Drache

By Jeffrey Lynn Stoddard

Lyonel and his partner, Sean, had it all, until that dark day. Now, Lyonel is on the run. He has lost everything, he is hungry, filthy, tired and alone. But he is not really alone. He is being hunted by a creature that should not exist. A mythological dragon has been resurrected and is playing a deadly game of cat and mouse with Lyonel... and his time is running out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeffrey Lynn Stoddard
• Release date: Oct 8, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452356495

Jeffrey Lynn Stoddard

* Born in Concord, California. Raised in South Lake Tahoe, California.* Avid fan of true-life haunting and ghost stories. Even lived in several haunted houses and has some psychic ability.* Major roller coaster fanatic. This fanaticism is only surpassed by his love for Disneyland which proves that Jeffrey is either an eternal child or certifiably insane.* An ordained minister of the Universal Life Church. Proof that Hell has, indeed, frozen over.* Lives in Washington State with his partner, Vincent, and two cats, Kodora and Koji.* Was an announcer in radio for many years, where "I got paid to sit in front of a microphone and talk to myself."* Favorite Quote: "I like children. If they're properly cooked." W.C. Fields.* As a teen, he was once denied entrance to Disneyland because of a hole in the knee of his jeans.

Book preview

Drache

Jeffrey Lynn Stoddard

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2006 Jeffrey Lynn Stoddard

Published by Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table Of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

About the Author

Other Titles

Drache {German} [‘droxx-uh], m. (-n, pl. –n) dragon

Chapter 1

Lyonel Kuhlman had been running for so long now that he had almost forgotten what it felt like to have a home, a family… a life… and yet it was not all that long ago that everything he was now missing lay comfortably at his fingertips. Sadly, time was running rampant and after the first five months or so it seemed as if one sunrise melded into the next with any particular day of the week being about as unimportant as where he found his next meal or in which corner to sleep.

With the smells of grease and creosote-treated railroad ties assaulting his nostrils he rounded a silent boxcar and clumsily stumbled across the first rail in the dimly lit area. Grabbing hold of a dangling air hose he steadied himself briefly before attempting to cross the second rail, all the while being careful not to be seen by the engineer of the yard-engine who was busily pulling and pushing the train cars from one area to another as if shuffling them into one enormous deck resting upon their steel wheels and then dealing them out to different players on separate tracks.

Rounding another row of storage-crate laden low-riders he beheld a lengthy line of freight cars that were blocking his chosen route of travel. Rather than taking the long way around, Lyonel climbed over the coupling joining two cars together and emerged on the other side of the second line of rails whose smooth, silver surface seemed to reflect light even in an area lacking a direct source. Before him now stretched another set of tracks side-to-side, beyond which lay the river; dark and deep. Appearing lazy in its demeanor and giving no impressions of being in any hurry to reach the ocean, Lyonel considered swimming across the wide span of water before giving due consideration to the doubtless swift undercurrent hidden just beneath the surface. He acknowledged the inviting thought of the touch of water against his filthy skin, its cooling and cleansing qualities both being badly needed, but in the interest of an expedient search for food he quickly ruled against this action and cast his eyes about for an alternate means of fording the expanse.

A glance to the left confirmed a bridge crossing the dark river about a mile away, its lighted girders standing out before and above the headlights of steady yet intermittent automobile traffic crossing in both directions. This avenue appeared to be the closest and easiest way of getting to the other side where the many colored lights of a riverside carnival sparkled on the surface of the water like diamonds of unparalleled beauty. While Lyonel was used to the myriad lights of a city, having seen them in redundant repetition while traveling through the different cities, it was always a welcomed sight when something as noteworthy as a carnival were to catch his weary eyes.

For so long he had been keeping watch on the skies; a prerequisite to staying alive as preparedness was the name of the game now. In fact, Lyonel was getting damned good at recognizing the warning signs and outmaneuvering his foe by staying one step ahead – although, with remembered anguish, he admitted to his past inexperience and carelessness at having been caught completely off-guard on occasion. His mind once again painfully recalled one particular incident he would never forget, a tragedy that would haunt him for the remainder of his days. The loss was mind-numbing; the price of his lack of foresight and ingenuity being far too high, and even though the voice of reason that tried to communicate with him inside his head told him that there was really nothing he could have done to prevent the outcome, he was solely convinced of his blame in the resulting deadly game.

