The Background

Chapter 1

The dark grey cloud cover mixed with the overnight fog cast ceaseless and shadowy horrors into the wary mans imagination.He fervently scanned the scenery with flickering eyes, endlessly keeping his vigilant look out for the demons that haunted his mind. His hands flashed across his sweating face in a constant but irregular stream, shaking and shivering as he tried not to hinder his eyesight for too long. He looked up at the broken down shells of buildings  that long ago had watched the everyday bustle of a city, scanning as more looming shadows danced in his peripherals. In his haze, the buildings corpses looked like long, slender, broken fingers reaching high above the noxious black clouds to the unseen light,but they were nothing more than figures to wedge fear into him. He looked back down to the level of the abandoned intersection he stood in.

Suddenly, an echoed screech could be heard, almost like a car pulling  an all too abrupt stop, but no, it could not be that, could it? No no, it wasn’t right, to loud, to close, not right, not natural. It had to be some kind of creature from his imagination. Or something. The mans mind raced spastically, and suddenly right in front of Patricks bloodshot eyes was a tall, shadowy figure. The sound repeated itself from behind, no, from the imposing specter, over and over the exact screech played, though every time it was at a differing volume, like thing could not decide whether to deafen the terrified man or to simply settle for sending cold chills to rack his body. And the figure loomed closer, simply closer though it seemed not to move, it edges flickering as if its presence came through those old T.V.screens Patrick and anyone else still living in the Background could hardly remember. The horrified man was frozen in sheer terror, like a small insignificant animal before its predator. He stared, and as he tried to focus his eyes, the thing began to flicker, as if it wasn’t really there. It gave Patrick a small, shining, glittering bead of hope, and that was what he relied on as he slowly tried to reach his grimy hand in through the window of the ancient Ford pickup to search for his savior, his only hope of escaping this hellish nightmare. His fingers searched, and all the while he kept his all too unfocused gaze locked on the shadow figure, watching for the thing to suddenly lurch forward and devour him. His hands hit the plastic cylinder, and he looked down with triumph for a fraction of a second. Just a quick glance. When his head bobbed quickly back  to the thing, it was six inches away from his face and still uttering screams of all volume.  Patrick whimpered pitifully, but he forced his frozen joints and muscles into bringing the small plastic liberator to his lips. As he pressed down on the top of the inhaler, and breathed in the gas, all the tormenting figures vanished like smoke in a strong breeze. Patricks pupils grew wide again, and his eyes ceased struggling to focus. It was pointless anyway.

Cold, grey sun filtered down through the clouds onto the whole of the Earth, save for the city's rich enough to buy filters. Patricks eyes wandered over to the roughly 400 mile-wide hole in the clouds over Shining New York city, and he felt himself scowl even through the floating high. That city was the image of everything he wished he had, but knew he never could. Just as these thoughts drifted lazily through Patricks rotting mind, the hood of the truck slammed down, and a boy who could nearly pass for a man stepped out from behind it. The boy brushed off his hands on his grubby pants, dirtying them even more in the process.

“That’ll ‘bout do it. Lets get this bitch runnin, shall we?” Icarus said jovially, his heavily accented speech making him sound perpetually drunk.

“You drive. Just took a hit.” Patrick mumbled as he shambled into the passenger side. Icarus lit another cigarette off the end of his old one, then stomped out its carcass into the pavement grumpily. The street was as quiet as death, even as Icarus twisted the keys in the ignition repeatedly. The truck made an odd,clicking wheeze, then settled back into its quiet, contented rest.

“Well fuck.” The dirty teen said simply, then he leaned back in his seat,and held out his hand for the inhaler. Patrick set the thing on his friends dirt caked hand,hardly even feeling guilty about it anymore. Icarus breathed in deeply, then silence reigned.