Hope

By Matthew Gene

Christopher wages war with his mind every day. A teenager on the edge of insanity, trying to figure out who he really is, and why the dreams of people and events haunting him, have him believing that he might be connected to something extraordinary. Take a moment in time to find out whether this young man is in fact unstable, or if these relentless encounters are taking him to a place, a time, or a discovery within himself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Progressive Rising Phoenix Press, LLC
• Release date: Mar 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781944277529

Matthew Gene

Matthew Gene is the webmaster for Progressive Rising Phoenix Press and the author of two Science Fiction novels: “Hope” and “Terminus X.” He is also the bass player for the band: Empiire. For more information, visit his website at: MatthewGene.net.

Book preview

ONE

It’s cold.

Christopher took the last drag of his cigarette as the cold air cut deep into him. He dropped it to the ground and slowly snuffed it out with the tip of his boot, trying to see the glow disappear before actually crushing it.

He turned toward the house and noticed the color: different shades of gray with white trim around the edges. For some reason this morning, everything seemed to stand out—colors, sounds, and temperature. He was dressed in his favorite clothes: black shark skin boots, blue jeans, and a white dress shirt with a bright-colored tie. Last, a black leather jacket topped off his appearance.

He walked up the sidewalk towards the house, hearing only the sound coming from his boots clicking against the pavement. As he walked up the steps and onto the porch, a white Mustang full of teenagers screamed around the corner. Christopher tensed. He realized they hadn’t even noticed him. It was Homecoming that week, and their car was fully decked out with streamers and cans being dragged behind. There was shoe polish on the windows. One window even said, ‘SENIORS RULE! SCREW SCHOOL!’ For a brief moment, he longed to still be wrapped up in the glory days of high school, to be sitting in his favorite history class with Mr. Abshire again, and to smell the perfume in the air from the cheerleader sitting to his immediate right. God how he loved her, but she never would even blink an eye in his direction.

He drifted away with his eyes piercing a hole through the cold October air. He couldn’t seem to break his stare, feeling as if cables were attached to his eyes, not letting him look away. But the sound of the Mustang squealing its tires at the next intersection brought him back. The smile drifted from his face after reminiscing of high school and he thought, Now she’ll pay.

He turned towards the door and froze, as if waiting for someone to come crashing through it and land at his feet. He couldn’t believe he was actually there. What the hell am I doing here? He rubbed the left front pocket of his jeans and could feel the outline of the key through the denim. He just stared at the door while he felt the key, wondering whether or not he had really finally lost it all in the end.

He reached in his pocket and pulled the key out. It was new gold, shining like the sun in the morning light. As he looked at the key, he realized at that very moment how ironic this whole situation really was. This key, not only was it going to open this door to a somehow unavoidable future, but it seemed to also signify the opening up of a new personality for himself.

He looked at the door, and without hesitating, he walked to it and inserted the key. Man, it’s such a beautiful key. It fits so perfectly, without flaws. His life flashed before him, and with one last sigh of anxiousness, he turned the key.

He wasn’t ready for what he saw when he walked through the doorway. He felt déjà vu set in. Christopher could swear to it that he had just walked into the Cleaver residence. He expected to see June Cleaver walk around the corner at any moment and call out, Beaver, your lunch is ready! You better hurry, dear. You might miss the bus. And tell Wally to get a move on also. Eddie is already in the driveway honking. The house even had that same staircase. The one that looked like a backwards L.

Christopher had been standing in the doorway for a good five minutes with the door wide open. He heard footsteps coming closer. He turned quickly to see a jogger wearing a gray sweatshirt and black sweat pants. Their eyes met at the same time. Christopher had his hands poised on the door in order to shut it before being seen, but it was too late.

The jogger spoke, Mornin.

Christopher just gave a Mr. Zero blank look and dropped his head in recognition. He then noticed the change of expression on the jogger’s face. He saw his eyebrows drop and his mouth tighten around the edges as if he were thinking, I didn’t know she had a boyfriend.

