Mister Sinister

7

The abyss was slick and wet everywhere, although Brendon remained perfectly dry. There was no sun or moon, there was no space around him. For all he knew, there was no God to temper the void surrounding him. There was only absence. A morbid red satellite that didn't exist, radiating poorly until it faded to black.

Brendon's limbs were not bound to his side, nor were they free to move. He was suspended, falling without motion, his arms stuck, bound by the force that kept him from any form of solid matter.

Then there were gases. Perhaps Brendon was witnessing the creation of the universe. They broke out of the red-pulsing nothingness and immediately crushed his ribs. It sat so heavily on him, sucking whatever was previously in his lungs away, that he felt as though he were pushed down an inch. His face contorted in fear and his stomach filled with knots, which were quickly crushed out.

Then the explosions began. The gases collided, hissing angrily. They fought rapidly, combusting into heat and dust upon impact. They scorched the surface of Brendons suspended skin, causing it to bubble and crack and peel. It burned, agony coursing up Brendons arms, his nerves sparked with electric heat, yet he was forced to stay ever still.

The dust developed weight and gathered with the remaining gas, pooling and growing denser and denser, erupting into a crust thousands of feet below Brendon.

Brendon watched all of creation. Perhaps he, himself, was God. The atmosphere developed, the organisms divided, the grass grew, dinosaurs rose and fell, civilizations began and after millions of waiting, Brendon's stomach dropped.

He began to plummet.

His flesh was quick to ignite, and he knew if there were air around him, it would be screaming instead of whistling. His lips finally unsealed and he wailed the entire way down, finally landing on the ground. The whole Earth rumbled and he coughed and sputtered, hurriedly checking over himself. He was untouched.

Brendon stood, dusting himself off and staring at his surroundings. He found that he had appeared in the school. The halls were full, bustling to the point he was shoulder to shoulder with everyone around him. His skin pricked uneasily and he wiped a light film of sweat away.

Across from Brendon stood Dallon.

Dallons face was rigid and slicked with a light sheen of perspiration. His skin glimmered, and shadows swooped across his face, discovering the dark grimaced corners of his mouth and the stains etched on his face from every frown. Brendon's throat tightened uneasily.

"Dallon, I-" Brendon reached out to Dallon, his face contorted in a look of desperation. His eyebrows were upturned and his mouth dragged down in pain, his eyes wetter and bluer than Dallons.

Dallons hand quickly reached up and pushed Brendons away, barely touching Brendons hand with his knuckles, like Brendon was ill and contagious. The action sure made Brendon feel that way.

Dallons blank face and condemned eyes snapped to Brendon and his brows furrowed slightly. "Why are you here," he stated plainly. It was in no way a question and Brendon knew that, his stomach coiling tighter. He took a step back. People hissed at him and tripped over themselves to make room.

Dallon stayed where he was and the frustration on his face eased slightly, like a child soothed of their headache with a cool-cloth to their flushed face. Dallon looked relieved and that made Brendon gag.