《Stone soup》 Prologue Take a small bathroom stool and place it on a stack of books. Make sure both the stool¡¯s legs and the books touch the ground. If your books are too short, stuff some newspaper to get the exact height. Any empty space between the books and the legs should be filled with more paper, held together by duct tape. Use all the tape you have, so the wrap holds tension. Do this twice, and you have a bench. An abandoned construction site across the street got me rebars, clay bricks, and those large canvas bags they use for the garbage. You can use one rebar ¨C but I didn¡¯t know how much they can bend, and I wanted a bigger grip, so I tied four of them together- first with steel wire, wrapping the bars from top to bottom. It¡¯s very important to make sure the wire is tight ¨C the trick I use is to stand on the bars, wrap the loose end of the wire around a brick, and use that as a hold to tighten it. You need to do it after every turn, or your bars will come loose. Did I say you should use all your duct tape on the bench? I lied. You should always have more duct tape. Wrap the bars, top to bottom again. I wrapped the whole thing three times, just so I won¡¯t feel the individual bars and steel wire when I hold the whole thing up. For weights, a brick weighs around five pounds. I put up to six in each canvas bag, and place water bottles for smaller weights. The hardest part, or the easiest, is holding the damn thing up. Don¡¯t think you can rig something with the wall ¨C if you don¡¯t have a wall made of cement, that wall is going to cave in once you get to real weights. The easiest way to do this is with a few wood planks, cement, and two buckets. You stick the planks in the bucket, pour cement on them, hold them straight, cut a groove on the top of planks to hold the bar¡­ And you got your own bench stand, made to order. Personally, I knew there was a guy living down the road who was all about woodcrafting, so I just showed up and threatened to take off my mask and cough at him if he didn¡¯t pony up some planks. Guy was atleast sixty and terrified. Easy. You see, the gym being closed is the only thing I can¡¯t live with. I don¡¯t care about the quarantine, about cops patrolling the streets, about not being able to go to a freaking park for the foreseeable future. Shops were open for food, which was, honestly, the only reason I got out of the house anyhow. So I had to go with a mask and some gloves, big deal. But I was not letting some chinese flu stop me from getting my gains. Muscle gains, that is. Corona shmorona, my squat, bench, and deadlift waits for no one. Everybody else was getting soft, watching netflix and jerking off, but not me. When the gym opens up again, im going to be the biggest guy there, by far. All the steriod junkies won¡¯t be able to get their fix with the quarantine, so theyll show up like a deflated ballon, claiming the ¡®quarantine was tough bro, couldn¡¯t lift at home, makes me angry bro¡¯. Damn fraudsters. I¡¯m going to get just as big while keeping my downstairs equipment working. I had everything ready to get my gains back on track, but I forced myself to test the equipment. I placed the bar on the make shift bench and put all the weight I had on it. Stood on the thing for good measure. Bench didn¡¯t even shift. Did the same with the wood planks, stress testing the whole set up. Kicked it, pounded it with a hammer. Solid as stone.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. As usual, the only thing I forgot to test was myself. I warmed up with some stretches and mixed my preworkout. Chugged that down while brewing a triple strong flask of coffee, to sip between sets. I turned on my stereo and blasted some Mastadon. Then, approaching my home built temple of iron, I reverently placed the bar upon the rest. I started with my bench sets with an empty bar, to warm up and get a feel to the bar. It was weird ¨C it was a bit smaller than a normal olympic bar, and I could still faintly feel the individual bars through it, giving it a granular feel. Still, for a homemade bar it was decent, though much lighter than the olympic bar. Well, I could fix that easily. I added two weight at each side, bring the weight to roughly 140 pound. I pumped out eight repetitions, feeling my strength. I haven¡¯t trained for a week, besides some pushups. I was feeling good, strong. My muscles were all well rested, but not weakened from the break. A set of 200 pound went without a hitch, and I loaded another bag each size, for 260. Now, 280 is my max, so I only intended that weight for one repetition, just to see if I got stronger or weaker overall. I got underneath the weight, grunting when the weight passed to my arms, felt the tension in my chest and making sure I¡¯m as tense as possible, to reduce energy escaping from the lift. I lowered the weight and pushed it back, without any real effort. So little effort, in fact, I decided to go for a whole set. Around the fifth repetition I started to struggle, so I ended it there. I rested for my three minutes, sipping at my coffee. Another set passed by without too much effort, and the third set was hard, but manageable. I rested again, waiting for the fourth and final set. I was excited from lifting after a period of inactivity. The pre workout was kicking in and the coffee