with an orange glow that flickered against the walls.

Zacchaeus laid back in bed watching the fire dance. He threw pieces of scrap wood and paper he piled next to his bed to sustain. Like him the flames had an insatiable hunger. For hours he would watch the fire dance to no rhythm, losing himself to his thoughts. He imagined what a real meal would be like. Would it be like the images he had seen in the newspapers he used as kindle? Stores selling aisles full of meat and produce to mix and match until you were full. Zaccheaus had never been full before. Then his mind shifted to other images of women who he had seen scantily clad, showing off what was then the latest lingerie fashion from the city dwellers. Zaccheaus has never had a companion, he knew nothing of intimacy. The last thing he thought of, as his mind drifted between wakefulness and slumber, was the incessant feeling to say something… anything but knew he could not. He had never said a word before. So he let go of reality and slipped into a dream while the fire died out. Smoke rose from the fire pit... and from the box on the table next to him. 

…Dreams vs. Memories… 

Damon traveled through the smoke to where Zaccheaus lay. He circled above the  sleeping boy for a moment. He looked down and wondered what would be the best  point of entry into the boy’s mind. Damon wasn’t sure what compelled him to want to go inward. He just felt like he could… that he should as if it were instinctual. Continuing his inspection, he traveled past his mouth, nostrils and was tempted by  the eyes before he settled on going through the ears. As he traveled down into the boy's mind he saw visions that were not his own. 

…Level I…

The first vision dropped Damon from his gaseous form into a shadow. As a shadow  Damon could no longer influence his environment so he just observed from the  darkness in a room. From there he saw three people along the bed that held a frail  body. There was a man speaking to a woman and her child, while the body lay  motionless under the covers. His voice was soft and slow and said “He’s gone. I’m  sorry. He’s gone. I’m sorry...” Continuously. The woman held a blank stare as she  held the boy’s hand. Damon couldn’t see the boy’s face as it was covered by the  shadow cast from the bed. Damon wanted to go closer and traveled along the dark spaces in the room. Before he could move into the shadow where the boy was, he felt himself fall down through the floor. 

…Level II…

Damon fell deeper into Zaccheaus’ mind. Until he fell into the shadow cast by the woman he saw earlier. She had the same blank stare on her face. Except this time her face was pressed against the floor and was surrounded by a pool of blood originating from a hole in the temple of her head. Damon  then moved to a dark corner of the room. From there he could see the child he saw earlier also laying down. He laid in the shadow of a man kneeling down with a gun pressed against the boy’s temple saying “Never say a word. Never say a word. Never say a word....” Repeatedly. Damon again felt compelled to move closer. Instead he fell even deeper into the darkness within Zaccheaus’ mind. 

…Level III… 

Damon fell into darkness until he hit a bottom. There he could not hear or see anything. It was completely black. A void. Nothing. After some time Damon felt a vibration. It shook him to the core but didn’t seem threatening. Then Damon heard a low hum before he was flung out from Zaccheaus’ mind into the world, back into the speakers of the boombox.

 

…Journey…

When the sun began to rise the next day, Zaccheaus was already on the move. He was on his way toward the Metropolis, which was one of the few left in the ravaged world. To get there he would pass through hills and mountains of trash from generations before. His final push would be past the dead of said generations in the graveyard. On the other side is the market, where anything left  of value in the world, besides the city itself, exchanges hands. Zaccheaus had not been there for years and only a handful of times throughout his life. It’s no safe journey there and back. Plus the bartering can hardly make it worth it, especially if it turns ugly. None of that matters if you’re hungry enough though. All in all he should be there by next daybreak. 

On the trek Zaccheaus kept an eye out for useful items to trade. He may as well make the most of this trip. It only took a few hours for him to find metal utensils that could be melted down and an old book he could burn as a kindle at night. Anything was a bonus to the box. He was sure it would be worth a fortune since it still retained some functionality through the years. Knowing that, Zaccheaus kept it hidden in a large satchel made of old garbage bags away from hungry eyes that were eager to take anything they can. As the sun crossed the sky toward the western horizon, the graveyard came into sight. It was at this particular angle the light from the sun that made an object flicker for a moment. Zaccheaus went over to it and found a pocket knife wedged between broken concrete and dirt. Another nice find before the light of the moon began to replace that of the sun. 