But he lived. Should that not count for something? Should his quick reflexes and inventiveness at least be rewarded with a mental pat on the back? After all, were it not for these instincts and learned behavior he would not still be walking on two legs and breathing the warm air of summer into his lungs.

Behind him the busy yard-engine passed noisily along the lengthy row of rail cars while Lyonel began his walk toward the bridge. Maybe if he lost himself in the crowd within the carnival for awhile he could take refuge in the amusement of the children and adults alike as they staggered from ride to dizzying ride with their corndogs and cotton candy and caramel apples and popcorn. No doubt he could find a discarded bit of nourishment in one or more of the garbage cans beside the concession stands, and at this thought his stomach suddenly reminded him that he had eaten nothing in a day and a half. This was not his longest stretch with abject hunger, but it was enough to make him take notice.

The lights upon the river to his right continued to twinkle and undulate as if originating from the water itself; ever-changing in hues of red, yellow and green fluorescence while music and laughter floated effortlessly across the watery divide that lay between himself and his epicurean engagement.

Lyonel had long-ago learned where to find food, to brush off the flies and roaches and accept without hesitation what meager offerings were left behind by an overstuffed public who discarded food like it was a national pastime. It had taken him surprisingly little time to overcome the stigma of digging through trash cans outside of fast food places in full view of the public. Frankly, locating food was its own reward and one that needed to be considered an accomplishment, not an embarrassment. In the beginning, it was an uncomfortable situation, but within a very short period of time he had found that his inability to afford food did nothing to quell his desire to consume it. Therefore, Lyonel really had little choice but to humble himself in front of disapproving eyes and accept what disparaging remarks were hurled his way. More private were the accommodations to be found when dining out of dumpsters behind restaurants, but with the good came the bad. Although the menu offered a vast variety of culinary tidbits after closing for the night Lyonel found himself having to fight off the rats, who stood up for their belief that they had exclusive rights to these metal bins. All in all, though, there was plenty of food to be found if Lyonel were willing to look for it. Even so, although the food he had access to was unappetizingly abundant, Lyonel was now a mere shell of his former self.

At six-foot-four he figured himself to weigh no more than 120 pounds. His dirty, greasy jeans hung loosely, heavily off of his hips while the dark work shirt that long ago ceased to even resemble the color blue shown off the concave shape of his stomach when the wind would blow against the front of him. Lyonel did not consider malnutrition to be a massive concern since, although hunger and weakness would rear its ugly head on a continual basis, he was otherwise comfortable and not concentrating solely on his next meal or where it would be found. There was always food and the cities were generous in their offerings, of that there was no question. Yet, at about the same time that food had changed from being a luxury to that of a means by which he was able to stay alive, it seemed to have lost a lot of its luster and flavor. And now with his money and credit cards having long since been exhausted Lyonel was forced to abandon the accepted means of acquiring food and instead rely on instinct and ingenuity in order to fill the void within his stomach.

With the sound of the yard-engine drifting off to his left Lyonel subconsciously searched the sky for any sign of his enemy while accidentally stumbling over a discarded rail spike, sending it tumbling noisily across the gravel to his left before coming to a sudden rest against a dark rail with a defined ‘ping’. He ignored this and continued rotating his eyes from side to side. The stars stood quietly, which was good. The second any one of them moved he knew it would be time to run like hell and hide… although hiding never did him any good whatsoever since the enemy knew where to find him. It knew his every move. By the same token, hiding did appear to buy him precious time and even though Lyonel had trained himself not to dwell on the fact that he was under continuous surveillance he did maintain a vigilance and preparedness for the next inevitable encounter – the one that could, in all possibility, prove to be his last.

As a million times before, Lyonel thought that maybe it would have been better, right from the beginning, to have stopped running. To stop the fighting and bring a swift end to this misery that was once a vital life filled with hope, promise and love. A life with a future. A life where a thick veil of ignorance shielded his eyes to the unavoidable misfortune that lurked around the corner and, perhaps, might even have prevented it from happening at all.

