And Then Acid Fell

By AU Gonzales

And Then Acid Fell chronicles eight self-contained stories of individuals separated by distance and association through the course of a mysterious deluge of acid. Left to their own devices and with nowhere to run to, the characters are thrust into a journey of self-discovery that none of them could have ever prepared for. This chilling exploration of the human condition in the face of imminent demise begs to ask what it means to be truly alive. Get washed away as the searing downpour peel off layers of their personality – unraveling their lives.

This debut anthology from up and coming author AU Gonzales, explores the spectrum of human emotion – from playful comedy to dark tragedy. Inspired by the events of Typhoon Haiyan, the stories contained in the collection is told from the eyes of their respective protagonists. Leaning away from big adventure that disaster stories usually entail, ACID focuses on a more intimate character drama.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AU Gonzales
• Release date: Aug 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311349620

AU Gonzales

Born Jed Aureus, AU (whose nickname did not originate directly from the chemical symbol for 'gold,' rather was derived from the bacteria Staphylococcus aureus, or more commonly known as 'staph infection') grew up in a family of doctors. Destined to become a physician himself, he fought the current tooth and nail for all of his life, ending up in professions far from the field of Medicine. With a degree in Computer Science, he fancies himself as a 'Solver,' whose interest is piqued by any sort of problem, and a 'Storyteller,' well-versed in languages that humans and computers alike understand.

Book preview

And Then Acid Fell

Copyright © 2014 AU Gonzales

Smashwords Edition

Cover photo credits to Mountain Tracks Media

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,

and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or

are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales

or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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 recipient. If you’re reading this book and did

not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your

favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard

work of this author.

To

Nanay, Tatay, Rea

and

Li

Table of Contents

(First Story)

(Second Story)

(Third Story)

(Fourth Story)

(Fifth Story)

(Sixth Story)

(Seventh Story)

(Eighth Story)

(Afterword)

(Connect with the Author)

Alone, you seek company.

Between four walls,

Corners are your only enemy.

Day 1

'Auspicious.' The word struck him at about the same time the burning, morning sun flashed before his half-opened eyes, weary from a night of utter drudgery. Lyndon wasn't dull, he just constantly runs out of words whenever he needed them most. He could've sold what he wrote for a whole 16 credits, but he could only get the total up to 25 cents lesser, as the total was dictated by the number of words he managed to cram in the document. Unfortunately, 'auspicious' came almost 8 hours late. It was ironic, and his bank account was the only thing that could comprehend the humor.

Lyndon made a living writing other people's words, but he doesn't – rather, couldn't – complain. It wasn't always the case, though. He used to complain a lot; so much so that there came a time when he was handsomely compensated to stop.

He waited a while to get up, like he always did. 7 o' clock was a bit too early for his taste, Lyndon wouldn't know what to do with his time. He tried to keep his eyes shut but the sunlight seared through his eyelids. The sun was selfish, he thought. Now that it was up and about, it didn't want to be alone in its misery – it had to drag everyone along with it, the cruel beast.

Lyndon decided to sprawl around for a bit; he was as fond of his bed as much as he detested mornings. He took in the salty smell of his own sweat on the silky, satin sheets. Not that he was fond of his own aroma, far from it; there was just something about the combination of perspiration and the fabric softener the laundry service used that exuded a – somewhat – musky smell that he often enjoyed.

Damn curtains, he muttered.

Lyndon realized soon enough that he shouldn't blame the sun; it was only doing its job – it was the curtains that failed to do theirs. He could've snuck in a good one to two hours more if only they remained shut.

There was a time when moments like these weren't afforded to Lyndon. It used to be that he would already be in the middle of scrambling aimlessly, unable to decide if he should be brushing his back or scrubbing his teeth first but ended up always doing everything at the same time. Those days were all but a distant memory.

He heaved up his arms, sneaking in one final stretch. Lyndon was all but ready to finally start his day, he just waited a little bit longer hoping that he could conjure up another excuse to keep himself parallel to the floor. With a forceful thud, he pushed himself up off his bed with the sense of urgency comparable to that of a turtle fleeing a forest fire.

The cold, linoleum floor jolted his body, like a bolt of electricity went up and down his spine. It was like a shot of coffee without the turpeny aftertaste.

He cupped his hands over his mouth, slid them down his chin then up to his cheeks. Lyndon enjoyed the feeling of his beard, the ends tickled his palms ever so slightly. His face has not felt the touch of a sharp blade ever since his mustache extended downward to his chin.

Lyndon stood up and walked towards the window to close the curtains.

Damn curtains, he reiterated as he grabbed both ends with his hands, his sinewy frame bared for all the world to see. Lyndon wore only a black boxer's shorts to sleep because he didn't use any ventilation, only the air that managed to seep through the tightly-shut windows, which have not been opened for almost a year and a half now. He lived alone in a one-bedroom apartment, used a tightly cramped living room as his office, kitchen and dining area, and the building's super as his personal assistant.

