Chernobyl Curs Audition Pg.3

Erx convulses sharply as the hallucination shatters, the racket that had assaulted his senses but a moment ago dropping away into nothingness. He breathes heavily as he lies motionless, startled beyond measure. The stars gleam down blankly as he glimpses skywards, flickering as if on the verge of extinguishing themselves.

Phantoms again. But this has not happened for a long while. Not since the last of the lean times. Why now? And what of the red dog among the fallen ones? Rust-red, that is. Of course, of course, it was the victor of the most recent bout of violence, if my memory of youth serves me well. And the champion of the past is the instigator of the future. Perhaps I should seek it out...

He trails off and resumes wandering the streets, weaving his way through a field of debris. A thin sheet of mist rolls through the sky, splattering the streets with a fresh layer of moisture. Far ahead looms the large disk of the Ferris-wheel, its outline jutting out eminently from the hazy, dawn-touched fog. At its base a number of curs mill about: some eager, some listless, some terrified. The muffled din draws Erx closer, leading him towards the short plain separating the eclectic convention from the streets. He senses the presence of the rust-red dog, which observes the assembly with a disdainful gleam in its eye. An antipathetic aura surrounds the cunning hound; few dogs remain close by. They dare quick glances and nothing more, unnerved by its reputable power. Erx approaches warily, dazed by the chaos of the scene. He counts no fewer than two dozen canines gathered, none of them particularly familiar.

Curse you and your antisocial outlook, he grumbles to himeslf. Now you've got no way to be taken seriously. And what if they don't? No, that cannot be. They'd love to have a great lot of miserable creatures to forcefully expel from the populace. Like me, like me. What can I do? I'm not a fighter and they are fighters.

He stumbles onwards.

You are demented and delusional. Just turn back now and everything will be fine. No one has ever noticed you before and they will not now unless you go and make a big deal of yourself.

Closer still.

Stop, Erx, stop.

He emerges from the last scrap of cover and steps onto what once was a human fairground. The crumbling remains of iron fences and wooden structures litter the brown grass, forming a ragged semicircle that encloses the dying park. Its appearance reminds Erx of a cage of cold metal. A cage of entrapment.

Stop, Erx.

Few notice as he hurries across the space towards the crowd, scrabbling across broken stone and refuse from years past. He becomes aware of a scant number of curious eyes fixated upon him. To his relief, they soon lose interest in the unremarkable brown furred cur.

A harsh voice accosts him from the crowd. "You. Brown-fur," it snaps.

Erx turns to sight the rust-red dog. It glares down upon him with a scornful eye.

"What do you think yer' doing here, you runt?" it continues.
"I-"
"I know. You want your little place?"

It pauses as it lets out a stifled laugh.

"Yer' already committed. Volunteered, I'd say."
"W-what?"
"Because I said it so," it snickers. "Need I explain further, you miserable rat? We don't take too kindly to loners. Yeh' do nothin' but make things difficult fer' the rest of us. Nothing, dear Erx."
"How dihd yew knowh my namh?"
"Why wouldn't I, you invalid? I know of the way of things. Jus' because you think yer' a sneaky little pup doesn't mean I haven't noticed you."

Erx sputters in a vain attempt to formulate a reply.

"Aye, but yer' so caught up in your own little world that no one knows you and no one'll miss you. All of your nonexistent friends would surely remember you. P'haps as meat, if there were any on your bones." It snickers again, clearly amused by its distasteful witticisms.

"Y-yes, rus' fur," he squeaks.
"That's Beyra to you, you blindsighted rodent."

She turns away sharply and strides off, leaving Erx to stand in the wispy grass.

Not red? What? She is red, like the rust. Can't the others see the rust? What do they see? What is beyond the rust?

With an abrupt haste he scuttles under a clump of debris and fixates his gaze on Beyra.

...I'm afraid. Can't avoid this, no way around it, exits not to be found.

He sighs and follows the proceedings with a lazy eye. The din of the pack grows to a fever pitch, taking on a shrill tone. Erx flinches as the clamor reaches its apex.

All sound mutes to a dull roar. Phantoms return for a mere moment, lying still on the ground. The rust-fur watches coldly. She laughs a twisted laugh.

They vanish in an instant, releasing their grip on the scene. Erx blinks hard and flicks his eyes hurriedly, his heart hammering in his chest.

Back come the visages, lifeless as before. The rust-fur only laughs with greater glee. Erx spies his own limp form, lying at her feet. It twitches weakly with life.

And back to normalcy. He shivers and tries to look away from the fairground, yet something captivates him and seizes his attention. His head pounds with a throbbing ache as he struggles to shake the images.

Once more the illusions return, warped and distorted beyond recognition. A great span of the tall Ferris wheel lies sprawled out on the ground, driven into the earth by the force of its collapse. Its supple tendrils pin the limp forms scattered about the twilight-scape, entrapping them within a cage of steel and earth. Those free of the rust lie imprisoned by crumbling brick and dust. The entire block seems to have collapsed in upon itself- as if the rotting structures had reached a silent consensus and fallen then and there.

Two forms remain free from the twisted wreckage, standing motionlessly- one of the rust-fur and one of Erx. Both appear locked in a deadly stare. No longer does the rust-fur laugh. Its jaw hangs slack as if in shock. A strange blankness fills its eyes where determination and pride once reigned supreme. The sky-blue orbs of his false self appear equally devoid of emotion. Erx watches intently as neither act for a long minute.

They move not.

He rises and steps towards the two, whom neither react nor acknowledge his presence. Only as he glides between them does he understand the reason for their silence.

The two stand upright, yet their rusty hearts and dust-choked lungs lie still in the cold slumber of death.