But now, as always, he was afraid. Afraid of the pain and the loss of a life that he had once cherished. And in all fairness, it had come looking for Lyonel, not the other way around, catching him off-guard and sending him on the run. For the first few months of the yearlong horror he had wondered why this was happening to him and from where the thing had come, but those questions dissipated surprisingly quickly as he was made to accept it and deal with it on an almost-daily basis. Experience proved that the attacks could come at any time from any direction; day, night, high or low, and over the course of the year he had finely-tuned his senses to alert himself; whether being asleep or awake.

Most of the time he was able to alert himself.

Still, as bad and hopeless as things had become he was not ready for death to claim another victim. Lyonel had found a fight within himself that he had not known before and it felt good to tell himself that he would go if and when he felt it was time. He would decide the outcome of his life and define the terms in which he would give his last breath for it was his life to control, his life to live… his life to end.

Overhead the stars remained peacefully serene and stationary, twinkling back at him as if giving his life validation and substance from a universal standpoint. Although his existence paled in comparison to the age and expanse of the heavens, Lyonel took some small pleasure in knowing that he had been acknowledged through the wink of a star at night or the warmth of the sun during the day. The cosmos knew he was here and still fighting to survive. He had not been forgotten and his battle was not going unnoticed.

A breath of warm air brushed across his face bringing his attention back to the bridge which, as it neared, proved to expand across the rail yard beside the river as well as the water itself, meaning that Lyonel would have to cross back over the multiple sets of tracks to his left and climb an embankment in order to get up to the steel structure. Alluringly, the crisscrossing frame was highlighted along the top and bottom with strings of lights giving it a white border as if to strengthen the bridge even further.

He paused a moment to watch a light-rail train cross the center of the bridge and briefly wondered how many people inside were going to get off at the next stop and join the festivities across the river. How many would then return to the security of their homes and apartments, blissfully unaware that any one of them could turn on their television set and be the next victim of this horror? That a year or two from now they could be the one walking between the hard rails and the river, masking their fear with feigned indifference while greeting each day with a renewed resolve to beat the unbeatable, to make it through another day at whatever cost. And how long would it be before they broke? Before they gave up in defiant despair, recognizing the futility of the fight, realizing (as Lyonel had early on) that the outcome was going to be the same no matter how hard they tried to avoid and prolong it. And with the acceptance of this revelation came the question of why? Why continue to struggle and run and hide? Why not let it generate its natural conclusion and get it over with swiftly.

Why…

Well, Lyonel reasoned silently, why live life at all knowing that you are going to die in the end? After all, nobody makes it out alive. Maybe it was the challenge of the thing and the human resolve to continue on in the face of unbeatable odds. To face the enemy head-on with an obstinate determination that he will not lay down willingly, and that, no matter how battle-weary he becomes and how many expire in the melee, a man will stand up for himself and be counted until the last one falls.

Before he could begin to cross the yard Lyonel had to wait for a lengthy passenger train that blocked his access to the embankment as it trundled lazily along before him; gently swaying left and right on the uneven and well-worn tracks laid down so many years ago. While he waited he cast another glance upward without really thinking about it before returning his gaze to the well-fed and well-clothed passengers behind the yellow lighted windows of the upper portion of the train cars as they passed him, none within appearing to be any the wiser to his presence in the dark. Even if there had been sufficient illumination upon him his stature would have been upstaged by the draw of the electric festivities across the river.

As the red light at the end of the train became visible Lyonel started across the yard, again weaving in and out of the assorted cars that sat silent on heavy springs and steel waiting for direction. His mind lightly entertained the thought that not only would he not fit in with the crowd across the river because of his shabby attire but there was the distinct possibility that he would either be ejected or hauled off for vagrancy. Just the same, it was worth the risk as there was a veritable goldmine in discarded food that awaited his grumbling gut. With a fair amount of digging through the jettisoned wastes of those whose eyes were bigger than their stomach he would soon feel the warmth inside that he had once taken for granted so long ago. Actually, Lyonel considered himself quite fortunate to have awakened and spotted the smorgasbord over the darkened water awaiting him with its electric arms beckoning, for he could very easily have slept right through and missed it altogether.

