October 9, 2012
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The clouds had invaded earlier that morning, kidnapping the sun and draining the light from the sky. Starting their reign of tyranny over the skies, the clouds started a massive storm, drenching animals and landmarks alike with an ocean’s worth of water. The lightning struck the ground with fury, pounding the ground with an intensity that would wake the demons of hell.

And caught in the middle of it was Samuel Morrison.

Sam was a shorter boy, not short enough to be labeled as a legal midget, but short enough that he was noticeably below average height. His pasty white skin was offset by the dark shades of clothes he wore every day. Normally, he wore baggy, long sleeve shirts, which served two purposes: to hide the fact that he was almost severely underweight (which he was ashamed of) and to conceal the scars on his arms.

Sam lived a difficult life. His family was in a poorer economic standing, only being able to afford what they needed. Because of this, he didn’t have the best clothes or any of the latest gadgets or trends. Sam did, however, have a computer; and it was his everything. He cherished it as it were his own child, he kept it cleaned and made sure it stayed free of viruses. He spent most of his time on it, be it browsing Reddit or ranting on one of his numerous blogs dedicated to pointing out the various flaws of society and his school.

He didn’t enjoy going to school, for, because of his lack of being able to follow the trends, the more popular children had always targeted Sam for their torture and cruel ways. They were sickeningly creative in their ways of causing him pain. They had gone through all the classic, original pranks in no time, such as the swirly and general pantsing.

Then they got original.

Putting various aquatic animals inside his backpack for him to only find them dead later, elaborate traps involving super glue, wire, and the fire alarms at school, hot sauce in his milk and then in his other drink, fooling him into drinking it.

But no more.

Sam had had enough. He had gotten into his father’s room in the middle of the night when his father was out drinking, squandering away the family’s money. Sam knew where he kept his classic .44 Magnum, where the right bullets were, and how to get to it all. He was finished with his tormentors.

He put the gun to his head, and, hands trembling, he did what he felt he had to do. He would get them back. They would all pay.


James Hill had heard about it the next day. He was sitting in his classic ‘69 Corvette with his cheerleader girlfriend, Margaret Bernard. James felt badly for a second, thinking he might have done something wrong, but he quickly dismissed the thought. He had everything he could ever need. An attractive girlfriend, a classic car, his stellar grades, his bright future as a star Quarterback. James always thought that Sam was okay with the pranks, that he would appreciate them for the creativity behind them. Alas, Sam did not enjoy the practical jokes, but James would find this out much too late to be able to stop what he was doing. But, James felt no guilt, and carried on with his oh-so-perfect life.

Until one day he lost control of himself.

He could see everything that he was doing, but he had no control over any of his thoughts or actions. He was merely an observer. Something, or someone, had thrown him out of the driver’s seat and tied him up in the trunk, leaving him to only observe.

‘James’ walked into school next day, and found his girlfriend.

“Marge, let’s go for a joyride today after school in the ‘Vette.” This imposter of his psyche could still talk in his voice, which was troubling to him. “It’ll be fun, just you and me.” James’s vessel grinned happily, hiding an inner darkness that James could not quite locate.

“Okay Jimmy, sounds like a plan,” Margaret replied with her perky smile and cheery attitude ringing through her voice as it always did. The true James secretly hoped that it would last a while, or at least until he got out of college, for he liked the structure of their relationship.

The school day clambered by slowly as it always did, but it went even slower viewing it through the eyes of another. James still had no clue who or what was possessing him, but his spirit could not even form the tears to describe the fear of what was going to happen to him, the sheer terror of not knowing what was going to happen or the motives of the beast behind his body driving him nearly mad. But, then the day ended, and the entity’s motives would be revealed.

James’ captor and Margaret got into the front seats of his beautifully kept Corvette, his prized possession, British racing red, glimmering in the sunlight. The rims of the wheels reflected with the blacktop, giving a silver to black gradient effect. It contrasted with his letterman jacket, a white sleeved, grey midsection jacket that showed his pride of being the star quarterback of his beloved small-town high school.

“We going to the usual spot, Jimmy?” Margaret asked, James wanting to jump out of his body and tell her to run away. But he could not.

“Yes, my dear Marge, for the usual affair,” the vessel of James replied, the true James wondering how the beast got control of his memories.

The Corvette blazed a trail of red past the Redwood forest near the town, almost leaving a trail of fire behind it as it flew by to their usual hangout spot, a cliff overhanging the forest that you could see the entire city from. It was a beautiful view, and he wanted to spend it with the beauty he saw every day of the week. Double the beauty, double the exquisite experience with his elegant empress. But the cliff had a dark history to it; being the highest point for miles around, it was a site for people jumping to their demise. Regardless, James still went there a lot of the time with Margaret, his life being too perfect to be bothered with such trifles.

The red bullet came to a stop at the edge of the cliff, the bumper just a few inches away from hanging off. ‘James’ rolled the top back and placed his arm around Margaret, bringing her close, holding her tight. Then he pulled out a gun from underneath the seat, a magnum, looking to be a .44 caliber. He examined it, appreciating the detail, opening the barrel that contained the bullets, showing that it was fully loaded.

“Let’s play a game, Margaret. It’s called Russian Roulette. You go first,” James’ vessel said with such an eerie, malicious calmness as he pointed the gun towards her beautiful, blue eyes. His spirit was trying to break free of his chains to reach out to Margaret and save her. Her eyes started to tear up, and she started to mouth the words ‘Please don’t do this’.

But the vessel did not care.


Game over, Margaret, the vessel thought. Now, James, to take away another of your prized possessions. I know you can hear me.

This revelation shocked James to the core, but he was screaming profanities at his captor, not knowing his intentions or what reasons he could possibly have for taking his precious flower away from him. James thought this was all the monster was going to do, but he thought wrong. His body exited the blazing red classic car, heading towards the rear bumper.

No, James begged, trying to plead with the one controlling his actions, You’ve taken away one of my babies already, don’t take away two. I’m begging you. A lump was forming in his throat, until he reached the bumper of the car. The bumper shined in the moonlight, sparkling to the sight. Everything was normal in the appearance of his body except for his normal face. It was different, he couldn’t quite place what, until he looked into his own eyes. They were not his. They were familiar, but he still couldn’t figure out what was wrong with them, until it hit him like a truck.

They were Sam’s eyes.

Yes, it’s me. Your ‘buddy’ Sam Morrison. The captor’s voice echoed inside his head. Consider this payback for the hell you put me through and the hell I’m now currently in. But at least I won’t be alone.

James’ spirit could not speak as Sam used his body to push the Corvette down the cliff to its end, causing it to burst into the red ball of fire that once streaked by the world as fire. A poetic, fitting finale for the glorious work of art he had kept so clean and proper all these years. Then, Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out the Magnum. With shaky hands, he put it against the bridge of his nose, saying a few last words.

Goodbye James, I wish I could say it was a happy ending.


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