《Life Is Just A Game》


 Chapter 1: The Dawn of a New Age

    The day had finally arrived. The promised day that had been foretold by many great philosophers of the past. Also, by an ancient civilisation, praised by many as unparalleled mystics, and more scientifically evolved than any others - of their time. A day in which no one truly knew the outcome.


    Many believed it to be the end of all. Others argued it was not the end of everything, just merely the end of humankind. Some, even hypothesised that it was not the end at all, but merely the beginning¡­ Of a new age. An age in which humanity will ascended beyond their physical bodies, and experience a new life,that they could not even fathom with their mind¡¯s chained down by the laws of the three dimensions.


    Unfortunately for a one: Wilfrid Willington Wine - fourth of his name, nothing had happened so far. The sun still shined, the wind still blew, and the ground beneath his feet still held strong.


    Wilfrid rubbed the sleep induced crust out of his eye¡¯s, and stared at the mechanical clock beside his bed.


    ¡°Twenty past seven, huh¡­¡± Wilfrid sighed to himself, as he stared intently at the two hands of the circular time-telling device.


    He rose from his creaking bed and marched slowly towards the calendar, dangling from the iron nail protruding from his bedroom door. The correct month was already present on the front of the paper calender. His eyes quickly found their target. Thanks to his routine of marking every passing day with a red cross, all he had to do was find the untouched number next to a crossed-out number. He exhaled deeply at his discovery...


    ¡°Yep¡­ It¡¯s the twenty-first of December. Damn... I¡¯m glad the world is still here; I am, Not like I wanted to die of anythin¡¯. But, I was at least hoping something magical would happen, like those supposed no-it-alls on the internet claimed would happen..¡± He complained to the still wind.


    He wasn¡¯t distraught by his realisation, just disappointed. Like many teenagers of this age, Wilfrid was bored. Even though the amount of entertainment that was available in the modern world couldn¡¯t even be compared to as early as one-hundred years ago, kids actually were more bored than ever.


    The abundance of movies, TV shows, games, and even books, all portrayed lives more exciting than the viewer¡¯s. Now we live in a society in which the children all dream of lives they can¡¯t possible obtain.


    However, it was different for Wilfrid. He was born and raised on a farm in a town that know one had ever heard of. His house had only one TV - with a mere five channels. His only access to the World Wide Web was by riding his bike to the local library, which was almost never open. His choice of books at home were limited to one of a holy nature, and another one that was nothing but a thousand pages of words and their meanings. On the rare occasions the library propped open its doors, he would use their long outdated computer or an hour, and then leave with a worn-out book in his hands.


    His desire for change stemmed simply from boredom. All his days were spent sleeping, eating, and tending to the farm animals. His routine was once livened up by presence of school, but that ended months ago, and his father forbade him of a college life. He now was just nothing more than a helping hand on his dad¡¯s lowly farm.


    His father and brothers would beat him if they even sniffed Wilfrid¡¯s desire to leave his hometown for a more exciting life.


    So here Wilfrid stayed. An overweight sixteen year old, who only found entertainment at the bottom of a packet of crisps. His only prospects were to find a local girl to marry and work on the farm for his eldest brother, until his body turns in the soil he toils. Now the half-hearted hope of a doomsday prophecy coming true, had abandoned him.


    His mood lightened slightly, when it occurred to him that he should at least check the news, before he completely extinguishes his fighting flame.


    He quickly dashed down his stairs. In nothing but a pair of boxing shorts, and the hot scent of morning breath escaping his lips. He gritted his teeth in annoyance, at the feeling of his flabby stomach and chest bouncing with each step.


    His dusty living room was vacant. His father and siblings were most likely already out in the farm. He dove arse first into his monochrome settee, clutched the remote that jumped slightly in the air from the impact, and then proceeded to turned on the television in front of him.


    He stared at the dirty glass screen for about twenty minutes, before finally giving up.


    As he got up in search of breakfast, his thoughts trailed back to the disappointment he just recently witnessed. A story about a cat, a geese infestation, and a murder of some bloke in America, was his reward for his hope.


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    *  *  *  *  *


    The icy breeze of a winter¡¯s afternoon tickled the hairs on Wilfrid¡¯s skin. He was in the tattered barn, located at the corner of his father¡¯s land. He was there milking the cows. Well, he was watching the great machines strapped to the dull beasts suck out their lactose juice. There was no actual need for him to personally milk the cows, that would be way too time consuming - not to mention uncomfortable for both parties.


    After the cows had been successfully milked, Wilfrid wiped the hot sweat from his brow. As a gesture of a hard days work - of sitting on a stool for hours and staring at cows.


    As Wilfrid left the barn and made his journey back towards his house, he noticed the faint ticking noise originating from his left wrist. The old watched strapped to his wrist by a leather strap, told him the time was forty-two minutes past four. Luckily he wasn¡¯t late for anything. Mostly because there was nothing to be late for. So, with nothing but time as his companion, Wilfrid maintained his slow trot - towards his home.


    *  *  *  *  *


    Wilfrid was once again sat upon his living room settee. His face deadpan, as he watched some show about strangers cooking food for other strangers. The program only managed to attract the bare minimum of his attention.


    The eccentric man, attempting to make a fancy food dish Wilfrid had never heard of, was not enough to distract him from the mild ticklish sensation on his right arm.


    He moved his right arm up to his eyes and stared. Almost hidden in the bristles of blacks hairs, was a spider. A tiny black thing. So small its legs could barely be seen, if it wasn¡¯t for the fact it was moving, someone would easily dismiss it as a new freckle.