As he was closing the curtains, he noticed the oily mark his forehead left on the window the night prior. It was a peculiarly wild night for him, he recalled; he finished his work early and he wanted to celebrate the achievement by throwing out his old routine – figuratively – out the window. He dusted off his old binoculars, furled the curtains of his bedroom window, sat on the steel railing of his bed and watched the goings-on of drunken vagrants out and about the many bars conveniently located a stone's throw away from where his apartment building stood. It had been a long time since he spent his night people-watching, high above 10 floors, and it gave him a sense of novelty that illegally downloaded movies and television shows failed to provide. Lyndon wasn't perverted, he just had a penchant for connecting otherwise disjointed narratives that a night full of disorder and people in drunken stupor dispensed. Years ago, he would have easily been on the other side of the glass, hobbling on the jagged asphalt hopped up on alcohol, with a stomach filled with chicken wings and shrimp. He reminisced quite a bit last night but did not miss any of those moments one bit. He laughed silently at the inebriated lot stumbling every three steps they take. A few drunken fights here and there, and some drunk, under-aged boys going home with – what looked like – prostitutes. He kicked back against the beige-painted wall to balance himself while he sat unsteadily on the cold, steel railing that lined his bed. From a distance, he looked like a stalker staking out his next victim. It didn't help that his apartment was sandwiched in between two other apartments, that made kind of a horseshoe or a U-shaped formation. He watched aimlessly until he got tired at about an hour after midnight – just when things started to pick up.

With the use of the curtain, Lyndon wiped the smudge clean off the glass before he unfurled them to shut off the full intensity of the sun from his domicile. The sandy-colored curtains allowed the sunlight to radiate a yellowish hue all over the unlit apartment.

The apartment held only little dust and boasted the original coat of paint that it had ever since it was made. The living room, which doubled as an office space, had only one wooden table, one office chair, one fully decked out desktop computer and tons of scratch paper littered all over the floor. The place hasn't seen other people for several months now that's why the need to tidy up hasn't been seen as a necessity, save for a few bouts with cockroaches.

Lyndon made his way out of the bedroom – neglecting to cover up with a shirt – to his office space, passed the kitchen, and headed straight to the bathroom. He had a daily ritual which he performed religiously every morning for the past year and a half or so: palm a tile that lined the shower, pass the mirror without looking, prepare a cup of coffee, open his computer, drink the coffee, eject his bowels. The breakfast he ate varied from instant noodles to fast food deliveries to anything he could conjure up from his stock – he'd like to think he always keeps it fresh in terms of choosing what to eat but, sadly, a pattern becomes evident, albeit unbeknownst to him.

The pantry above the makeshift kitchen was filled with stock that would otherwise not have been available to a person such as Lyndon. He had appointed Pablo, the building's superintendent, to oversee his personal affairs, much to the super's chagrin. Pablo had neither asked for the appointment nor had wanted the responsibility but he was compelled to accept it, out of sympathy.

Lyndon had many friends, but that was in a different time. Pablo was the only person that he has physical contact with nowadays, even though it was only through behind a moderately thick, wooden door. All the mail, deliveries and groceries were exclusively routed through Pablo. At first, the super struggled with the additional responsibility forced on him but gradually became used to it. If there was a problem in the plumbing or electricity, Lyndon would just call him up and he would aid his ward through a small opening allowed by the door of the apartment. People who lived on the 10th floor often found him outside apartment 1008, talking to a small opening afforded by the security chain that fastened the door. Whenever he made his rounds, he routinely found a garbage bag outside Lyndon's apartment, which in turn he would dispose in a garbage chute a few steps from where he found it. It wasn't his job to clean up after Lyndon, but he didn't see the point of the garbage piling up in the corridor.

Lyndon wanted to continue his streak of supposed spontaneity – he had a stock full of various supplies, he could virtually cook anything he wanted. Today he wanted something fried and crunchy, he mused to himself, and something that has the soft consistency of fish or spam. He had week-old potatoes and could whip up a decent fried hash, or even fried gnocchi or simply fried potatoes. That would be too textbook, he thought. He then cracked open a can of sardines, stuffed them inside mashed potatoes, sprinkled them with breadcrumbs and decided to just fry it instead.

He paced around his living room as he waited for his breakfast to finish cooking. Lyndon couldn't help but notice the disturbingly, darkening stain around the emergency fire alarm located above his computer. In fact, half of his day was devoted to his noticing of the stain. He always questioned the necessity of the device – there hasn't been a fire in the building ever since it was built and any fire could be easily extinguished by portable devices. He reckoned that the water that built up behind the nozzle of the hydrant must be responsible for the rotting of the false wall that divided his bedroom and his living room. The surrounding of the hydrant in his bedroom didn't have the same stain, though, which has perplexed him for a couple of months now. He didn't know what to do about it and he didn't want to burden Pablo, he already had too much on his plate and it's not as if the stain was hurting anyone. If it was indeed a problem with the pipes, fixing it would be too taxing to handle alone and the physical assistance of at least one other person would be required – a thought that he didn't enjoy entertaining.

