Project Genesis

Chapter 1

I hate getting flashbacks from things I don't want to remember.

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"Blood. Flesh. Dead bodies. Everywhere the eyes go. Death. Everywhere. Why? Why is this happening? Why to us? Why again?" He thought to himself, standing in a far corner and watching all the hell break loose in front of him.

"My hands. My legs. They won't move. Why? Why?" He felt his hands trembling uncontrollably by his sides. His legs, shaking. His face, grim. Sweat glistened on his forehead even in the dim light of the crescent moon. His hazel eyes full of water were shining like an emerald.

"After everything that happened. Why? This is not how it was supposed to be."

"Then how come it is?" He heard a calm feminine voice from beside him. He slowly turned his face to look at her but suddenly something splashed on his face and instinctively he closed his eyes. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes just to see a crimson liquid flowing from the woman's chest. His eyes widened. As he stood there staring at her chest unable to move his body, her body shook and another spot on her chest started pouring the same crimson liquid. And then another and another. Soon enough, she collapsed on her knees. And within seconds, her body met the cold ground making a crimson pool around her.

The man started feeling faint. Everything started spinning. It was like someone was pulling a carpet from beneath his feet. All the noise of people screaming, gunshots being fired, bones crushing, blood spilling, fainted in the background. It was just him and the lifeless body of the woman lying in front of him in her own pool of blood. And then everything went black.

His eyes flew open and he found himself sitting on his bed, his sweat making a pool around him. He was panting and struggling to get some oxygen in his lungs. He was trembling despite the fact that it was a hot summer night. After a few minutes of deafening silence and void, he gained control over his body.

He finally got off of his bed, put his shirt on, and left the room. Taking a deep breath to gather his thoughts, he made his way to his kitchen and helped himself to a glass of water. Through his kitchen window, he saw the small pond outside his house. A fragile and unstable wooden footbridge stood on top of it.

He walked towards the kitchen door that led to the back of his house, gently stroked the knob and pushed the door. It opened with a creak and gave way to a gust of dry wind. He slowly walked towards the bridge and stood there staring at his own reflection. He could clearly make out the tiredness in his face. He looked old, much like the neighborhood amidst which he was standing.

The whole place was damaged and unsteady. It was a small neighborhood with a few old wooden houses clumped together, like weed growing in the wild. They were small and shabby. A single flight of stairs would have led to the top of each of them but there was no need for the stairs as there was no terrace to get to. There were holes in the roofs at random places making way for the sunlight as well as the rain to come in. There was a road, more like a trodden path encircling the entire locale.

He stood in the middle of this nowhere surrounded by the darkness and silence. It was his therapy. His sick way of punishing himself which he liked to call 'therapy'. Standing alone cocooned by darkness while the silence sang lullabies for him. Not the kind that would make him fall asleep but the kind that reminded him why he couldn't sleep.

He kept staring at his dark, tired reflection in the water, without blinking or moving, as still as the night around him. He was lost in his thoughts when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned his head to see a man leaning against the parapet of the shabby wooden bridge.