    Wilfrid didn¡¯t recoil at the sight of the eight legged creature invading his body. As a farm boy, he was used to all sorts of bugs and vermin. A creature of this size, got nothing more than a unenthusiastic slap.


    *WHACK*


    Wilfrid struck his right arm with his left palm, crushing the beast that dwelled beneath. As he went to inspect the remains of the arachnid, he was slightly confused to find that both his hand and arm were empty. Wilfrid was positive he had hit it, but there was nothing. For the briefest moment, he could have sworn he saw a small puff of smoke for a fraction of a second.


    In the end, he simply decided that a spider that small would probably cause such little splatter, he just wasn¡¯t able to see it.


    With that investigation over, Wilfrid returned his attention back to the television in front of him.


    ¡°Hey Willy! Be a good little lad an¡¯ turn on news, will ya.¡± Said a gruff voice from behind Wilfrid.


    He groaned internally at the newcomers presence. The voice belonged to his eldest brother: Keith. A slow-witted man that was built like a brick house - and looked like one too.


    Not bothering to answer his brother, Wilfrid just merely complied with his new order, and switched the channel.


    He saw in the corner of his eyes, Keith walking around the settee, and placing that giant arse of his on the cushion beside Wilfrid.


    ¡°What¡¯s occurin¡¯ Keith?¡± Wilfrid asked.


    ¡°I dno¡­ I was out in town earlier, and our Maggie said that some right weird shit goin¡¯ down in the world right now; therei is.¡± The brute replied.


    ¡°What kinda weird shit?¡± The runt of the litter inquired.


    ¡°I dno, ya drip. That¡¯s why I asked you to put the news on.¡± He informed WIlfrid, in a voice akin to the sound of a cement mixer full of gravel.


    Deciding that it was pointless to reply to his older brother¡¯s insult, Wilfrid sat silently and watched the news.


    ¡°- We don¡¯t know what is quite happening yet. But what we can tell right now, is that all livestock that have been slaughtered in these past fews hours, have all turned into some kind of blue smoke¡­


    There have also been several recent reports, that claim people who have died from approximately 11am, GMT, have also turned into a pale blue smoke; as well.


    We have no idea what this means¡­ But¡­ I¡­ We are confused¡­ *SIGH* Ladies and gentlemen, I: Katie Smith, on this day, that many nut jobs claimed to be the end of the world¡­ Am very scared-¡±


    Wilfrid smiled...

 Chapter 2: Intoxication

    ¡°What a load of shite!¡± Yelled Keith. ¡°Ain''t no one be turnin¡¯ into smoke when they keel over. Fuckin¡¯ news will talk any rubbish to get people to watch these days.¡± He continued, as he made his way out of the living room door in disgust.


    Wilfrid didn''t respond to Keith¡¯s behaviour. Nay, he didn''t even notice that his brother had left the place beside him. His mind was now only fixated on one thing. One incomprehensible, unbelievable, darn right ridiculous, thing.


    The predictions had been right after all. However, Wilfrid didn¡¯t remember reading anything about a theory that the living will turn into smoke when they die. Maybe this was the ascension concept that some people believed to be the outcome of this day.


    In truth, Wilfrid had actually already forgotten about the great prophecy, that was foretold on this day. He never allowed himself to get too excited for this day, because the chances of anything out of the ordinary happening were laughable low. Thanks to his low expectation, he was able to easily brush of his bitter disappointment when the event (or lack of) came.


    In all of his short life, Wilfrid had never been so happy. His forgetfulness of the foreshadowing on this day, made him feel like he had just experienced an early super Christmas.


    His heart pounded, and the muscles in his face stretched in pleasure. Chemicals pumped through his body like class-A drugs.


    After a few minutes in his blissful trance, Wilfrid awoke. His rationality cropped up once more, and calmed his beating heart.


    - Let¡¯s not get too hasty now, Will. This could be one great big hoax, or just some weird but perfectly rational event¡­ They said that it only happens when someone, something dies¡­ So, I guess the only way to find out, is¡­ Is to kill something - Wilfrid solemnly thought to himself.


    The thought oddly disturbed him. He had killed many things before without even batting an eyelid. Most of which were much bigger than that spider from earlier. On rare occasions, on the farm, he would be tasked with slaughtering an animal - or two. Or putting a ill beast out its misery. But this was different¡­There was always a reason for killing things in the past. Even a reason as stupid a fly buzzing too loud. That to him however, seemed more justifiable than killing something for nothing but pure pleasure.


    As his mind was a turmoil of morals and emotions, he eventually found peace in seeing it as a mere scientific experiment. He wasn¡¯t killing something for fun, but for the good of science. It was a faulty excuse, Wilfrid knew that well, but it was enough for him to sate his sense of right and wrong.


    With his conviction now etched into his heart, Wilfrid ran out of his, in search of prey.


    * * * * *


    It didn¡¯t take him long until he found a decent sized spider. Wilfrid knew this land like the back of his hand. Which also meant he had a pretty good idea where certain types of unwanted pests lurked. The spider in front of him dwarfed the one that earlier lived on his arm. In fact, even Wilfrid was slightly unnerved by this behemoth. The thing was thick and fat, almost as big as Wilfrid''s callus clad hands.


    After staring at the creature for several seconds, Wilfrid cursed. He suddenly realised that he hadn¡¯t brought any tool with him to squash the monster. He left in such a hurry, he didn''t have his shoes with him. His feet ached and burned from the cold. The pain didn''t other him though, the pain was easily pushed to the back of his mind - replaced with sheer excitement.