…Respect the Dead…

Zaccheaus decided to find a place to camp for the night before continuing through the graveyard in the morning. He walked along the top edge of a wall of trash looking down into the graveyard. The area below surrounded the market, which surrounded the city in concentric circles. It also marked where the “true ground” of dirt was exposed unlike the vast wasteland constituted by layers from generations of trash and waste Zaccheaus walked on everyday. The wall was held up by rope, plastic and electrical cords to keep the trash from spilling over to where the dead rest. At least there was still some respect for the ancestors, though many held resentment for them for leaving such a ravaged world behind. As he looked down he saw people in the distance. They had made a fire in the graveyard which gave Zaccheaus concern. These people were not simply there to disrespect their ancestors for their misdeeds… but to profit. Zaccheaus walked further along the wall to get a closer look. He stayed low to keep out of sight as he peered over the edge. 

Earth and rubble from broken tombstones were mounding up around a hole where the men made their campsite. There are six holes in total. Five of the holes are accompanied by dismembered bodies that look gray, shriveled and decayed. The bones that were broken from brittleness and harsh excavations shone prominently in the moonlight. In due time there will be a sixth body to join the other  five. There were three men in total where one would be shoveling in the hole while the other two tended to the fire and chatted amongst themselves. Zaccheaus watched for a while as they would pass off the shovel to one another in shifts. Many hands make quick work. After a while Zaccheaus thought it would be better to distance himself from the group. If they could take from the dead, they surely wouldn’t have a problem taking from him. As he stood up he heard snapping, then the ground shifted below him before completely giving way. He found himself falling with the trash into the graveyard. As he climbed out of the mess he saw the three men around him. So much for avoiding this situation. 

…Ultimatum…

As Zaccheaus laid there looking up at the men, he wondered what he could possibly do in this situation. He was outnumbered, overpowered and couldn’t say anything to talk his way out of this. Should he just hand over what he has? All he had was to trade for food and money once he got to the market. To give it up now  would be a death sentence by starvation. His next thought was about running away but he was boxed in by the men and trash. Then he thought about fighting but he was far too small and outnumbered by the men that moved hundreds of pounds of earth day by day. What he really wanted to do was scream but he couldn’t. In the end all he could do was look in paralysis and wait to see what happened next. Seeing Zacchaeus in a state of shock, the men lifted him out of the garbage and asked, 

“What were you doing up there kid?” Zaccheaus responded by pointing to his throat and  shook his head back and forth. The men ignored this.

“What’s in the bag?” Another asked as he reached out to grab it. At this point Zaccheaus thought it was all over. He loosened his grip on the bag and his hope. It was then his bag began to emit smoke and crackle with the sound of static noise. 

…Possession… 

The men were caught off guard and stepped back as the smoke began to surround Zaccheaus. Suddenly, like a vacuum, the smoke began to be sucked in toward the boy’s face. As the smoke dissipated in the wind, the men realized the smoke was rushing into the boy’s mouth until it was completely gone. Zaccheaus stood up with eyes of fiery irises and blue pupils.  He looked at the men for a moment, who all wore looks of confusion and fright at what they just saw. In the next moment the boy abruptly turned and sprinted along the trash wall. The men, put aside their concern and went in pursuit.

