Unwind - a prequel

the legend?

In a tranquil town nestled between dense forests, life seemed to unfold at its own leisurely pace. Yet, for Harlan Dunfee, the serene morning held no promise of peace. Harlan had lain awake in his bed; he felt the blood pumping through his veins. One heartbeat after another echoed in the stillness of his room. As he got up, the floorboards croaked softly under his feet, forcing him to conscientiously make his way through his bedroom, careful not to wake his sleeping parents.

He tiptoed through the house, cursing every small noise; every sound magnified in the stillness of the early morning. The ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hallway felt like thunderclaps in his ears. His painstaking journey led him to the front door. His hand trembled as he reached for the knob, easing it open with care.

The morning air brushed against his skin, sending shivers crawling up his spine. Stepping outside, he gently closed the door behind him with a soft click that felt like a final goodbye.

In the dim light of the streetlamp, he stood motionless, looking back at his home. However, he could no longer call this his own – not when his parents were simply going to dispose of him. His heart thundered within his chest. He had imagined running away – weeks' worth of meticulous plans, laboriously sorting through every option to guarantee success. Yet now that the moment had finally arrived, doubt gnawed at his stomach. A mixture of fear and determination warred within him. He was being pushed out, and he did not like that. He was not going to be one of the commodities that are bartered and discarded – not if he had anything to say about it. So, after finding two-thirds of a signed triplicate inside his father's study a few weeks ago, he took it upon himself to save his parents the trouble.

Taking a deep breath, he set off down the abandoned streets. The sound of his hurried footsteps was muffled by the dullness that enveloped the sleeping town. He endlessly thanked the hand of the shadows he clung to, drawing strength from its unwavering presence. The weight of his decision pressed down on his shoulders, threatening to crush him in its suffocating embrace. But he knew turning back was no longer an option; there was only forward from here. As he walked, his throat grew dry with unease. A silent prayer left his lips, carried away by the gentle morning breeze. The stars were still twinkling faintly above him, resistant to fade with dawn's approach. If anything, they were only getting more prominent – almost breathing – but even that could not distract him from the sudden noise that broke through the stillness; the distant sound of a car grew louder, piercing through the quiet. Panic surged through him as he realized it was coming his way. With an unexpected burst of adrenaline, he broke into a run; his carefully laid plans had crumbled as his instinct took over. He darted through backyards and down alleyways.

He ran until he felt like he could not go further; his legs were weak and unsteady as he rounded a corner into something solid. Strong hands gripped his arms, and he found himself face-to-face with a tall, emotionless figure. Terror engulfed him as recognition dawned; it was his father. Struggling against the incessant grip, he screamed, "No! You can't take me! I don't want to go, Dad!" Harlan fought with every drop of strength in him, powered by the bitter taste of betrayal left in his mouth by the one keeping him from freedom – but it was not enough. There was a loud bang, and he could not stop himself from collapsing to the ground. He felt like the ocean waves were crashing over him – one after the other – until he was swallowed whole. He was dragged towards a van waiting in the distance; the last thing he saw before losing consciousness was the fading stars in the sky now mocking him and his failed escape.

He could not open his eyes; he had no idea why, but he had several theories; perhaps his eyelids were glued shut – they seemed like they were – or maybe his body would not let him because it feared what he would see. The last theory – the most terrifying one – was something he forced himself not to consider. He had tried to move – wiggle a finger or open an eye – even just one – but nothing worked. Maybe, his eyes were already open; with darkness so thick, he could not tell. If he tried hard enough, he could pretend to make out shapes in his inky atmosphere; the best he could get was a black ocean and he was busy drowning.

His eyes desperately searched for something before it was too late; it was as if he wanted a mysterious silhouette to show itself – anything was better than this silence that screamed like a siren around him. His ears rang in the noise of nothing. He did, however, recognize his heartbeat's faint sound – and that was enough. Yet it felt almost burdensome to think about how long it had been since he'd recognized the sound of his heartbeat or how the feeling of asphalt beneath his feet had been replaced by the cold metal of a table against which he lay flush.

He wanted out – out of this cage that his consciousness was keeping him in. His body was weak but his mind persistent; he was being punished. He had tested his father's patience one too many times – and now patience was in short supply – a ticking time bomb waiting to go off.

Once engrossed in these thoughts, it became hard to tell when the noises began; they started slow and subtle before mixing in and entangling themselves with his thoughts and the ringing of his ears. Small clanging noises rhythmically grew in volume until the silence shattered completely; there was no longer any question behind these sounds as they recklessly echoed across the room – the noise of metal on metal so close he could almost touch it.

So, he tried one more time – to wiggle a finger again; this time it felt different - he thought it was his imagination – but he could have sworn that his finger moved – but he could not be sure unless he saw it himself – and so he tried to open his eyes once more.

This time his eyes opened.

The light of the stars he had seen during his escape attempt had turned into harsh fluorescent lights illuminating a white room filled with heads crowding around him. This was it: his worst nightmare had come true – the time had run out and the bomb had gone off – he was being unwound.

Someone had said something, but the words were lost in the space between them; unable to focus on anything with his mind fighting to get to the surface of the raging waters within himself – he grew tired of fighting – so when a lady with a mask stood above him, he accepted whatever fate awaited him.

Smoke billowed into his eyes as darkness claimed him once more; now forever chained within its depths. His future forever intertwined with the tapestry of a world on the brink of unravelling.