on top was giving me a pleasant buzz, an energetic rush filling my head. Mastodon¡¯s blood and thunder was filling the room with the sounds of battle and metal growls. In short, I was feeling the best I was all week. I decided to take it a step further. It was time to break my record. I divided one of the weight bag to two, putting three bricks in a new bag, that loaded, it brought the weight to around 290. I switched the music to my best song ¨C cowboys from hell. I got under the bench fast, so I could start the lift when the drums kicked in. The guitar chucka-chucked away as I lowered the bar, and I start pushing the exact moment the drums started playing. The bar moved slowly as my arms pushed out, my whole body contributing to the movement. My legs were pushing the floor, my butt clenched, my abs held like an iron vice. You ever used preworkout? It¡¯s just a bunch of caffeine with some other additives that make you energetic and strong. Nothing fraudulent or harmful. But when you use it, you start noticing a few strange things. First, you don¡¯t get tired, while your muscles do. You know how, normally, you get tired as you exercise? With enough caffeine you don¡¯t. What happens, instead, is that your muscles tire on their own, slowly getting weaker as you work them. Ask the biggest guy in the gym to do some pushups after a hard chest and tryceps day, and watch him laugh as he can¡¯t even lift himself a finger off the ground. So while I thought I was strong, I was not. Three quarters up, I failed. No matter how much I pushed and struggled, the bar remained at the same height. I pushed at struggled at it, my face contorting as even my neck muscles contracted. For an eternity, the bar hung. At any point, I could lower the bar carefully and roll it over my abs, dropping it safely at my feet. It¡¯s called the ¡®roll of shame¡¯, and it¡¯s not perfectly safe, but when its either that or get stuck under the bar its definitely the better option. But I would not back down. My pride would not allow me, even though no one could see me. I struggled and struggled, using every last bit of my energy. As the bar started to come down, I realized that I had no more energy left to push the bar towards my chest. It was going to land on my neck, and I was going to die. A blood choke is when you deny blood to the brain, and It knocks you out in a few seconds. I really didn¡¯t stand a chance. No matter how much I struggled on the way down, the moment the bar touched my neck it was over. The last thing I remember thinking was that 280 was always going to be my best. Shame. Chapter 1: Devil mouse Cold, harsh metal at my cheek. I woke with a gasp, still fighting to keep the bar off my neck. There was no bar and my hands were spread out on the door. The fighting instinct only served to push my head away in a an awkward fidget, and I collided with a wall that was apparently behind me. My head erupted in a headache completely unproportional to the hit. My head was being split in two. I lay back, and slowly the headache subsided to a background ache, letting me notice my surrounding. The room I was in was small, tiny. It was composed of four triangles, all made of flat and smooth greyblack metal. These panels made a perfect tetrahedron, which I was curled at the bottom of. Each side was only as tall as I am, so it was rather cramped. At the top, a light source was embedded, a glowing stone which spilled uniform light at the room. At one side, there was a small hole in the wall, just big enough for a person to crawl through, Beyond the hole stretched a tunnel which was pitch black, and was composed of rough stone, the metal abruptly giving way. On one of the walls there was a series of engravings, the top one golden and reflecting the light. I shifted to get a better look. The moment I moved, the headache came back, just as nasty as it was before. Focusing my eyes on the engraving got me a sharp sting between the eyes, as if I stayed too late watching computer screens, but for three days straight. I looked at the engraving slowly, acclaiming to the pain. At the top was the golden symbol, which turned out to be a skull. Underneath were the forms of a man and a skeleton, locked in a battle. The skeleton was holding a scythe, which he was trying to attack the man with, who in turn was holding off the scythe with both his hands. Below this two figures were three more engravings. The first was of a man standing tall, his arms curled at his sides to show off his bulging biceps. Besides that was a man tied to a noose, hanging. The third and final one was another person, but instead of a head he had a misshapen lump from which some kind of fluid dripped out, like his brain was literally leaking. I took stock of myself. Beside the excruciating head ache, I was feeling well. I was wearing the same outfit I was training with ¨C that is to say, nothing but gym shorts and underpants, since I trained without a shirt and without shoes. My body looked healthy and fit, and I was with the same three day stubble I had. Exploring my ¡®beard¡¯ I discovered I had a scar running across the front of my neck, side to side. It was fully healed and the scar tissue was a fine line, but I could still feel it. It took me a long time to understand the cause. Remembering was hard, especially with