“You’re going in a hole with a fucking corpse when we catch you!” Then Zaccheaus stopped and looked at the men. They wondered why he stopped before seeing a small pocket knife in the boy’s hand. “Oh now the kid decided to grow some balls and to take us all on!” Said one of the men causing them all to laugh at what they perceived as misplaced courage. Then Zaccheaus started to laugh too, his voice cracked and seemed to take on different pitches at once. When the boy’s laughter stopped he held a sinister grin as he looked to the wall. Thats when they saw a rope holding up the wall of trash they stood by. It towered above them while Zaccheaus did not. The boy raised the knife to the rope and looked at the men with a full on demented smile. They realized they were led to a trap and began to run but to no avail. Zaccheaus sliced the rope and saw the wall topple on top of them. The gravediggers were... ironically... buried alive. 

…Black Out…

Zaccheaus woke the next morning not knowing what had happened. The last thing he remembered was being surrounded by smoke and static before blacking out. He rubbed his eyes and swiveled his head back and forth taking in his surroundings. He quickly realized he was at the campsite where he watched the gravediggers the night before. Where were they? Why was he there and they weren’t? Then he looked down and realized he wasn’t wearing his bag with the box. Did they take it and spare him? He got up frantically but saw his bag near the hole the men were digging in. Next to it was another bag. He walked over to it and looked down in the hole and saw an open casket. In it lay a rotted old mangled body that was clearly plundered of any possession it may have once had. Someone finished the job, since he was sure they were not finished when Zaccheas was watching them the night before. The shovel lay by the hole where Zaccheaus stood. That’s  when he realized his hands felt dirty. He wondered, for a moment, if he did it. Then he remembered his fall from the wall and assumed that was probably the cause but still couldn’t wrap his head around where the men went, especially without his valuables. Zaccheas directed his attention to a black leather bag. He bent down and opened it to see necklaces, rings and earrings sparkle in the sun. Never has Zaccheaus seen such riches that reflected their sparkle on his awestruck face. The bag alone would have been valuable enough to feed him for years if he played his cards right. All he had to do was take it. It felt wrong but then his stomach grumbled as it were begging him to end this contemplation. He grabbed both bags and ran as quickly as he could through miles of tombstones. He wasn’t risking running into anymore gravediggers or anyone else for that matter. 

…The Market… 

Zaccheaus was exhausted when the tents and buildings of the market came into view. He desperately needed something to eat and a place to rest for the night but needed to sell what he had first. As he walked past the venues he saw people trading metals, clothes, livestock and other goods of value. These shops continued to line the paved road that led all the way down to the guarded gates of the Metropolis. Zaccheaus made a quick stop at a metal reclamation site and traded the metal utensils for a few dollars. It wasn’t enough to buy anything though. He knew once he found a jeweler he could cash in on his fortune and by himself a feast. Typically, the higher end merchandise was found nearest to the entrance gates. Brave, curious and wealthy city-dwellers could venture out of the city limits knowing the border guards could protect them as they look for the most valuable items scavengers have traded. Zaccheaus walked closer to the gates before he saw a sign above a building that read “PRECIOUS METALS AND JEWELS”, 

…Let’s Make a Deal…

Zaccheaus walked through the shop doors and passed men with assault rifles. That was to be expected with such high value items on display, but it was still intimidating to see. Zaccheaus kept his head down as the guards looked down on him in belittling suspension. After he felt their leering eyes lift from him he looked up and saw a room that sparkled and shined as it was full of different jewels and metallic objects, half of which he wasn’t even sure what they were. His stomach grumbled to remind him of his purpose for being there. He gathered himself and headed to the counter where a man and woman were negotiating over a gold ring. The man was well dressed but it did little to redeem his appearance as he was overweight, sweaty and had terrible acne. With one hand he would gesture when he spoke, with the other he had a sandwich which he would bite into as she spoke. After some time a price was agreed upon and the woman gave the man the most money Zaccheaus had ever seen. The woman didn’t even blink an eye at this exchange though. He guessed it was probably nothing more than pocket change for people from the city. The woman put the ring in her purse then headed past Zaccheaus toward the door. The man looked at Zaccheaus and rolled his eyes. He took a bite of his sandwich as he waved him forward. 