    Afraid that the spider will disappear in the time it would take for him to find a weapon, he was left with no choice but to use his own body. Wilfrid was uncomfortable touching a spider of this great size. He almost risked losing it by leaving, but the thought of why he was doing this in the first place flashed through his mind.


    If what he saw on the TV was true, he couldn''t let some insignificant little thing delay him from finding the truth.


    He exhaled deeply for a moment, and struck. Unlike the casually slap from earlier, this was a powerful jab of his left fist. Those few boxing lessons he had when he was a kid, were still fresh in his muscles.


    Wilfrid physically cringed when he felt the hard dry skin on his knuckles, get drenched in a warm ooze, of various textures.


    However, the feeling left as quick as it came. The sight of a small puff of cerulean fog, felt¡­ Orgasmic. The smoke only lasted of a second at most, before mixing and becoming one with the air - vanishing from the eyes of mortals.


    In a moment before the smoke vanished, he felt the warm vapour cling to his skin. The feeling was slight, but it felt nice, relaxing, and weirdly energising.


    ¡°HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA¡­ IT¡¯S REAL!... IT¡¯S REAL! IT¡¯S REALLY FUCKIN¡¯ REAL..!¡± Wilfrid roared at the night sky.


    * * * * *


    Wilfrid ate the wheat-based cereal with a melancholy enthusiasm. His right, devoid of a spoon, crept its way to his face, and clung to his eye. He winced in pain, his cold hand offered little numbness to the stinging sensation.


    He remember how he got his black eye very clearly. After discovering the blue smoke was most indeed real, he lost himself in ecstasy causing him to laugh way too hard, and way too loud. His dad had heard him and came to investigate what Wilfrid was making so much racket for. When Wilfrid told about his discovery, his father simply yelled at him. When Wilfrid tried to prove it to his father, by looking for another bug to kill, his father thought he was on some kind of drug, and proceeded to beat him black & blue.


    Ever since then, his dad had watched him a hawk - now unable to further learn more about this new death phenomenon.


    Wilfrid stared at his dissolved breakfast and sighed.


    * * * * *


    Seven more days passed since Wilfrid¡¯s eye had swelled and coloured into a gross purple colour. This was the day he planned to go into town, to learn more about the blue smoke. His father had lost interest in him, and enough time had passed for this strange occurrence to affect the whole population.


    Wilfrid was desperate to learn more. The day after he heard on the news about the blue smoke, his only television had mysteriously broke. So, for the past week, he had conjured all of his patience and waited. Now, he was finally being rewarded for it.


    As he put on his waterproof coat and placed his wool gloves on his fingers, he heard a noise. The noise was faint so he had to strain his ears to be able to make out even a sliver of its contents. It sounded like shouting from a great distance away. Wilfrid had a bad feeling creep up his spine.


    He hurriedly went down the stairs, missing a few by jumping most of the way down like a cat. He grabbed his rucksack that was next to the front door, and left.


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    Confusion and curiosity invaded his senses. At the far end of his dad¡¯s land was his dad, brothers, and what looked like an angry mob. Wilfrid hesitantly marched towards the group of people.


    He was now only a mere fifty feet away from the group. He was dismayed to see, upon closer inspection, his dad and brothers all held weapons in their hands. Dad had the hunting rifle, and his brothers both gripped the two shotguns his dad normally has looked up in a cabinet.


    ¡°I¡¯ll say it again¡­ Get the fuck off my land.¡± Wilfrid heard his father say. It wasn''t a pleasant, nor unpleasant tone, and that terrified Wilfrid. His father¡¯s natural speaking voice was very loud and aggressive. Only when he truly got mad, did he voice sound like that of a normal person¡¯s.


    ¡°You can¡¯t do this Wilfrid! We¡¯re stavin¡¯; we are! All the meat has gone, and we¡¯re running low on other foods.¡± Protested a man called James Gilley, a local policemen.


    ¡°That¡¯s your own faults.You see some queer shit on the news, an¡¯ you all lose your God damn minds.¡± His father retorted.


    ¡°Anyone would get scared seeing the crazy shit that¡¯s now happen¡¯ in the world!¡± Yelled Patrick the Postman, who was standing next to James.


    ¡°We''ve got children who are starving!¡± Yelled a woman in the crowd. A chorus of agreement could be heard from all mouths in the mob.


    ¡°Not my problem.¡± Wilfrid the third huffed.


    ¡°How can you be so cruel?!¡±


    ¡°You an¡¯ your family are monsters!¡±


    ¡°I say we just take their livestock by force!¡±


    ¡°Yeah!¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s do it!¡±


    *BANG*


    All went silent. The deafening sound of a shotgun blast, shattered their spirits like glass.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you fuck right off! You ¡®eard me dad. He ain¡¯t givin¡¯ ya shit. He warned you about food a week ago, an¡¯ none of you lot listened; did ya?¡± Shouted Wilfrid''s second eldest brother, Henry - who was also responsible for the shotgun fire.


    The crowd didn''t respond, but if looks could kill, the Wilfrid and his entire family would have collapsed a long time ago.


    Just before the angry mob was about the give up, one of them noticed the youngest son, stood a distance away from them.


    ¡°How can talk down to us about food, when your little one is so fuckin¡¯ fat!¡± Yelled the friendly neighbourhood policeman, as he pointed at his new target of interest.


    ¡°Me boy¡¯s always bin a fat sack of potatoes. You think a couple days of less food, would suddenly make ¡®im skinny?¡± His father asked.