the pounding headache, but I knew that I had no such scar before I arrived here. I vaguely remembered benching, and that I was having a great day. I was going to break my record. oh. Did I kill myself with the bar? Am I forever going to be remembered as ¡®man constructs makeshift guillotine, commits suicide¡¯? Well, it certainly doesn¡¯t seem that death is the end. Distinct lack of saint Peter in this afterlife, but better than the void, I suppose. I¡¯ll just have to explore and make the best out of what I got. I touched the glowing stone on the top of the room and it knocked loose, as if it was meant to be taken out of place. It was a round orb, equally luminescent all over its surface. I sat and waited till my headache subsided almost completely, only becoming warning twinges when I moved my head, like a bad hangover. When it was bearable, I started crawling down the hole in the wall, holding the glowing rock in front of me. I¡¯ll just call it a glowstone from now on. After a few minutes of crawling and scratching my chest on the rough floor the tunnel reached another opening. The air grew slightly chiller and fresher as I approached, which was welcome as I was sweating from crawling. Crawling is hard work. I crawled out and took a look around.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. It was a tunnel, high enough for a man to walk easily along. Pebbles littered the floor and the walls were uneven, rough rock. A smooth canal run across the floor, forming the look of a water formed tunnel, now dry. I finally got to my feet, patting dust off my shorts. Woah. Getting to my feet was ridiculously easy, like I was made of feathers. Or I was far stronger than I previously was. I checked out my quads, but they were looking the exact same as they were before ¨C that is to say, tear shaped and absolutely ravishing. I do a lot of squats, ok? There was one definite way to check if I was stronger, and I got on to the floor and held a planche, an exercise I never managed to do properly. This time, holding it was easy, though not for any long duration. I jumped to my feet again and flexed my bicep. They looked exactly the same as before, but I kissed them anyhow for good luck. I was going on an adventure, and I had my trusted guns with me. If only my headache went away, that would be perfect. I started to walk down the tunnel, glowstone lighting my way. Not having any shoes was a problem, as I had to carefully place my feet to avoid every last pebble, as my tender feet were not hard enough to ignore them. Soon enough, I turned a corner and spied a mouse, small and white. His small pink nose twitched as the light spilled on him, and he turned his red beady eyes towards me. He let out a ferocious squeak and rushed toward me, navigating between pebbles. What a cute mouse. Friendly, too. I bent down and stretched my arm out to him. ¡®Here, mickey mickey¡¯ I sang to him in a sweet voice. The mouse bit me, hard. I yelped and shook my hand, but the damn thing held on to my finger, scratching with his itty bitty claws. He managed to look cute even while chomping on my finger. I had to use my other hand to dislodge him, firmly opening up his jaw. I placed him down and gave him a poke on the nose. Bad mouse, I told him, but he didn¡¯t seem to care, struggling madly to be released. The moment I let go, he charged at me again, dodging my hand and going for my foot. He started to climb up, sharp claws gripping my leg. ¡®Get off!¡¯ I told him, and took a step back, landing on a pebble. I started jumping from the pain, obviously landing on more pebbles. The mouse kept on climbing, reaching my gym shorts and climbing underneath them. He was getting uncomfortably close to my Unmentionables, and I was hastily trying to get a grasp of him, but the bastard was slippery under my shorts. Soon I was holding him off inches away from the family jewels, the mouse biting away at my inner leg whenever he had the chance. A rough nibble was the last straw, and I firmly grasped the fiend with the shorts, and took the whole thing down, shorts and all. Hastily I got the squirming mess off my foot and flung it as far as I could. There I stood, naked but for my underpants, panting and sweating because of a diminutive mouse. What the hell was up with that thing? My whole inner thigh was filled with bite marks and scratches, but somehow none of them was bleeding. It seemed the mouse could not gain any purchase with his teeth, leaving only minor swelling. The mouse came crawling out of my pants, shaking his head in confusion. A concussion in trade for taking my dignity, not a bad trade. I approached the shorts carefully, wary of the fiend attacking me again. His red eyes didn¡¯t seem so cute now, and his whiskers vibrated maliciously as he sniffed the air. They smell fear, I thought, and chuckled. I wasn¡¯t afraid of the thing, but bravado or no I still approached it slowly, trying to shoo it with my hands. To my surprise, instead of immediately charging at me again, the mouse distanced himself from me, and started screeching while standing on his back legs. The noise was irritating and surprisingly loud from such a small creature. My headache flared again as the noise continued, and I hurriedly put my pants on while glaring at the creature. Any time I got closer, the mouse would