So, I am actively doing other projects, while still doing the other main dishes. I know some people don’t know the scope of exactly what it is that I have going on. Life has me busy. It’s fine and dandy, but I really like to keep up with cranking out the jams…er, the stories.
Anyway, I wanted to share the start of a new project I am doing. It is finished, however, this is not the final representation of it. Also, I don’t have an exact title of it, thus, I decided to do its name as an in-house assignment: Sinclair Gets His Rolex.
What’s it about? Superheros. Not just the typical route though. You know, lab accident, or an alien. Nope, we’re going a different route. However, with a supernatural/paranormal twist.
I hope you enjoy it. If not, well, too bad. 😉
A WIP Excerpt: At the Moment In-house Titled — Sinclair Gets His Rolex
By Robert McCartney
I can’t die here. Not like this. I. . .I just. . .can’t.
All life had begun to leave the man as he gasped his last breath; his long pale face at first contorted in the most agonized expression, faded to the most peaceful. Crimson poured through the short-sleeved white button-down shirt, from his neck and chest (once profusely and profound, now drew to a standstill), giving a crude silhouette of the thin, already burnt out Mark. His short curly black hair was ruffled; definitely from the day’s nonsense and from the scuffle some moments ago. A woman, at least it was the silhouette of one, propped his head under her sandy leather handbag; designer really, but whatever it was, was surely ruined by his bloodstains. More people rushed to his side, but it was all for naught; he had already started to embark to the other side. Those sons of bitches even stole his shoes too, but at least he still had his black dress socks. His black dress slacks now further stained by only God knows what on a subway platform, blood and his own bodily waste. His brown eyes slowly gave way; the light gradually faded to black. His ears picked up the notes of a song that slowly died along with him.
There was no magic film reel that played out his life. All that there was, was darkness and the naked frigid touch of death—for it was total and absolute. He reached out to the vast void, only to find nothingness. . .and loneliness.
“Hello?!” he shouted, “Can anyone hear me?!”
He was alone, and here he sobbed heavily into his invisible hands. He shed invisible tears, took invisible breaths, maybe it was all in his imagination. He yelled profoundly to the dark hysterical obscenities. Before long, he was praying to an imaginary god, back to the root of his faith. Nobody and nothing answered. The thought then occurred to him—maybe I am not completely gone. He clung to this small glimmer of hope, as tight as his invisible hands could muster.
A brief warm sensation coursed throughout his person, one of which he knew well—the warmth of life!
A soft, gentle and reassuring voice then spoke to him from within the abysmal sea of black. “I know you, my son. For you are but lost in a sea in-between everlasting life, and damnation. You reside, here, in the void of the nether; where you exist, but do not.”
“But why? Who. . .who are you?” Mark inquired.
“You are neither living nor dead. In the mortal world, your body did die, however, your consciousness and will to live; to serve those whom you love, to gain vengeance on those who did you wrong, to be. . .something more in life. What you felt, my dear son, is your will, and the raw emotional power, the ties to Earth – this is what is keeping you afloat; lose it and you shall sink. . .sink to damnation.” the voice continued to propagate.
Mark’s imaginary heart fluttered with fear and anxiety with these words. His eyes still searching for this invisible majestic being, albeit, he felt he knew whom he spoke to.
The invisible host spoke soothingly, “Ah, do not be afraid, my son. I know you seek answers; for your questions, I can see are jumbling, vast, blurred at the speed and span of eons. Know this, you are safe—for now.” The voice then turned stern and censure. “You’ve fallen quite the fall in life, my son. You denounced your faith, believing it to be a child’s fairytale, making a mockery of those whom would practice in private. Yes, yes, I know; prior you used to wave your beliefs around like a big stick, and forced it upon others.”
“I was young and but a fool! Had I known then what I know now. . .” Mark pleaded.
A hearty chuckle escaped from within the void, “My son, do not take me for a fool; for I am not one. For countless millennia I have heard that remark.” Mark then heard what he believed to be a sigh escape from the voice’s imaginary lips. “I suppose, however, that being born into sin has that. . .problem.” Imaginary eyes fell upon Mark’s imaginary person. “It is in death, yes, in death, in which you shall rise and become the herald—my herald, dear Mark.”
Vast feelings and emotions began to surge through Mark—of bewilderment, joy, excitement, life, sadness, uncertainty. . .fear. His eyes darted back and forth in the darkness before rising upwards, to where he believed the voice came from. “What would you have me do?”
An eerie chill ran down Mark’s imaginary spine as he floated in the sea of nothingness. It was far worse than the icy touch of death he had already become accustomed to; for this one felt of pure divine. . .and of absolute wrath. For a moment, he thought as if he could see a giant magnificent grin in the ‘heavens’, something that warranted his hesitation.
“My son, I shall bestow upon you the blessing of everlasting life; for you shall be raised from the dark, frigid fingers of Death and bless you with the assets and aspects, in which, you, deem sole worthy.”
Mark’s mind ran rampant with a childish glee, rummaging through the old childish thoughts of superheroes. Strength – the strength to be as bold and righteous, to avert harm to my family and friends; to defend those in need. The power of healing, that no matter how severe my wounds, I can be the righteous beacon of light; to be able to save myself, so that I may save those dearest and near. Speed and flight! That I may be quick to respond and be there, always, for the ones I love and hold true.
The voice continued on strong, bold and sound while Mark continued with his ‘wish list’. “Ah, you seek to be virtuous, and the reckoning force of righteousness. I can give you these boons, however, the given mantle, and tasks you will perform—will not be of ease. Time will come; for it shall pass and henceforth, carry out its circle—you will mourn. Let the good deeds you do here, now, carry on in your name for tomorrow. For tomorrow is here today, and it shall never, ever go away. For when you grow weak and weary of the given duties, you shall reside in everlasting paradise.” The imaginary voice paused, poising for its deliverance and judgment. For even in the darkness, Mark could almost feel the wrath of the high heavens, the magic of creation and destruction course throughout the abyss as the voice spoke. “If you should ever break the covenant, you shall be stripped of your mantle and the boons I have granted upon you; that your life will be forfeit and shall be left to my choice of punishment for all of eternity. Do not ever think me for a simpleton, that I can just as quickly extinguish your life’s essence then you can possibly imagine.”
Mark was in awe. He was presented with a second chance and knew of the consequences. The words had already formed and escaped his imaginary lips, “I accept, full knowingly and aware.”
A magnificent and beautiful pure golden light appeared high above him. It was so warm and inviting; Mark felt as if he was being picked up and cradled. The feelings and thoughts that ran explicitly wild in his mind – he couldn’t grasp a single one. The abyss had become enveloped in a white-gold. The frigid sensation had been rid from his being and was replaced with such warmth he was familiar sharing with his wife. Everything was about to change; everything, he believed for the better.
“Close your eyes and receive this blessing.” the voice spoke as the light slowly aligned itself within arms reach from Mark; completing the request of the specter. From the glorious emanating light that bathed the darkness anew, there stretched a red right hand that fell upon Mark’s forehead. The voice spoke again, more hoarse and chillingly chaotic, “Return to the World of the Living, and rise. . .” a surge of pure evil slightly escaped, but Mark thought nothing of it. Probably because he was now on the fast track to being alive again.
— End Excerpt–
So, there you have it, folks. This story is completed. However, I am still honing it and I still have to get it ready for its debut. I hope you enjoyed this first glance at this story and what it will shape up to be.
Until next time,