Arcadia

He ran, he ran fast, and just when he thought he couldn?t run
anymore, he ran even faster. Why did he run so? He wasn?t sure. He felt
fear grip him tight around the neck, and he bolted. Something was
chasing him, but he wasn?t sure what. Then, in an instant,
self-preservation took him over and shoved fear aside without
resistance, pumping the much-needed adrenaline throughout his entire
system. He gave no heed to tired and aching muscles, spent lungs, nor
constricted throat as he ran. The chemicals mixing with his brain
created an illusion of him running forever at that very speed. He could
outrun anything set after him. He lost track of how far he
ran.


The streets were completely deserted, making evasion and
speed easy. His unique and sharp night vision gave him access to
everything in sight, except what was above or behind
him.


The actual reality of the situation sunk in when he felt a
rush of air sweep by the side of his head, making him dive face forward
onto the street, covering the back of his head with his hands. He
prayed his long, chestnut braid wouldn?t be caught and yanked.



After a moment of silence, Geist cautiously uncovered his
head, his senses tracking every scent, sound and wavelength that passed
through the air. One eye opened, one eye closed tight, he got up and
looked around, rubbing his bruised and bleeding chin delicately.
Blinking, he looked around, chest heaving, creating a rupture in the
solid silence of the street.


Something quivered above his head, and Geist had just enough
time to register a curved dagger embedded in the brick above, before
another one was lobbed from the darkness. He moved to the left, just
avoiding the blade meant for his neck.


?Who?s out there!? he demanded, answered only by silence. He
looked around wildly, hoping to catch even the tiniest glimpse of this
attacker. Nothing but his own harsh breathing filled his ears. The
streets of Earth were completely deserted, not a sign of life or
movement caught his eye.


Satisfied that he was in no immediate danger, Geist turned
and started running again. His calf muscles and thighs protested the
amount of strain loudly. His heart pounded in his ears, while his
peripheral vision increased, expanding the darkness around him. His
ears twitched occasionally as he ducked in alleys, dodged trashcans and
sped through winding streets. That was when he heard
it.


Landing nimbly on the other side of a low brick wall, he
heard a swooshing sound above him, like a sudden burst of wind passing
over an open bottle mixed with the sudden flap of a laundered
sheet.


Geist looked to the sky and saw a dark shadow dart to the
top of the nearest building.


What was that?


His gun was gone and he had a knife-throwing flying thing
chasing him. Great, that?s what he got for actually getting out of bed
that morning.


?I know someone?s there!? he shouted up at the building,
cupping his hands around his mouth to magnify his words. ?Show
yourself! Come down and fight me like a man!? Geist had no actual
intentions of fighting, but hell, maybe it would intimidate whatever
was chasing him.


The challenge rang about, unnoticed or ignored. Frustrated
and tired, Geist grumbled a few inaudible words and started off on a
slow walk toward the junk shop. His adrenaline level was flushed; sweat
matted his brown bangs to his face, slightly obscuring his view. His
right thigh was completely shot; the quad muscled pulled so taut it
detained complete use of the leg. Now limping slowly, he opened his
senses and jumped at every noise.


At that pace, it took him twenty minutes to get back to the
shop. Hilde was out. It was dark. He was creeped.


The pain from his leg finally set in completely, and he
collapsed against the doorframe, wincing as he moved pressure from
right to left.


?Great, just fucking great!? he shouted to no one in
particular, just wanting to lose some pent up steam in the only way he
knew how: being angry. ?Next time you want something done, Hilde, do it
your own fucking self!? he slid to the floor, stretching his taut
muscle in front of him, and lay slack against the door. He shut his
violet optics for a long nap. Geist forgot about the bag of spare parts
left behind in the streets when he took his dive.


Geist woke hours later to a dark and empty house. His
stomach rumbled as he sought to ease the aching muscles of his lower
body. He toyed with the end of his ass-length braid as he contemplated
the pros and cons of getting up to eat something. He finally opted to
go and cook some Ramen. It would help him get to sleep faster.



He yanked himself up via the doorknob and hobbled slowly to
the kitchen, bent like a hunchback. His favorite jeans were torn at the
knees and the ?NIRVANA? patch on the chest of his hoodie was peeling
off.


It was bending down to grab a pot for the noodles when he
heard it. His sensitive ears picked up the sound of footsteps in the
foyer. But, that was impossible. Hilde wasn?t due back until tomorrow
morning and?who would want to rob a junk shop? He stood up to
turn?


?And ran smack into something soft and squishy. He screamed
and backed into the counter.


It was a man. He had long silver tresses reaching down to
the middle of his back. He had crystalline blue eyes that reminded
Geist of a dolls. His face was angular. Perhaps the most alarming thing
about him was his outfit: a long blue tunic with white armor around the
shoulders and middle. He had on white, knee-length boots that looked
metal. And, he was glowing.


Fumbling around behind him, Geist produced a black handled
butcher knife. He held it at arms length against the intruder.



?Who are you? What are you doing here??


The man was gone. Disappeared. Vamoose. Geist hadn?t even
blinked.


Blaming it on his little cat-and-mouse chase earlier, the
man ran a trembling hand through his mud-brown bangs and put the knife
on the counter again.


?Fuck the dinner. I?m going to bed?? he mumbled, throwing
off his hoodie and leaving it to nap on the back of a chair. He
shuffled to the stairs that would take him to his bedroom. He was on
the sixth or seventh step when he once more bumped into something.



It was the same man, only this time; he wore a dangerous,
knowing smirk that scared the shit out of the poor junk dealer. Then,
the silver-haired man was gone again, this time leaving behind and
eerie laugh.


Being the realist he is, Geist passed it off again and
resumed the climb to his bedroom.


The door was locked.


Try as he might to push, pull and bang it open, it wouldn?t
budge.


At least, until he was thrown at the door.


The wood splintered as Geist?s body went through it. The
twenty-six year old hit the end of his bed and bit back a scream as his
spinal cord cracked a bit. He lay gasping for breath as the same man
whom appeared twice before stepped into the room, crunching wood
beneath heavily booted feet. Definitely not an apparition.



Geist was yanked roughly to his feet by his neck. His bare
chest and back were covered with scrapes and bruises that would be
nasty in the morning. His braid tip caught on the edge of his bed. The
man before him cackled madly and drew a crooked blade from the inside
of his tunic.


?Now, you die!?


His heart pounding, Geist woke up. He was still against the
door where he first plopped when he had walked in the door.



?It was?just a dream??


Exhaling loudly through his nose, the braided man leaned
back heavily against the oak door. ?Man, I gotta calm down and get some
sleep?it was only a dream??


And as if to contradict that statement, a crooked blade
burst through the door?and settled itself in Geists? neck. Blood
spurted out of his mouth, and the last thing he saw before he was
enveloped in Heavens' wings was a single, white feather?