2 Minutes. Go!

The alarm sounded as the blue and red light cut through the fog of night. We had become accustomed to the sound of alarms. They were no longer alarming. They cried wolf too many times for anyone to take them seriously. 

I was keyed up. I had been up for days. I was paranoid, more paranoid than usual. The noise and the light felt like psychedelics, and it added to the dark energy building up inside me. I stretched my arms out. Flexed my hands. I could feel muscle and tendon beneath the scarred flesh. 

I was alive. 

There have been times when I wished I was dead, but I've always been good at avoiding it. 

I was looking for something, but I didn’t know what it was. I just knew that I would know it when I saw it. It was a feeling. I trust those feelings. Maybe that has something to do with the sustained heartbeats. I’d had some close shaves, but no razor burn. 

My stomach felt raw. Bloody. That’s always been a problem for me, and no one has been able to explain it. I am constantly swallowing blood. I taste nothing else. Everything I eat tastes of it. I barely notice anymore. Blood is hunger.

The taste thickened my resolve. I would bathe in it. It would wash me clean. I just needed to find a source.

I needed to tap a well.

2 Minutes. Go!

It was just that feeling. You couldn't change it. 

Palms slick with sweat, you couldn't even get a grip that would stick. You were slipping. Everyone could see it. They smelled it in the sickly sweat seeping from your pores. You tried to smile, flip golden hair, make it casual - sell the simplicity. It didn't work. It irked people. It was like biting the tines of a fork. It sent shockwaves. 

You open the door to let the devil in, then you better be able to close it. That's the truth. It's always been that way. Some people can open the door a crack, some can't. Some ride the top of the wave, and some sink to the bottom where they are tossed by currents, abraded by sand, instructed by panic. 

I keep the door wide open, because I am the devil. I can match any sickness he can think of. I can throw my weight into misery. Evil fears me because I can take it and keep on taking. I am a bottomless well. I am pure potential, a mountain you can't see the top of. I am the craggy bluffs that deceive the adventurous. 

You better keep your door closed. Lock it with the deadbolt. Nail two-by-fours over it. Rig it with bells. Shine a bright light. None of it will save you. 

I am coming, and I don't need a door. 

2 Minutes. Go!

You had your eyes closed when the sun burned out. You opened them because you heard the terror around you, the gasps and screams. You felt the chill. Cowered from the cries of the animals. Those who could make fire did so. The looting started right away.

The poison gas began seeping out of the vents, but it was not a poison that killed. At least not quickly. It was an investment in death. It was a creation that the government scientists lauded. The death would happen away from the source, and it would be quite a show.

The billionaires were satisfied in their domed enclave. Their false sun burned brightly, and there was no gas to twist their minds. They got to enjoy the show. That was the point.

The poor are always fodder. Always ignored. 

And they always lose.