The hard earthen bank proved to be more of a challenge than Lyonel had anticipated as it was steep and much higher than it appeared from the water's edge. There was, however, a hefty strand of wire cascading down at odd angles from the dilapidated chain-link fence above. This was obviously a tool of ascent for many others who, like himself, had exited their train car as it sat silently in the yard, and it was with this piece of crooked wire that he was able to pull himself up the hardened earthen wall baked by the sun and packed through the years by rain.

Once on top it was a quick leap over the railing and then Lyonel was on his way; sauntering across the bridge with his eyes following the bright bulbs as they rose higher and higher above his head to its peak and then began the downward slope as he neared the other side. All the while the noise, lights and music from the carnival area heightened, giving him a sense of joy that he had not felt for so long that it took him a few moments to recognize the feeling for what it was and not the accustomed sensation of fear or trepidation that was now his everyday life.

From his perch atop the walkway at the southern edge of the bridge Lyonel watched the passing of a group of men of approximately his own age who were apparently walking to the festivities, one of whom Lyonel found particularly attractive. He smiled only to receive a distasteful frown in return which, in his depleted and disgusting form, was not to be unexpected. It actually felt to be the mental equivalent of a slap across the face and this rejection did briefly resurrect pleasant memories of life with another man; the companionship, the passion, the love, all of which he had once held in the palm of his hand before…

Just as he was about to step onto the grassy area that bordered the river on this side he gave yet another glance upward, first to the stars, then to the tops of the trees. It was, however, the lure of the smell of popcorn upon the breeze that distracted him from that which he knew must be done before continuing anywhere. Mingling with other people was far too risky a mistake to make, and yet with hunger overcoming the common sense he once possessed Lyonel continued. Nothing had smelled this good to him in his life. This happened whenever he was presented with the olfactory delights of cooked food following an extended bout of starvation, but for this singular moment in time the popcorn smelled of Heaven and Earth uniting with a bounty of delights too wonderful to be expressed by mere words.

Passing through the edge of the well-lighted midway, Lyonel began weeding through the bodies that were in constant motion about him, none of whom seemed to have any food which was both good and bad, as without the blatant reminder of what he was missing it seemed to make his lack of sustenance a bit more bearable. At the same time, however, it was also an indication that he was nowhere near any source of food which only prolonged the torturous emptiness that haunted his insides with a fury unmatched by even that which pursued him. And yet, in a time of dread and fear it did give him something to look forward to, if only briefly. This was something Lyonel had long forgotten: anticipation for its own sake. So long had he languished beneath the umbrella of the expectancy of fear with the element of surprise being in the favor of his enemy that on the extremely rare occasion when he actually felt excited about something it was almost a brand new emotion never before experienced - and just as quickly forgotten.

Ignoring the judgmental looks of discontent and downright disgust from several revelers around him (not uncommonly these came mostly from teenaged kids who made up about 80% of the populace) he kept his eyes peeled for anybody who looked to be of authority so that he could duck behind a ride or game booth in time lest they keep him from his intended goal.

Considering the alternative of apprehension and incarceration, though, gave way to the promise of a meal and a place to stay for the night. The downside of that was the idea of his being behind bars with no means of escape should the predator decide to strike. Lyonel knew from his vast experience with this thing that no matter where he was he was not safe from his nemesis. It was the ultimate hunter and Lyonel the ultimate prey. As long as he had more than one direction of escape he stood a chance of surviving another attack. But if he were confined it would be like shooting fish in a barrel as the bars would hold him in but would not hold the enemy out; a fact that he had discovered early on in the game.

The smells of popcorn were interrupted periodically by the sweet wafts of cotton candy and the occasional greasy corn dog; one of which walked past him on a stick in the hand of a young woman, mustard painting a yellow mustache on her upper lip. This made his stomach begin the somersaults he was so accustomed to which made him quicken his pace, knowing that the food stands were drawing near.