He did get the door shut, but all of a sudden, he felt as if he had locked himself in a safe. He started to feel claustrophobic and his chest began to tighten as his breathing accelerated. The only thing he could hear was his own breath.

He turned and walked towards the stairs. This can’t be happening, raced through his darkened mind. As his hand touched the banister, an electric shock charged through his fingertips. The banister was cold, freezing to the touch. Christopher had gone numb, but his senses were doubled. He took that first step, his ankle wanting to give, and he halfway wanted it to give for that perfect excuse to pack up and go home. Home. What I wouldn’t give to be home right now.

At the top of the first section of stairs, he noticed a picture hanging on the wall to his left. It was a bust hologram of Christ, with the words ‘BLESS THIS HOUSE’ poking him in the nose. Now, Christopher did feel evil. He felt that his life had jumped the tracks somewhere, but he just couldn’t put his finger on that specific moment. If he could just slow himself down long enough to think, he might get better.

He turned, looking back down the stairs. A downhill slope, he thought. Just like my life. His thoughts shifted and he began to walk back down to get the hell out, but something stopped him. An invisible wall named fear. His mind was blank. He couldn’t even make himself think of what he had done the day before. He felt the evil swelling in him and the fear staring him in the eyes. It was staring him down, telling him to do it. Do it! shouted into his head from nowhere.

Forget about everyone else! You have to do this! These thoughts kept popping into Christopher’s head. The fear inside him was taking over and talking to him.

Turn around now or forever be nothing. Forever be tormented by me, Fear. You have failed miserably in everything you’ve ever attempted to accomplish. Be lost forever in your own self-pity. Take me with you, and turn me into the grandest power of all, strength! Courage is what I will become. Like the caterpillar in the cocoon before eternal beauty, you will be set free. Nothing can or will stand in your way. Now go!

Christopher was in a cold sweat, breathing heavily with hatred, hatred for fear, society, for his own failing pathetic life, and hatred even stronger now for her. He staggered back against the banister, gathered his thoughts, turned his head right, and looked to the top of the stairs. Without hesitation, he climbed the stairs, not slowing, not looking back. At the top of the stairs, the bedroom door stared back at him. Within five steps he was standing in front of the bedroom door. There was no turning back now.

After all, it isn’t your problem. It’s hers. She’s the one that’s gone over the edge. In about one minute I will be free and she will be punished. My old life will be left behind and I’ll have a new life full of limitless surprises to look forward to.

He grasped the doorknob and once again felt the sting of cold pierce into his fingertips. The knob turned with such ease, just as the key had fit into the lock. Everything is so perfect.

When the door was open, he slowly released the knob, leaving only a sliver of dim light to be seen. With his left hand on the center of the door, he pushed easy. The door moved silently and stopped just before the wall, never making a sound. All at once, like a spring breeze, Christopher’s senses were on his side. He smelled a woman.

He didn’t move. He couldn’t move. He was afraid his heart might wake her as loud as it was beating. He let his eyes adjust to what he was seeing. There, in the center of the room, under layers of blankets, nestled in like a small animal hiding from the cold, she slept. He was anxious to walk to the edge of the bed. However, he didn’t want to chance that the floor might shift on him and utter out a creak that would wake the dead. But, as impatience finally overcame the fear, he took the first step over the threshold. His left foot connected with the floor, and he let out a sigh of relief with a feeling of accomplishment. However, his right foot was still in the same position, and he was poised like a sprinter. He finally lifted his right foot and continued to walk as carefully as possible to the end of the bed. He stood still, staring at the bulge in the center of the bed.

He finally made it. He made himself go to the house where she lived. He couldn’t believe he was standing right in front of her. All of the things that had happened had finally come to this. Suddenly, he felt something deep down. It was a feeling of guilt. Now guilt was telling Christopher that it wasn’t that bad, that he should just