    Wilfrid¡¯s cheeks flushed red and he hanged his head in shame.


    The policeman grumbled in protest, but he knew Wilfrid¡¯s logic was sound, so he held his tongue.


    A sudden gurgled scream ate the air. The sound came from the barn. All eyes looked in the same direction.


    ¡°Willy, go look in the barn. See what¡¯s what.¡± His father commanded.


    ¡°But-¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t but me, boy. Not at a time like this. Take that pitchfork next to ya.¡±


    ¡°O-okay, dad.¡±


    Wilfrid reluctantly yanked the pitchfork, several feet away from him, out of the ground. It came out with little resistance. He gripped it so tightly, his knuckles turned white.


    ¡°What ya waitin¡¯ for? A kiss goodbye? Get out of here.¡± His father bellowed.


    Wilfrid immediately complied and jogged towards the barn.


    As he got closer, and his breathing got more ragged. He heard several more primal groans come from the barn. Gathering all of his courage, Wilfrid yanked open the barn door and ran inside.


    It was a slaughter house.


    Several pigs lied half dead on the straw floor. All squealing in pain and confusion. The rest screamed and ran in circles. Even as the horror invaded Wilfrid¡¯s senses, he was still able to notice that about a third of the pigs were missing - and he had  a pretty good idea as to why.


    In the centre of the room was a large man. Thick arms and a protruding gut, suggested this man was used heavy lifting and heavy drinking. His body was covered in blood and guts. His hands wielded a knife and cleaver.


    What disturbed Wilfrid the most was the man¡¯s face. His lips were curled up in sheer joy, and eyes shouted wonders. Wilfrid just managed to notice a faint haze of smoke surround the man, before it disappeared. No, it didn¡¯t disappear. It looked like the man¡¯s body was absorbing the vapour cloud.


    ¡°I¡¯M SO FUUUUUUL!¡± The man roared at the barn¡¯s ceiling.


    Wilfrid recognized that voice. It was the owner of Ned¡¯s Butchers¡­ Ned.


    ¡°Ned..?¡± Wilfrid foolishly asked.


    The man¡¯s head suddenly sprang forward, now staring at the boy.


    ¡°My-my, if it isn¡¯t lil¡¯ Willy¡­ What you doin¡¯ ¡®ere?¡± He inquired innocently.


    ¡°T-this is my barn¡­¡± Wilfrid stuttered in response.


    ¡°Oh¡­ So it is. Forget where I was for a second¡­¡± He began to stare around the barn in confusion.


    Wilfrid rubbed his eyes for a second, in an attempt to see if he would be able to comprehend this situation.


    ¡°Hey Willy boy! Killin¡¯ these pigs feel so good! I haven¡¯t feel this good in years¡­ Ya think I¡¯d feel even better, if I killed something with a little more fight in it?¡±


    Wilfrid jumped back. In the seconds he rubbed his eyes, the large burly man had managed to close the distance between them, so quickly and silently.


    ¡°Erm...I dno, Ned¡­¡± He responded. Deciding it was best to humour the large man.


    ¡°Hmmmm¡­ I think it will¡­¡± Ned pondered, like he was in deep thought. ¡°Say Willy?¡± He stared down at the much shorter boy.


    ¡°Y-yes Ned?¡±


    ¡°Try not to squeal too loudly, now will ya...¡±

 Chapter 3: The Butchers day off

    Wilfrid ran. A trail of anguished screams followed his every step.


    ¡°Hey! What¡¯d I say ¡®bout squealin¡¯!?¡± The butcher rhetorically asked, in an mildly annoyed tone.


    Wilfrid didn''t respond to the deranged man, he couldn''t even if he wanted to. His mouth expelled nothing but bursts of hot air. Wilfrid cursed his own body. He had only ran about one hundred feet so far, and he already ached. The air in his lungs had long abandoned him.


    He inhaled as much air as he could. ¡°Help¡­ Help!¡± He managed to escape from his lips, in between the flurry of pained breathing.


    But no one heard him¡­ There was the no one there. His father, Henry, Keith, not even a trace of the once lively mob. -Where the hell ¡®ave they gone?- He thought to himself.


    ¡°Hey Willy?¡± Someone asked, from right behind him.


    Wilfrid immediately turned his head around, not bothering to process whose voice it might have been.


    It was Death¡¯s...


    ¡°Caught ya!¡± Said Ned, in triumphant. He raised the arm that gripped the blood-stained cleaver, and swung it down again. With a precision and speed, that would put a woodcutter''s axe technique to shame.


    Wilfrid didn''t have many things he was proud of. He was short, fat, slow, and while stronger than the average sixteen year old, his strength was easily dwarfed by many others he knew. He was slightly proud of his intelligence, but it wasn''t particularly amazing. He knew if he lived somewhere in which the common man didn''t only think about how to cook their potatoes, or make love to their turnip-shaped wives, his brain wouldn''t stand out at all. However, there was something he knew he had which would always be special, no matter where he goes... His eyes.


    Wilfrid¡¯s monochrome eyes were awarded the title of 20/20 vision. This meant that he could see anything clearly at a distance of twenty feet. And while this was impressive, it wasn''t what made them abnormal. Neither did his above average peripheral vision, depth perception, eye coordination. His power was the amount of frames his eyes could perceive.