The air thickened quite a bit, with a hint of the smell of burning potatoes. Lyndon got lost in his thoughts that he failed to notice his dish slowly burning away on the pan. Any thicker, the smoke would have easily triggered the hydrant to go off, rendering all his electronic equipment useless. He had tons of backup but it would be tedious to replace the hardware without stepping outside his apartment. He ran to the stove and shut if off with haste. As the dish slowly cooled, he tried to scrape off what he could from the pan.

He gorged down on his breakfast and coffee as fast as the job assignments arrived on his computer. From where he sat, Lyndon could only watch as his tasks of the day piled up. There was no use lingering with the food, he wanted to finish all his work as soon as possible so he sped up his chewing. In one fluid sequence, he chugged down his coffee to wash everything down, washed his face and then went straight to work.

Words flowed through him like a steady stream, seamlessly switching tasks from writing to editing to proofreading and then back to writing. Every task was different – different requirements, different employers. The internet connected the world in a way that provided an opportunity for people like Lyndon to earn and interact without even leaving the comfort of their own homes. It was a magical thing, he thought.

Lyndon used to write in a language only computers understood but has since left it in favor of human-readable literature. It wasn't because he grew tired of coding, it was because he grew tired of the politicking and the backstabbing that corporate life entailed. He grew tired of broken promises, division of perspectives, long lines and painstakingly, longer commutes. Baseless arguments and theft of creativity weren't good selling points of corporate life either. Most of all, he grew tired of people.

He had left his old life behind, wasting away its memories with every keystroke. Lyndon had traded in the noose people market as a 'necktie' and tailor-made suits for a pair of boxers and – sometimes – a plain white t-shirt, and he has never been happier. The torrential amount of online work that arrived afforded him only little time to reminisce during the day, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Time and again he would blast Miles Davis or Bob Marley on his speakers, to keep him company throughout the day. Lyndon would switch it up to keep things fresh, but unfortunately a pattern eventually emerges. Sometimes he would do a little dance with the beat, but the easy listening music didn't provide a lot of room for dancing. He also didn't get a lot of work done whenever he would have an intermission.

Without tons of distraction, Lyndon could easily perform two to three times the production of an average online freelancer. He could've easily called it a day a little over after lunchtime. Although he took regular breaks to stretch and walk around for a bit, the only time he would stop for an extended period of time was when he had to eat lunch or he had to take a midday bath, two events which almost always happen consecutively.

As the world moved outside, so did Lyndon, although in a different pace. His decision of cutting himself off from the outside world meant not having to abide by anyone else's schedule. He didn't have to eat breakfast, lunch or dinner, he could name them anything he wanted and eat anytime he just felt like it but alas old habits die hard. He had replaced his computer's clock with a timer for when submissions are due.

From a distance, Lyndon could've sworn that he had heard pitter patter of rain, but paid it no mind. His apartment was situated in an area that avoided getting drenched. He missed the sight of droplets on his window, that's why he had instead set a picture of the sort as his wallpaper. Slowly, the rumbling picked up until the deluge was clearly audible even with the speakers on full volume.

Lyndon loved the rain – the sight of it, the smell of it. When he was a child, he used to love playing in it, he loved the feel of water trickling down his skin. There was just something about the rain that brought back times of innocence.

He wasn't aware if there was a storm on the horizon, but then again rain isn't an unnatural occurrence in the times between lunch and dinner – Lyndon wasn't even sure if it was still afternoon because he had been caught up in his work. The sound of rain didn't prove enough of a distraction from finishing his deadlines though.

Suddenly, the phone rang.

Lyndon routinely removes it from its socket but it seemed that he had forgotten after the last time he used it to order food. No one really ever bothers calling him, that's why he hadn't noticed that it was still plugged in. No matter how long it rang, he refused to answer because he knew that there could only be one person on the other end – his estranged sister, nagging him about a long overdue reconciliation.

Typing more heavily now, Lyndon refused to be bothered. He was already working on deadlines due next month but past bouts with procrastination had taught him all too well, not wanting to sink in the same hole he did years prior. It

Reviews for And Then Acid Fell

[LianneLedesma · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

"And Then Acid Fell" is a treat for avid fiction readers who seek a fresh style of writing. With 8 different stories revolving in one single catastrophic event, the author successfully brought to life a wide array of characters which represent the different roles each play in a society - from the weak to the powerful.

I loved how the author managed to touch a lot of genres of fiction - from a budding romance, to an end of a marriage all the way to an action sequence. A roller coaster is not enough to describe your emotions after reading through the end of this book.

"And Then Acid Fell" is a gripping page-turner truly deserving of a 5-star review.