Discidium

By Richard Athearn

Her mind snapped out of the subconscious and into the shroud of darkness.
Rendon reached into the black, feeling the cold ground, jagged walls and stalagmites dripping with condensation. Her face hot and stomach boiling with fear as she scrambled through her hazy memories to answer her one burning question, "How did i get here?"
It was only a few hours ago she had ended her shift driving an armored car for a courier service. After arriving home, Rendon loses consciousness, awakening into the shadows. Strangely, she is in her full security uniform, including her gun and flashlight. She clicked the flashlight on, revealing the claustrophobic grey cave.
eventually escaping the dark maw of the cave she finds a world with oddities and peculiarities blurring the line between reality and fantasy as she embarks on an epic adventure into the unknown.
Discidium is the first in a series of nine illustrated novels.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jun 16, 2013
• ISBN: 9781304143624

Book preview

Discidium

Discidium

Written & Illustrated by Richard J. Athearn

Edited by Lisette G. La Framboise Kirac

Copyright  2006

Chapter 1

I froze with terror. My stomach boiled and my heart raced as I tried to move from my chair, but I was paralyzed. Suddenly, everything started turning a soothing, calm white, like the beginning of a migraine aura, but everywhere. I tried to move but could not; then I realized I was fainting. My fingers and toes tingled. I felt dizzy and lightheaded and fell into the white nothingness.

I do not know how long I was unconscious, but I remember waking up. The light started to fade as I slowly regained each of my senses and awoke feeling cold and wet. The smell of dirt, wet rocks and other strange odors filled my nostrils. My eyes attempted to focus, but only caught blurry images, like snippets of an old film reel. I could hear the echo of my movements against rocks, clanking and resonating, the softness of my flesh against the hardness of the ground.         The reverberation of the echoes informed me I was in a tightly enclosed area. This, combined with my impaired visibility, made me feel painfully claustrophobic.

I almost called for help, but hastily cupped my hands to my mouth as I remembered the shadowy face in my window. My mind told me that he may have brought me here, so calling out may not be the best idea. I was disoriented and my arms and legs felt fatigued, but I was able to slowly push myself up.  I rubbed my eyes sleepily, coaxing them to work, like an infant waking up from her afternoon nap.

Come on, eyes, I grumbled to myself.

Although it was dark, I could make out shapes and patterns revealed by an indiscernible light source. I noticed that I was wearing my security uniform, and that my gun was in its holster, which was odd because I’d remembered wearing my lazy house clothes just moments earlier.

Pondering my situation, I realized that I actually did not know exactly how much time had surpassed between where I was now and when I was last at my apartment. It could have been minutes, hours, or days, for that matter. But I realized that this could not be a kidnapping, otherwise they would not have given me my gun, ‘they’ being the culprit. I was so confused. The more I tried to make sense of my situation, the more

beclouded it seemed.

The overwhelming whiteness had almost completely vanished, now just a fading aura revealing an annoyingly dark cave.

I pulled my Beretta from its holster and inspected it carefully. This same 9mm, black metal Beretta was used by all of the armored couriers. Iron Shield chose the gun because it was lightweight and easy to use by both men and women.

I always recognized my gun by the tiny, faded rainbow sticker on the butt of the gun; it was badly faded because it had been there for at least ten years. My mother had given it to me as a reminder to always look at the bright side of things, but that naïveté had faded over the years along with the sticker. Next, I instinctively reached for my standard issue flashlight, delighted to also find it there. With some hesitation I clicked it on, cutting through the darkness.

It seemed as though I was in a complex cave system, surrounded by endless tunnels and pillars of stalagmites and stalactites. I felt terrified and alone. It was like waking up in a haunted house at midnight and not knowing how you arrived, your face hot with fright and stomach in knots, and you cannot help but hyperventilate, gasping in panic and terror. I could see only one tunnel that might be an exit. A dim turquoise haze emanated from its depths. 

With the gun and flashlight slipping around in my hands from sweat, I began to approach its cavernous maw. My shoes squeaked from moisture and the rocks beneath them ground and echoed as tiny pebbles bounced and refracted from the walls. The tunnel curved right, leading me to what appeared to be an enormous amphitheater.

Here, the turquoise light shone brighter and I could hear a faint and indistinct sound that seemed close yet far away, like the gentle white noise a seashell makes when you hold it close to your ear. The natural amphitheater was comprised of several stalagmites which had formed into pillars over the centuries. The ceiling was about fifteen feet high, and the nearly circular room was about sixty feet wide from the walls. Disappointingly, it led to no exits, just another portion of the labyrinth.

I was still tired and felt dizzy, possibly from the drugs they injected me with to bring me here. Or, I was fatigued. I sat on the ground with my back to a stalagmite. The cool and moist rock felt good on my hot back. I rested my head and started taking deep breaths. There is nobody here but me. Nobody, I whispered, reassuring myself. I cleaned the sweat off of my face with my sleeve and then wiped off my gun, noticing a reflection of turquoise light on its polished surface. I quickly stood up and inched toward the light source, ignoring the dozens of other dark caves that surrounded me. Suddenly I realized I had not checked my gun for shells. I flicked the clip release button with my right thumb and ejected the magazine into my left hand. Upon inspection, I could tell there were bullets in place. I slid the magazine back into my gun, hearing that familiar metallic wisp and chambered a round.

Knowing that I had a potentially deadly weapon in hand gave me a little bit more confidence in navigating the cave system.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I entered the next room, but abruptly stopped and recoiled in terror as I noticed the silhouette of a humanoid figure sitting on the ground, completely motionless.

Prologue

I have never been one for telling stories.

I don’t suppose it is out of the ordinary that I have this loathsome fear of speaking in public.

In fact, a poll was conducted in the early 1990’s in the northern United States in an attempt to find what American demographic most feared. The results revealed that, from least to most, water, financial problems, insects and heights topped the charts of most formidable. But number one on the list was, unequivocally, public speaking. Looking back now this seems a little out of place.

Perhaps that is why I am writing this.

Most people can agree that giving a speech is terrifying: all of those eyes and ears waiting to be entertained with knowledge, anticipating you to stutter or mispronounce. But telling your lives story is something quite different. All of your vulnerabilities and short-comings, moments of triumph and despair, are all laid out on the table pitifully like a bad hand of Texas Hold’em. Just pray your life’s savings aren’t left sitting in the winning pot. 

My name is Rendon Brembalo, and this is my story. Mind you, it is strange, random and unbelievable. But so are a lot of true stories. For example: did you know that there are two reported, documented accounts of people being struck by meteorites?

In the 1930’s, a Japanese school girl was struck while playing hopscotch outside. Then, in 1954, a morbidly obese Alabama woman collided with a meteorite in the poorly decorated living room of her trailer.

Random and unbelievable? Undeniably. But no less true than each and every equation you ever memorized in algebra class and every damned state capital that had to be committed to memory along with its corresponding state--and many people will tell you, most of those state capitals make absolutely no sense in relation to their relative states. Puny and diminutive, they don’t even do their represented state justice: Albany, New York, Helena, Montana and Tallahassee, Florida, anyone?

There is no rule in this universe that avows that everything based in reality must therefore be uninteresting. Also, it is not compulsory that everything random and exciting must therefore be fantasy. Otherwise, quantum physics would have lost its following a long time ago.

Before we begin on the events taking place on April 29th, 2003, I will begin