    It was difficult to properly measure how many frames a person could see - since it was all very relative. Wilfrid didn¡¯t realise he had this ability, until twelve years old. He thought it was normal to wave his hand back & forth, and see every twitch, sway, and flick. Or watch a car race, and be able to see every minute detail of the car - like it was barely moving at all. He was able to amaze many of his fellow pupils in school, by correctly guessing what side a coin will land, every time. Because of his eyes, in activities like boxing or rounders, he was able to hold his own against his much more skilled and stronger peers.


    Thanks to his keen eyesight, Wilfrid was able to see and dodge the fatal slash of the crimson blade. Abandoning all grace, he flung his body forward, and tumbled to the ground. Luckily, his body was only dealt minor damage from the fall, due to the thick bedding of grass, and Wilfrid¡¯s abundance of fat - cushioning the blow. Unfortunately, Wilfrid had sustained pain from somewhere. He felt warm wet beads of liquid trickle down his back, shortly followed by a prickly stinging sensation.


    Wilfrid placed his left hand on his back, in search of the source. He winced in pain when his hand found a large damp patch on his upper back. He was pretty sure he knew what it was, but he checked his left hand for residue. Blood¡­ Just as he thought. Even if his eyes had seen the attack, that doesn''t necessarily mean he would be able to move swiftly enough to dodge the blow.


    Wilfrid once again cursed his bloated body. At least he was able to move quickly enough to turn the fatal blow into a minor wound. At least, Wilfrid hoped it was minor.


    ¡°You¡¯re faster than you look, Willy-boy.¡± His attacker complimented.


    -Shit!- Wilfrid yelled internally. He was so caught up inspecting his wound, he had momentarily forgotten about the person who gave it to him.


    It was tempting to just remain on the soft cool grass, and wait for his inevitable demise. Though Wilfrid knew deep down that he couldn''t do that. It was him who wished for the world to change, to become more exciting, and he got his wish. So he didn¡¯t have the right to give up on life any more.


    Ignoring the stinging pain from his back, Wilfrid pressed his palms onto the ground and pushed up. He rose slowly and sluggishly. Luckily, for some reason the butcher wasn¡¯t attacking him. He grabbed the pitchfork he dropped when he fell, and stared at his adversary.


    His opponent, outweighed him, most of which looked to be muscle. He held weapons that he had been using to carve meat, since before Wilfrid was born. His ugly face boasted a gross confidence.


    ¡°Seems like you ain¡¯t gonna run away no more. Good, I feel like ¡®avin a good tussle. Slaughterin¡¯ pigs gets ol¡¯ real fast. ¡± Grinned Ned.


    Wilfrid buried his fatigue, pain, and fear. He had never killed someone before, and while he never really liked Ned, he didn¡¯t want to kill him. It seemed he had no choice... It was either him or Ned. Flight had failed him, so his only option left was to fight.


    Wilfrid¡¯s forearms bulged from the amount of force he summoned in his grip. He aimed the rusted prongs of the giant fork at the butcher, and waited.


    ¡°You sure be a lazy one, Willy-boy. Standin¡¯ there all still like you got a rod in your backside¡­ Fine, I¡¯ll go first.¡± Said the butcher, as he brandished his blades. It frustrated Wilfrid that Ned was treating this like a game, like he wasn¡¯t a threat.


    The brute of a man suddenly charged at Wilfrid with a speed that didn¡¯t suit his build.


    Wilfrid watched the butcher. He knew he was too slow and unfit to hit Ned to defeat him with speed. So he tried patience instead.


    The butcher was upon him in an instant. His arms were fast as whips. He swung the blades from his sides - like a crab''s pincer. It seemed that Ned was underestimating WIlfrid too much. He was wasting a lot of precious milliseconds on those wide swings of his. While he was certainly much faster than Wilfrid, his blades were no more than ten inches in length, and he had chosen the most time consuming arc of movement possible.


    Wilfrid bent his knees slightly, lowered his head, and arched his back. He pulled the pitchfork back, and waited... And waited... And waited...


    -FIRE!-


    The five foot farming tool far exceeded the reach of Ned¡¯s knives. WIlfrid''s muscles bulged from the amount of strength he placed in his thrust. The blunt prongs slammed into their target like a harpoon. The force of the blow numbed Wilfrid¡¯s hands - it felt like he had just stabbed a slab of concrete. His foe slumped over in pain. It was a close call. Wilfrid saw in peripheral vision that Ned¡¯s blades were less than an inch from disembowelling him before he struck the butcher.


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    ¡°ARGH!¡± Ned yelped. ¡°That fuckin¡¯ hurt! Ya little shit!¡± He roared at Wilfrid.


    Wilfrid inspected the tip of his weapon¡¯s spikes. As he thought... He saw a thick wine-coloured liquid cover about an inch of the tips. It seemed their fight was far from over.


    While temporarily distracted, the butcher charged.


    Wilfrid noticed too late, and was slammed onto the ground. Ned¡¯s face now hovered over his own. His once gleeful expression was now replaced with a vengeful rage.


    ¡°I gonna fuckin cut ya Willy!¡± He spat. Wilfrid was unsure whether he meant him , or the thing in between his thighs. Either way, it didn¡¯t bode well for him.


    The butcher had dropped his knives when he crouched in pain. So, with no weapon but his own hands, be proceeded to pummel Wilfrid into oblivion. It reminded Wilfrid of his run-ins with the school bully.


    Wilfrid¡¯s face burned at the rapid swelling that took place. He felt his nose shatter from what felt like a jack-hammer. He could no longer see, his eyelids inflated and his pupils were flooded with tears. His lip busted several times over.