Hey! Get a job…fuckin’ bum! a teenage boy yelled smugly with an accusatory laugh from the safety of his group that consisted of other kids his age, all looking just as cocky and, quite probably, drunk. Actually, though, having been called every name in the book over the past year it was difficult to think back to a time when words actually did hurt. Lyonel had found them to be such an everyday occurrence that he had built up an immunity to it all - and a lot sooner than he thought he would have. Water off a duck’s back. Sticks and stones.

Besides, that which hurts you can only do so if you allow it to and when it goes in one ear and out the other with nothing in between to absorb its impact then little can come of it. Anyway, the brainless little twit did not know the whole story. He knew nothing of the beast that had taken Lyonel’s life away from him, demolishing him slowly over time, brick by brick, day by day and emotion by emotion. He did not know that this once-vibrant and healthy human being at one time stood proudly on top of the world, at least his own little portion of the world, happy and full of energy.

And how could the kid know the endless nights of fitful dreams in dark concrete corners with only a thin tatty shirt wrapped around him to keep himself warm while mice and rats picked at the bottoms of his shoes and pants for any tidbit of food left behind as he slept? Or having to pass up a warm meal and bed in the Mission for fear of the safety of those around him who may or may not become a part of tomorrow’s death count should there be an unexpected attack? Or of the relentless absolute fear of knowing the same fate awaited him as those who had gone before…just not knowing when? What do you do with kids like that who lack all the facts, yet are insist on passing judgment, he wondered? Destroy them? Or forgive them?

All this was quickly pushed aside and forgotten as Lyonel spotted a row of concession stands to his left with a garbage can conveniently located beside each one. Even more convenient was the three-foot separation between each canvas booth with which he could nestle himself securely and secretively while digging through the waste. Ordinarily, this would be the plan for a covert operation, but ‘ordinarily’ was gone, as were the last shreds of Lyonel’s dignity and pride. He immediately set forth rummaging through the discarded rubbish in one can with hands that had not seen water for possibly a month, and soap in six. And while it was a wonder how he had managed not to poison himself through the constant ingestion of germs and bad food he assumed this to be due to the fact that, through necessity, his system had acclimated to his new life and the little antibodies inside had become Superbodies.

This particular receptacle proved to be more of a nuisance than a treasure trove with nothing of note to extract so he moved on to the next can that sat between the Oriental food stand and the one offering Mexican. A half-eaten chicken taco was discovered along with the remainder of a carton of cheese nachos, so he gathered up his booty and moved to the next garbage can. There he found nothing of value but empty greasy french-fry containers - some of which were splattered generously with ketchup - discarded onions from a burger and an endless supply of greasy napkins.

Further investigation, as he moved down the buffet, rewarded him with two half-eaten turkey drumsticks, and an almost complete burger that raised some concern as to why it had been thrown out in the first place. Also found was a plastic container that had a little bit of salad left in the bottom which had been generously doused with Ranch dressing (as was the gooey cockroach he plucked out before stashing the salad with the rest of his haul).

All in all, not a bad day’s work. Lyonel then carried his loot over to a darkened portion of the lawn close to the waterfront break-wall where a vacant bench awaited his occupancy. Greedily he consumed the food, especially enjoying the burger that he now knew had been discarded because the meat was burnt somewhat, but to him it tasted like a little slice of paradise. The turkey legs were just as cold as the burger and taco but doable and all slid down his throat as easily as you please to the anxiously awaiting stomach that would reward him for his efforts by returning energy and strength to his body for another day.

The breeze picked up somewhat, only this time it seemed to be coming from across the river as his nostrils were filled, briefly, with the familiar smell of grease and creosote. It was an aroma that was becoming second nature to him, so with that in his nostrils and food in his belly Lyonel settled back on his bench to enjoy the pleasing sensation. His eyes drifted lazily across the lights of the midway, mesmerizing and mystifying him as memories of his childhood were resurrected. Briefly, he revisited his younger days in Reno, Nevada, when his family would attend the annual carnival every summer. It was a warm memory of a much better life that was so often obscured by the fogs of time. The remembrance of that joy was still temporarily available, though, and he grabbed hold of it as it passed him by rapidly before returning to its dormancy once again. All the same, it brought a smile to his dirty face and with a big sigh Lyonel tilted his head back and wondered why everything had gone so horribly wrong as his eyes again caressed the stars. He knew when and what, but still not why.