“I don’t do handouts so you better have something good for me kid.” The shop owner took another bite and waited for a response. Zaccheaus lifted the leather bag off his shoulder and dropped it on the counter. He opened it up and the owner leaned over to see what was inside. His jaw dropped at the sight. He told the armed men at the door to step outside to stop anyone else from coming in. It was time to negotiate. 

The shop owner began to lay out all of the bag’s contents on the counter. Silver, gold and platinum in the form of watches, necklaces, earrings and pendants sparkled in the man’s eyes. He was captivated, yet confused as to how a boy could acquire all this wealth. His shop didn’t see this volume come in over the course of a year, let alone a day. 

“Where are you from? Where did you get this? Are you alone? What do you want? How  much?” Question after question was fired in rapid succession to Zaccheaus, who just pointed to his throat and shook his head left to right. It took a moment for the owner to notice this and another to realize the boy was mute. Then the owner began to grin and lean over the counter. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the money he had gotten from selling the ring moments before.

“It was a pleasure doing business, kid.” Then he began to rake in all the riches but clearly that math didn’t add up. 

…Decisive Measures… 

Zaccheaus instinctively reached out and grabbed the man’s arm to stop him. He knew he had at least three or four rings similar to what the woman just paid him for one. Not to mention the treasure trove of other valuables. He may be mute, but  he would not be robbed blind. There was only one problem… Zacchaeus didn’t know what he would do next.  Desperation will make you do crazy things. In response the shop owner just shrugged him off. Zacchaeus was pushed away easily by this since he was frail and barely had the strength from malnutrition. He began to feel hopeless and was going to walk away when they both noticed the smoke dribble out from Zacchaeus’ other bag. 

Zacchaeus moved the bag from his side to his back. He assumed something in the circuitry must have finally shorted out. Smoke continued to tumble to the floor which puzzled yet intrigued the shop owner. Smoke continued to fall like dry ice but was a black charcoal with hints of red and blue in color. 

“Listen, give me what you got in that bag too and I’ll give you back this chain. Silver ain’t  cheap kid.” He was right. It was a lot of money for something, especially since he didn’t even know what was in the bag. When you think about it, he had just made a huge windfall with everything else he took from Zacchaeus. Then the smoke began to build upward around Zacchaeus’ body. The boy stood frozen in terror. It was only seconds later before the smoke covered Zacchaeus completely. A few more seconds passed then all of it rushed in through Zacchaeus' mouth, making his windpipe pulsate as it went in. The boy stood still for a moment with his eyes closed. The shop owner tried to scream but no sound came out. It was as if he became mute himself. That’s when the boy opened his eyes that glowed a fiery red with blue irises.  

…Take It All…

The boy stared at the man for what seemed like an eternity. The shop owner mustered up the courage to push away the things he snatched earlier to the counter’s-edge to gesture that the boy could take it back. Struck by fear, the shop owner didn’t realize he still held on to the silver chain he originally offered. 

That’s when the boy spoke for the first time. To the shop owner’s horror it sounded like his own voice. 

“I’m taking everything… including your life.”

Abruptly, the shop owner’s body was jerked down by the smoke that too surrounded him and was growing thicker throughout the room. His head smashed into the glass display case he stood behind, shattering it. The boy walked behind the display case and grabbed the chain from the man’s bloodied and glass ridden hand. 

He then wrapped the chain around the neck of the dazed shop owner and pulled back like reins. There was some struggle, but before long everything had indeed been taken with the man’s last breath. 

…Passage… 

Zacchaeus regained consciousness on his feet at the gates to the city. A guard stood before him with the gate open. 

 

“Are you going on or not? Either way I’m keeping the money and the chain... it better be real silver like you say.” Said the guard as he looked back and forth while cracking open the gate. “Hurry the fuck up, I can’t have the camera’s down any longer.” Zacchaeus was confused as to how he got into this situation… with two heavier bags on his back, a half eaten sandwich in hand and in front of a guard at the gates. He didn’t have time to consider all this but always heard life was better inside the gates and just he hurried in.