    His fighting spirit abandoned him, and his consciousness began to fade from existence. As the flurry of punches continued to rain down on his, he embraced death. It was actually surprisingly calm, just like going to sleep after a hard day of work.


    *BANG*


    The onslaught suddenly stopped. Wilfrid returned to reality and opened his eyes, or at least tried to. His eyes had swelled too much to truly see. All they could muster was a sliver of blurry colours. Even without his vision, Wilfrid could tell Ned was still on top of him, due to his great weight, but for some reason he had stopped moving.


    Deciding not to waste this opportunity, Wilfrid mustered whatever strength he had left and threw the butcher off himself.


    In a panic, he searched the ground for something to finish of his foe. With his eyes almost completely useless he had no choice but to rely on nothing but his sense of touch.


    He felt something hard and cool kiss his fingertips. He gripped the object and groaned at his stupidity. His hand now bled freely, from gripping the knife''s blade too tightly. With no time to ponder his idiocy, he searched for the blades handle.


    It took less than a second for Wilfrid to now have the knife positioned correctly in his hand. He scanned his surroundings and found the blurry blob that was Ned the butcher. He spat out the blood and phlegm that had been gathering in his mouth, and crawled.


    He was now hunched over Ned¡¯s motionless, but still breathing, body. Using the last drops of adrenaline he had left, he plunged the blade into Ned¡¯s bulbous stomach. And again¡­ Add again¡­


    Lost in the hot passion of the moment, Wilfrid continued to butcher the butcher. The feeling and sound of the blade sliding through Ned¡¯s stomach, made Wilfrid¡¯s stomach churn.


    After about the eighteen strike, the body suddenly vanished from existence. In its stead was now a hazy blue fog, that enveloped Wilfrid. His skin seemed to soak up the strange vapour like a sponge.


    It felt awesome, simply awesome. It was like being injected with steroids and heroin at the same time, or at least, WIlfrid imagined the feelings would be similar. He felt his body become, stronger, lighter, and weirdly smarter. He also felt less hungry, which was an odd side effect.


    ¡°Wilfrid¡­ Son, can you hear me?¡± Asked a gruff voice.


    ¡°D-dad?¡± Wilfrid choked, barely able to speak with his inflated lips and fluid filled mouth.


    ¡°That¡¯s right, son. It¡¯s your ol¡¯ dad. Jesus! You look like shit!¡± His father cried.


    ¡°Fweel ¡®ike, it be ¡®onest¡­¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s be gettin¡¯ you out of here. More of those bastards will be showin¡¯ up; I reckon!¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°No time to explain! Can you stand?¡± His father asked.


    Wilfrid slowly got to his feet, his legs buckled, and he immediately feel back to the icy ground.


    ¡°Shit!¡± His father cursed. ¡°Okay-¡±


    Wilfrid suddenly felt a great strength lift him from the ground. He was awestruck. His father had always been a strong man, but not strong enough to lift his eighteen stone self.


    Wilfrid became even more stupefied as he laid upon his dad¡¯s shoulder, and felt him begin to jog.


    He laid motionlessly on his father¡¯s broad shoulder, in an attempt to be less of a burden. In the distance, he could once again hear the sound of a chorus of angry voices.


    ¡°Fuck!¡± His father cursed, again.


    WIlfrid heard what sounded like his dad opening his house''s front door. Without pausing for a second, he continued to run through the house, making his way down to the cellar.


    In the dark cellar of the Wilton Wine¡¯s household, was a secret hatch, that lead to an underground room. Wilfrid was confused when he heard his father open something that sounded like a door of some kind. No one apart from his father, knew this underground bunker existed.


    Wilfrid bounced up and and down slightly, as his dad carried him down some foreign stairs. They creaked loudly, like they¡¯d break at any second. The rocking of the steps stopped. He felt his father take hold of him in his powerful hands and place him on the ground.


    ¡°Stay here, son. There¡¯s plenty of food, water, an'' medicine for ya.¡± His father told him, in a sweet voice that didn''t suit him.


    ¡°W-wh-where am a da''?¡± Wilfrid croaked.


    ¡°You¡¯re safe, my boy. I¡¯ve to go now, I¡¯ll see you later.¡±


    ¡°B-bu-¡±


    ¡°Shhh, son. Promise me you¡¯ll stay here until you run out of water.¡± His father interjected


    ¡°But¡­¡±


    ¡°Promise me!¡± He demanded.


    ¡°... I pwomise, dad.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a good boy¡­ I¡¯ve got to go now. I¡¯ll see ya later¡± Wilfrid felt his father¡¯s presence begin to disappear.


    ¡°Dad!¡± Wilfrid squeaked.


    ¡°Get some rest, Willy. I''l be back by the time you wake up... I love you.¡±


    Wilfrid heard his father reclimb the rocky steps, and bolt it shut. That was the first time he ever heard his father say those words...


    Wilfrid tried to get to his feet, but failed miserably . As he laid on the ground, he decided to obey his dad¡¯s orders, and get some rest.


    The tension in Wilfrid¡¯s body began to vanish. All that was eventually left were warm aches, and blissful dreams..

 Chapter 4: Waiting for Tomorrow

    It wasn''t until about two days had passed, that Wilfrid had finally awoke from his pain induced slumber. At least, he believed two days had passed. Trapped in a room with no sunlight, made it impossible to appreciate time¡¯s presence.


    His only hint was the analogue clock on one of the bunker¡¯s walls. It was around 10am when Wilfrid left his house, and the whole fiasco with the mob and the butcher ensued. According to the dusty clock, it was 7:22am. That meant it a day had definitely gone by, but Wilfrid felt like more time had passed than just one measly day.