The fact that it had occurred to him when it could have been anybody else bothered him until the thought rushed through him that, to somebody else, he was anybody else. This did not make it any easier - merely justifiable in some small irritating way that he would never understand, and while he had asked himself the Why question every day since this had begun he was no closer to determining any definable answer other than; ‘Why not’?

So, with his questions remaining unanswered, his stomach full and his future still showing signs of continuing, Lyonel allowed his eyes to close so that he could languish in a moment that he would allow himself every so often. This was a moment of no despair, freedom from pain and worry, and a moment in which he could be proud of himself for having made it so far. It was a moment that he needed every so often in order to recharge his batteries and sort out the confusions while overcoming the utter impossibility of the situation in which he had become unalterably embroiled.

If only his partner, Sean Addis, had believed him in the first place then maybe the two of them would have stood a better chance by running away sooner. Maybe a head start would have changed everything. Unfortunately, Sean thought Lyonel was going off the deep end, leaving Lyonel helpless to stop the degrading progression. The memory of the man walking away for the last time was still excruciatingly fresh in his mind and it cut him like a sharp knife to this very day.

Could Sean not see the monster or the razor-sharp talons opening Lyonel’s skin with an ease unsurpassed? Was it not so obvious the pain he was in? Did he not hear the screaming? How was it even remotely possible to not see the blood as it flowed freely from Lyonel’s open wounds?

…and yet Sean turned and walked away!

Why?

This ‘why’ question was added to all the other ‘why’ questions for which there was no implied or spoken response and from which no sense could be made. Yet it was believed to be unquestioningly accepted, hands down, as the law of the land. So, okay, life was a mystery where abandonment of certainty was an established fact, knowing that it surrounded us without fanfare or reason. As such, Lyonel embraced it as the norm and wandered about his life with the knowledge that just around the next corner disaster could strike while he remained relatively powerless over the outcome.

Lyonel wanted to believe that, yes, he did have a choice. That, yes, he still had a degree of control over the avenues and byways of his future without having to submit to the uncertainty, but everything that had happened to him in the past year proved him wrong at every turn in his hypothesis. His delusion of control. After all, as much as this was wrong and as much as this was real, so, too, was his lack of acuity in his power over the disciplines of his life from that point forward.

His eyes opened again, wearily, and he became aware of an exhaustion overcoming him, the result of an actual meal. But inasmuch as he would have been just as happy to ignore the goings-on of the jungle of people spellbound in their revelry and curl up on the seat he had momentarily claimed, it was entirely probable that vagrancy in the public park was strictly forbidden. Seeing as how being arrested was not the favored option Lyonel considered it wise to do a little investigative wandering through the tall buildings spread out before him on his side of the river and find a little niche he could call his own for the night, and in the morning catch the next train out of town.

And go…where? That was yet another question that reared up at every turn. Where to go next? Actually, where was pretty much inconsequential being that one destination was just as good as the next. And why? Why keep moving? Why not stay where he was for awhile? After all, the homeless often laid claim their residence to the city in which they happened to be at the moment until the occasion or reason arose to move on. But Lyonel’s circumstances were different. He could not afford to run the risk of being seen hanging around town for any considerable amount of time lest the ‘vagrancy’ label be etched upon his forehead and thus lead to a jailing that would surely spell his demise at the claws of his personal demon. No, it was better all the way around to keep moving; to be a shadow upon the landscape that changes with every movement of the sun and moon.

His feet led him away from the crowd and down the winding cement pathway that cut through the darkened manicured lawn with several different types of trees poking through the ground and adorned with miniature twinkling lights that made them look like so many leafy candles on a birthday cake. Behind him the carnival noises faded into the distance and Lyonel subconsciously allowed random thoughts to rattle about in his mind without letting anything take enough shape to be worthy of hanging onto and analyzed.