go farther away and the moment he was at a safe distance, he started screeching again. I threw pebbles at him, and the mouse ignored me. One pebble even hit him straight on the noise, but he just shook his head for a second then kept right on screeching. ¡®Come here you bastard¡¯, I told him, and started to chase after him. Why was he acting like that? I have never seen or heard about an animal acting this way. Rabidly attacking a person is one thing, but this stranger behavior was unheard of. I had no chance of catching him. First, I had to traverse the rocky ground, full of pebbles, while he was small and could easily navigate his way around. Secondly, he was straight up faster than I was. You ever seen a mouse run to cover? These things pack a surprising amount of speed. I could outrun him, but I couldn¡¯t run, not on this terrain. As I got closer, he stopped his godawful screeching, run far enough that I had no hope of catching him, then started up like a siren. After a few minutes of this comical chase, I realized that I was hearing screeches even when the mouse was on the run. Far off, abrupt screeches were answering him, from both sides of the tunnel. The screeches grew louder and louder, as suddenly I saw a host of red eyes appear from the darkness. An army of mice. Chapter 2: harsh reality The mice advanced. There were a couple dozen of the small white mice, and dotted between them were brown mice, twice the size. Twice the size of tiny is still small, but their teeth were already a size that was no joking matter. Shivers run up my back. There¡¯s a particular feeling when man finds that nature overturned the tables. My ¡®intelligent¡¯ brain was convinced that mice were not dangerous ¨C they were much too small, and they could barely pierce my skin. At worst, my day to day reasoning considered them dirty plague bearers. But as the mice approached, unafraid, baser instincts were starting to raise their ugly head in me. When an animal doesn¡¯t run, it means they consider you a food source. The original mouse stopped his call, looking mighty pleased with himself. He gave one final squeak and started to circle me, joining the horde which formed an unmoving barrier of vermin. A circle of red eyes, staring me down. Waiting. Out of the darkness came a rat, and what a rat. I¡¯ve never been to New York, but I¡¯m sure this rat could compete with their best. The size of a trophy dog, with a strong and fat body. He let out a mocking shriek, and left his mouth open, as if laughing at me. His incisors were wicked sharp, a bone trap. I was starting to consider if this was the fun after life adventure I thought it was. I spread my arms, finding my balance, and started to shove away small pebbles with my feet. My main advantage was my height. These vermin will have to climb on top of me to do any real damage, so staying mobile was key. The rat let out a sharp shriek, and the encirclement collapsed on me. I was ready, striding toward one part of the circle and kicking out, catching out a bigger brown mouse in a classic football kick. The mouse was sent afloat, crumpling when he hit the wall, an audible crunch sounding out as his bones broke. I was too caught up in staring, and the mice reached my other foot, climbing and biting every toe they could. I strode forward and kicked again, swiping off mice that stuck on my feet with violent flailing of my hands. When the mice got hit by my hands, they went flying just as well as the foot-launched ones did, puny bodies crashing into walls. My strength kept suprising me, and most of the mice thrown off did not stand up again, or limped feebly on broken limbs. I was Goliath, and there was no David. Gulliver scaring the town folk. I was having fun, jumping from foot to foot and and smashing hapless rodents. I accidentally put my foot down on a mouse, and the poor creature squelched, his bones broken by my weight. Ew, but effective. I stamped my foot on another mice which wasn¡¯t fast enough to escape, and his fate was the same. Squelch. Maybe I should feel bad about enjoying rat squishing, maybe. But I was having the time of my life till my foot suddenly collapsed under me with sharp pain, unable to bear my weight. I dropped to the floor and stared with horror at my leg. The big rat clung to it, incisors stuck firmly inside my achilles. He released his teeth from my ankle, and I could see he has pierced cleanly through the tendon. shrieking at me, he rushed at my face, running on my body. Oh god. There was a David here. The town folk brought ropes. The rest of the mice were starting to climb on me, too. I struck wildly my hands, fending them off, and the big rat dodged my swipes and lunged at my neck. I managed to catch him, and he sunk his teeth into my hand as I took hold of him. I ignored the pain and squeezed, sticking his teeth even further into my hand. I maintained my death grip with one hand while warding the mice with the other. It¡¯s a stress ball, I told myself - a gripper. I turned my eyes away and squeezed the thing like a damn lemon. I heard a loud snap, and the rat¡¯s clawing and incessant squirming ceased as his neck broke. I let go, and he was stuck on my hand, holding from his teeth. It took a bit more mice flinging, but the horde died out. The final rabid attackers I grabbed one by one and smashed on the floor. I took in the scene, panting. Smashed mice corpses littered the floor, and I was covered with scratch and bite marks . My achilles was pierced through, the rat¡¯s teeth attacking the weakest section on my ankle ¨C that¡¯s the bit of flesh right beyond the tendon itself. The rat itself was on my hand, teeth stuck to the center of my hand. I extracted him gingerly, wincing at the doubled pain. His incisors were terrifyingly sharp, almost needles at their points. That was no normal rat teeth, oh no. They would put to shame snake fangs with their sharpness. My wounds weren¡¯t bleeding too bad, but god knows what diseases this mice had. I took my shorts off, careful not to upset my wounded ankle. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. I cut my shorts with the rat fangs. I marveled at how easily the fangs pierced the cloth, but still it took a while, as cutting cloth with a primitive needle instead of scissors isn¡¯t easy, but I managed. After binding my wounds I carefully got to my feet, putting weight on the injured foot. The foot screamed in pain, and I started to slowly shuffle away, rat corpse in hand. A pseudo knife was useful, even if it meant I needed to carry a dead rat around. My mood started to sour as I walked in pain. I was dirty, wounded, and still had a headache. Some afterlife. I must have been quite a sight, limping along with a dead rat in my hand, bright blue bindings on my wounds. I dimly reflected on the possibility of just sitting down, and waiting till something found me. There must be some civilization here, I reasoned. This tunnel looked natural, but the metal room I woke in was definitely not. The thoughts of another mice horde finding me kept me going, hoping to find something, anything. What I found was the sound of flowing water. I picked up my pace, limping as fast as I could. Soon, I reached a cave which opened up, a small pool in the middle of it. Another tunnel crisscrossed mine, this one with water still flowing in its channel. I rushed to the water and drank, before starting to clean my wounds. The water was clear and sweet, chilly but not cold. Perfect. I was absorbed in washing, making sure every last part of the wounds were clean and as clear as they could be from disgusting rat diseases. I stuck my foot into the water to clean it better, uncaring about dirtying the water. That was a mistake, as soon something small and sharp attacked my calf. Looking down, I discovered a small snake, attached to my foot. His scales were a dark blue, camouflaging him in the pool. I yelped and grabbed him, jerking him off my foot. The beast tried to bite my hand then, but I threw at the ground, then smashed it with the rat corpse, piercing it. The snake died, but the damage was already done. Two small holes in my calf, and a dark fluid seeped from them. In the pool, I saw another form moving in my direction, hiding in the pool¡¯s depth. I climbed to my feet in a panic and limped as far as I could. Behind me, a snake slithered on shore, staring at me from a distance. I have to escape, I thought. I was no longer fit to fight anything in this crazy place. Snakes in the water and murder rats everywhere else. Luckily, the snake didn¡¯t follow, preferring the safety of his pool. As I stole glances behind me, I could see his form disappearing in the darkness, still staring at me. I walked till he disappeared, then walked a few more minutes, just to be sure, then I collapsed, resting on the wall of the tunnel. My calf was red and enflamed, purple with engorged blue veins where the snake bit me. As I watched, I could see veins farther from the wound grow blue, as my whole leg slowly turned a sick purple. I lay my head back and sighed. I was done for. I could barely walk, and walk where? This whole place was a death trap. I closed my eyes for a second, and now that I was resting I discovered how tired I was. Against my will, I drifted to sleep.
My leg was burning. I touched it and shied away, for touch was pain, searing pain that overwhelmed my senses. I clenched my hand, focusing on my fingernails digging in so I won¡¯t cry out. Why not cry out? I didn¡¯t know. All was pain. consciousness released me.
I drifted, shaking awake with pain, then sleeping once more. ¡®I¡¯ll be good¡¯ I begged. ¡®I don¡¯t need my gym. I¡¯ll stay quarantined.¡¯ My father turned to face me. His hair was blonde and the fat folds on his face merged with his neck. He was on the ground next to me, dragging his obese body. ¡®I want every American to be prepared for the hard days that lie ahead,¡¯ he said, the fat splitting to reveal a mouth of circular teeth. ¡®How¡¯s your diet, honey?¡¯ asked my mother, from far above. I yearned to look at her, but could not. No matter how high I looked, she was higher. ¡®Listen to your mother.¡¯ Said my father, crawling closer. ¡®You want to be thin, don¡¯t you?¡¯ My mother laughed, and it was the shriek of a rat.
An angel¡¯s face filled my vision. Black hair framed her face, which within golden eyes twinkled at me. I was feverish, sweaty and moaning in pain. ¡®Help me¡¯, I moaned at her, and she touched my forehead, saying nothing. Her hand was cool against my hot skin. In her other hand she held a knife, and with a smile she slit my throat.
Cold, harsh metal against my cheek. I woke with a gasp.