    His evidence for this was the excruciatingly painful empty void that was his stomach. The cold damp that lurked around his crotch, was his second clue. His final clue was the various soft and hard textures he could feel moving around in his underwear.


    ¡°Yup¡­ I shit myself.¡± He nodded to himself, after taking a deep sniff of the air.


    He began to waddle around the room in search of a means to clean himself of his unwanted bodily fluids.


    It didn''t take long for Wilfrid to discover a cardboard box, that was propped up on a shelf, full of toilet paper. He began his gruelling task of cleaning himself, one wipe at a time.


    His tasked eventually led him to find a bottle of water, soap, a towel and a cheap body deodorant.


    He took off all his clothes, as they were all caked in dirt and the the smell of dry sweat. He rubbed his body down with the bar of soap. He didn''t neglect a single spot on his tanned skin. Wilfrid even lathered his hands and rubbed the residue into his wavy greasy hair.


    After the soap dwindled to half its original size, Wilfrid then placed the contents of the water bottle onto his lubricated body. Although he tried to conserve the liquid, Wilfrid ended up using the entire amount of water that was in the two litre bottle.


    After he had washed the soap of his body, and sprayed his body with an abundance of deodorant, he then went off on a journey for fresh clothes.


    He scavenged through the vast amount of boxes located on the shelf. In his search he found several boxes full of water, magazines, pens & paper, fire starting tools, torches, batteries medicine, and finally clothes.


    The clothes were plain in colour, but they looked warm and durable. Not a single item was smaller than a XXL, because no in Wilfrid¡¯s family was.


    First, Wilfrid put on a pair of black boxer shorts, then green cargo pants, a long-sleeved grey jumper, and white wool socks. Wilfrid must have lost some weight recently. He used to be too big for a mere XXL item, but now the clothing he wore managed to surrounded his entire body, albeit very tightly.


    Now that his body was once again clean and warm, it was dinner time. Wilfrid searched the untouched boxes with an enthusiasm of a whimsical street urchin.


    He found a box full of beef jerky, hard biscuits and raisins. He devoured a third of the boxes contents, until he remember the importance of rationing resources.


    Not sure what to do with himself now, Wilfrid began to wander around the room in search of something to amuse him.


    He saw a calendar below the clock, and marked off what he believed the date to be.


    Now that his body had been sated, his worries about the outside world came flooding in. It was so bloody tempting to leave this room, but Wilfrid remembered his promise to his father, and vowed he would leave until not a single drop of water remained.


    With the end of that thought, WIlfrid looked for something to read.


    * * * * *


    Wilfrid marked of the calendar with a black X, for the sixth time. It had been six excruciating days since Wilfrid had started his temporary new life down here.


    He was bored. He had read every single piece of reading material - some twice. He managed to entertain himself at first by drawing and writing short stories. But, he was never able to lose himself in enjoyment of these tasks. In the back of his mind was the constant wondering of the outside world.


    By now the blue smoke must have affected everywhere. It also seemed that because of it, food was running low. If everything turns into smoke when it¡¯s killed, then that means it is now impossible to eat meat. The image of the angry mob that seemed to want his farm¡¯s food, suddenly flashed in Wilfrid¡¯s mind.


    Wilfrid sighed. With nothing left to entertain him, and the anxiety of the outside world infecting him mind, he was left with no choice¡­ He was going to have to exercise.


    * * * * *


    Eighteen days had now passed since Wilfrid came here. It was 4:40pm, and Wilfrid was currently on his thirteenth push-up.


    His skin shone with sweat. His arms shock. His breathe burned.


    For twelve whole days, Wilfrid had spent a great majority of the time exercising. The outside world was not going to be the same place he grew up in; that was for sure. It was going to be a war-zone, and guys as fat as Wilfrid don¡¯t do well on the battlefield.


    He did a wide variety of exercises to help strengthen his body and make it lighter - more agile. Push-ups, sit-ups, crutches, squats, burpees, star-jumps, handstands, dips, and a few other body movements. His weakest exercises were push-ups and sit-ups, due to his weight and giant stomach getting in the way. He mostly used a jumping rope as his main activity. This was because of its effectiveness at calorie burning, and increasing the stamina he so desperately needed. Since his father didn''t store a jump rope, he had no choice but to use a thick jute rope as an alternative. If he wasn''t careful, he would sometimes hit himself with the rope, causing painful bruising and lacerations.


    Wilfrid made it to thirty-seven push ups, before collapsing onto the ground in exhaustion.


    * * * * *


    Twenty-eight days in, and clothes on his body no longer suffocated him. In fact, the XXL clothing were all quite baggy as of late.


    He actually spent more time exercising than a person should. However, ever since he was locked down here, he had nothing but nightmares to keep him company. Every attempt at sleep all ended the same. Wilfrid naked and dangling from a hook. The cold air of a refrigerator chokes him. A giant man with a the head of a pig stares at him with a gleeful expression. The rest of the dream is just the butcher slowly carving Wilfrid¡¯s fat body. The longest he made it through the slaughter, before waking up screaming, he was just a head - watching the butcher make sausages from what he had cut off...


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    His fear was the fuel that allowed him to persevere through the bone cracking exercises.


    * * * * *


    Thirty-three days now. Wilfrid worried that insanity was right around the corner. An animal should not go this long without interacting with another. It was so maddeningly lonely, on several occasions, Wilfrid had considered creating an imaginary friend.