Hey!

Stopping in his tracks, Lyonel suddenly became aware of the rapidly approaching footsteps to his rear. Fearful of the police, he turned to face whoever was after him but was quite relieved to find that the young man in question was hailing some guy who was barely noticeable as he sat in the dark beneath one of the trees. Curiosity getting the best of him, Lyonel moved off the path in the opposite direction and positioned himself behind his own tree in order to watch what he suspected was going to happen.

The one man trotted over to the tree and plopped himself down beside his friend, at which point they embraced and shared a passionate kiss. That kiss was enough to send the pain within Lyonel’s very soul rocketing to new heights; a fire erupting in his gut and burning red-hot at the sight of the two lovers on the cool grass across the winding path in the warm breeze that only fanned the flames of his jealousy further.

They had it all. They had what he had. They had what had been stripped away from Lyonel. What he longed to have again.

…what he would never ever again possess for as long as he would live.

God, it hurt. Hurt like hell, and as a new wave of agony washed through Lyonel he vowed not to allow this sort of thing to upset him again. This he had repeated to himself every single time he had seen two men together since Sean had walked away from him, and every single time it burned a little more deeply. It felt like battery acid eating through the lining of his stomach and entering his bloodstream, burning every inch of the way as it traveled on to his heart.

The two at the base of the tree continued with their tender, yet desperate moment as if their time together was somehow limited, when the truth of the matter was that they probably had all the time in the world to share their lust and possible future. Then again, that was what Lyonel and Sean used to think. They had all the time in the world but the world had other plans for them – and maybe, just maybe, the world had other plans for these two beneath the tree as well, Lyonel thought. Maybe they somehow sensed this and knew the need existed to cram as much activity as they could into a single moment before that moment forever ended leaving one or both of them a mere memory to cling to. A memory that, like Lyonel’s memories, would fade with the passing of time to where it was barely perceptible, and then permanently deleted.

Lyonel did not want his memories to be deleted but the choice was no longer his to make. His sense of self-preservation had taken over the controls and done a commendable job of trying to eradicate those things from long ago that might have had an adverse effect upon him should they again pop up in the future. In the long run, though, it was probably better having his memoirs rewritten at this point. It was less painful not having to dwell on a past that had inscribed such happiness upon the scroll of his existence in light of the tragedy that now clouded his days and nights. And although the mental recurrences from his past had been, by and large, relinquished to the scrap pile, a few sparks still remained to flare up occasionally at the most inopportune times… like now.

Like yesterday and the days before that.

Like forever.

From behind his own tree Lyonel silently stared as clothing from across the way began flying in every direction which, unfortunately, further fueled the raging inferno inside. It was not fair to have given Lyonel everything and then take it all away. It would have been reasonable, even acceptable, to have lost it all to a death. Or to illness or bad fortune. But to this? This was completely unacceptable.

Lyonel wanted to scream; to ball up his fists and shake them at the sky and cry out so loudly that the tallest buildings behind him would crumble to dust. He knew he was only one tiny insignificant speck but surely the worth of his feelings counted for something. Out of all the billions of people upon planet Earth why had he been singled out for this absolute horror? And why make it worse by showing him what he was missing, and doing so by grinding it in his face like so much broken glass?

Further fuelled by the sheer agony of the powerhouse of emotional distress inside him Lyonel felt the fire flare up to the top of his head, only briefly, before he crumbled to the ground like a rag doll; devoid of thoughts, feelings, emotions.

Chapter 2

The sky was unusually clear for a city sky. Sleep did not come easily to Lyonel so he merely stared straight up at the stars, deep in thought about his earlier life. Nothing extraordinary ever happened to Lyonel back then, which was not to say that his life was in any way uninteresting – only that it was not spectacular or exceedingly important in the grand universal scheme of things. His life, his whole life, was predictable and mechanical and seemed to generate itself along the same paths automatically.

He remembered the unexciting routine of managing the store of a nationwide clothing chain up to only a short year ago. Although he was paid well for his time and lived comfortably in the two-bedroom home he shared with his partner of three