    He was currently in the midst of dancing. A simple dance, he wasn¡¯t entirely sure he was doing correctly - to be honest. Right fist out, right fist in. Left fist out, left fist in. Block. Swing the right arm. Now swing the left arm. Block. Don¡¯t forget to keep your feet moving!


    For two weeks now, Wilfrid had been performing this dance. It was taught to him when he was around ten years old, in a musty old gym, surrounded by muscular men, clad in nothing but nylon shorts and novelty sized gloves.


    Sweat flung from his topless body, as he lost himself in the ecstasy of the dance.


    After doing his routine for nearly two hours, Wilfrid began to do some stretches. All the exercising he had done these past few weeks had informed him that his body was stiffer than a dry plank of wood. So he now religiously stretched his body before and after every workout - which was about five times a day.


    After he was done touching his toes and attempting to perform a split, he greedily wolfed down nearly an entire litre of water. He looked at the stash of water he placed in the corner of the room. Over three quarters of the bottles were empty. Due to his overzealous exercise routine, he had consumed the water three times quicker, than it was meant to last. It seemed he¡¯d only be in the bunker for a week at the most. A small smile formed on his lips at that thought.


    Wilfrid¡¯s stomach suddenly rumbled. ¡°Time to eat, I guess.¡± He said , as he walked over to a box of wheat crackers.


    * * * * *


    Day forty¡­ Wilfrid shook the bottle above his mouth, in an effort to get the last few precious drops.


    He threw the empty bottle into the pile with the rest of them. That was the last of his water, and thus his promise to his father had been fulfilled.


    He slowly climbed the wooden steps that lead to his freedom. Wilfrid brushed his hand against the cold steel door. Countless times he had touched this metal barrier, so close to opening, and now the time had finally arrived. He was scared. He had been mentally preparing himself for this day, but it seemed he wasn¡¯t able to completely prepare himself.


    Wilfrid stared at the door for about five minutes, before finally opening it. A new taste of air invited him to the new world.


    He quickly climbed the basement stairs and made his way to the living room. His body shook from the cold. His house appeared to be empty. The front door was open, the place was mess - clothes were scattered everywhere.


    Wilfrid wasn''t a fool. He didn''t expect his family to be here. If they were, he was pretty sure he wouldn''t have been in the bunker for so long.


    After investigating the entirety of the house, and not finding a shred of evidence that indicated someone had been living here recently, Wilfrid did something he had been wanting to do for over a month¡­ Have a bath.


    The water system still seemed to work, but as he expected, the boiler did not. The water was so cold it stung, but to man would smelt nothing but his own sweat, piss, and shit, it was bliss. He could have boiled water on his fireplace, but that would take far too long.


    Wilfrid typically liked to dry naturally, but the situation didn''t really recommend it.


    After a couple minutes of vigorously rubbing a towel on his wet skin, he went in search of clothes. Since he was in peak winter season and planned to venture of the farm, he needed some steady clothes.


    Green cargo pants, leather belt, thermal underwear, grey vest, long-sleeved black t-shirt, black hoodie, grey waterproof coat, thermal socks, black trainers, wool gloves and hat. He was slightly pleased at the realisation that all his clothes were now too loose on his body. While it was nice knowing his new exercise-full lifestyle was paying off, he did look pretty ridiculous right now. He would have to search for some new clothes at some point.


    He went back down into the bunker with a large rucksack, filled it with the leftover rations and medicine. He then filled an aluminium flash with water, and placed it into his black bag.


    Wilfrid then acquired two of his dad¡¯s Bowie knives. He placed one of them into his bag, and the other in his dad¡¯s knife holster - which he put around his waist. After his short experience with the mob and the butcher, he knew that he was going to need weapons.


    Unfortunately, it seemed that all of his dad¡¯s guns were missing. The best thing he could find was a large woodcutting axe, propped up next to his dad¡¯s bed. He grabbed the axe and when downstairs, to the kitchen.


    He ate a quick meal and propped the axe on his left shoulder.


    With nothing left to do, Wilfrid finally left home.


    He walked about twenty feet out of his house, turned around and looked at his home, most likely for the last time.


    ¡°Henry, Keith, Dad¡­ I don¡¯t know if any of you are still alive. Frankly I¡¯m not quite sure if I care; to be honest¡­ You guys bullied and beat me. And you never let me be me! I wanted to go to college! Go to university! Get a job that didn¡¯t involve me cleanin¡¯ up shit and covering me body in gross callouses...But... But-" Wilfrid inhaled deeply.  "-I guess we¡¯re still family, huh. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s happened, since I¡¯ve been locked up in that suspicious bunker of yours, dad¡­ Frankly, I¡¯m fuckin¡¯ scared out my mind! But I asked for this, didn¡¯t I..? I¡¯d be a tad rude to whoever caused shit to go topsy-turvy, to just ignore this new world they made for losers like me¡­ I guess this is it¡­ I¡¯m off! Henry, Keith, Dad¡­ I don¡¯t know when I¡¯ll be back - or if I¡¯ll be back¡­ I¡¯ll try to keep an eye out for ya on me travels¡­ Later!¡± He yelled at his home. His brain a swarm of conflicting emotions. His eye¡¯s leaked a warm salty liquid.


    Now having said what he felt like he had to say, Wilfrid was content. He turned back around, no longer facing the house he grew up in. With the weight of his resources on his back. The weight of his weapon on his shoulder, and the weight of his expectations on his heart. Wilfrid marched towards the new world.


    It was times like this, Wilfrid wished he could whistle.