Synthetic Prison

By Lou H. Francis

With a lack of his memory, a younger man wakes up to find himself trapped in an alien-like, hostile land, filled with strange colours, plant life and almost no animals, after getting transported in his search for a missing person.

Be captivated with this bizarre yet exciting journey that will take you on a ride of emotions, as he fights through masses of ancient horrifying creatures and tries to survive hostile territorial wars riddled with magic warfare and cruelty. Follow along as he uncovers more about the world and its almost-unexplainable land, monuments, architecture and secrets, along with those trapped just like him – some friendly but confused on why and how, while others out for blood and power.

This story will not only take you on a fantasy adventure of a lifetime, leaving you sad, excited, fearful and hungry for more, it will also give you a strange everlasting feeling around frogs and stairs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Feb 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9781398406698

Lou H. Francis

Lou H. Francis was born in Victoria, Australia in 2001 and moved to the ‘Sunshine Coast’ in his teens. Schooling for him was of no interest and often found himself being the cause of a lot of trouble. Having nothing that interested him enough, he began looking for something meaningful. With the encouragement of a friend of the family, he took up writing, initially as just a hobby.

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About the Author

Lou H. Francis was born in Victoria, Australia in 2001 and moved to the ‘Sunshine Coast’ in his teens. Schooling for him was of no interest and often found himself being the cause of a lot of trouble. Having nothing that interested him enough, he began looking for something meaningful. With the encouragement of a friend of the family, he took up writing, initially as just a hobby.

Copyright Information ©

Lou H. Francis 2024

The right of Lou H. Francis to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398406681 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398406698 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Chapter One

Meme.

Eh? This is it… The forest no one has ever left? It’s no bigger than my house, I could walk around this. Hell! I could climb over these walls. I frown as I contemplate Akira getting lost in here, anyone getting lost in here at that. I can see straight over the wall, it looks like a common elderly person’s garden, a strange array of plants with unkept tree’s, a weird combination I think, but I’m no gardener. I don’t see any animals either, not even a bird in a tree. I don’t really think much of it, looks boring as all hell and I’m glad the animals agree with me. There are a few different flowers, a small, stone doghouse, looking thing, one you would often see in your aunt’s backyard, bless her. With a lake in the centre, the only interesting item are these large flower stems that had no petals, floating almost, all perfectly in the same position in the lake. It was quite clear water, except the middle had a black, sludge-like moss with a strange clover like plant streaming out of it above the white wine-coloured water. I let out a loud annoying sigh, like I’m trying to gain someone’s attention. I’m alone, and I would weep, how the hell did everyone else end up dead before we got here? I wonder as I rub the sides of my head, but I start walking down the faulty, broken stone staircase. It’s wobbly and feels like I’m about to die before reaching the entrance to this damn thing.

Maybe people go missing from falling down this staircase and cracking their skulls, I start talking to myself, once again I feel like turning around and going back, but it’s this or the war.

Possibly, when they fall some weird animals take the bodies and no one’s ever actually entered this sorry excuse for a forest, let alone someone’s back yard! I sound like a sadistic prick, not that I care. I’ve never really cared about what others think, I mean it’s better to be me than to lock away my bad personality.

This shit just sucks, I mumble sounding defeated and frustrated, I’ve been walking for god knows how many days, I just want this to be over.

Good thing I found a bottle of pills on the way, I mumble again feeling proud of myself for nothing, stepping down the staircase, a blood red frog, right under my foot interrupts me. Normally I would just stomp the life out of an animal than put my wellbeing at risk, but it’s no war dog and just a frog that’s not trying to tear my throat out. Its dark red skin reminds me of an old, clotted blood colour, like you would find on a remotely fresh murder scene. I look into the frog’s eyes as my foot follows where my eyes stare, but it isn’t scared. A light-yellow (like a dying sunflower) set of eyes glances back at me unfriendly, uninviting. Do I pulp it, or risk falling down these hard-stone stairs that could lead to my fortunate death? The answer is obvious, I kick my leg out as far as I can, my body lunging forwards, legs stretching as far in front of me as possible.

Oh shit, I humbly mumble to myself, saying it in that way made me feel posh, like a rich annoying bastard, reminds me of high-ranking military officials who run the whole place. They settle in the city’s so-called big house, forcing us the to do the fighting against other planets, another planet to them is like a silver bar to an adult in debt, not much, but if the supreme overlord commands it, then so be it, some stupid moose-brained mutt. He often has a bad reputation, but he started cleaning up war criminals so there’s that, though his the one who sent them to do his war crimes, his just saving his own ass to build repour with new members of his systems, which re just people who lost wars against him.

While I mutter my thoughts, it distracts me from the fact I’m falling down these damn stairs, and it’s too late to plant my foot and save my body from a world of bad pain and a lot of future physical therapy. My foot misses the last step by inches, and I’m forced to do tumble to the side. This action was not ordinary, it would win me a national prize at a gymnastics competition, achieving a perfect ten from each judge. I breath in and let out a horrific scream as my body cracks into the steps, one that would scare a banshee, even a wraith, spirits that protect their master’s graves or their own grave at that, horrifying looking things. They would pack their bags and leave faster than my dad died in the war after hearing me wail in agony, my legs start to wobble and I shift to my side and start tumbling down the stone stairs like a freshly cut off head of an Aztec human sacrifice bouncing down the temple stairs to the awaiting crowd. I tumble down making disgruntled noises like euhgg, or, gaghhhu.

As I hit the presumably seventeenth step, my body lunges forward like I’m diving down off a high board, arms at my side. I smack the middle of my nose on the old, rough and serrated end of the steps. I’m instantly greeted with a thick flow of blood rushing down the back of my throat and out of my nose, flying off in different directions. Anyone watching would mistake it for some strange bug party or a modern-day art show, both only interesting for about twelve seconds. My face reaches the grass at the bottom of the staircase. I lay flat like a crime scene photoshoot; the taste of iron overwhelms me. I quickly pinch my nose and start letting the blood drain out of my mouth, noticing a large clump of blood in front of me, I look up, it’s that damn frog.

I should have just pulped you!

I half scream in anger; it sounds muffled and gurgled. Anyone listening would have thought I was either drowning or I had just fallen down some stupid ancient stairs and broken my nose. The frog looks at me in a way that feels sadistic, it makes my blood boil.

You little bastard! I gurgle.

The frog turns, and in one swift graceful jump, lands through the entrance of the forest, it vanishes in front of my eyes which widen in half agitated half confused expression. The expression switches to that of someone beaten by a frog and I feel betrayed. It disappears into the forest; I couldn’t determine where it went, and before I knew it, gone. I must have some sort of brain damage. My nose continues to bleed.

My nose, ugh, I let out a discontented weep, a mix of frustration and sadness. The other soldiers were right, ‘She’s probably dead,’ they said. ‘Akira isn’t coming out, will probably get ambushed on the way’ they said.

I should have just stayed in that damn trench and got drunk silly with the rotten corpses; this is shit, I mutter under my blood-soaked breath. Before leaving, everyone wanted me to stay and drink, to forget about that damn Akira or whatever her name was and move on to the next part of the war, I bloody wish. I think in my mind that I could be there still, getting wasted on dry aged wine or nut smooth whiskey, nothing can beat that damn whiskey. It’s well-aged and cared for, even though we pull them from enemy reserves. I sit up, still mumbling about how much I now hate frogs. I reach into my side bag and pull out my first set of bandages. I lean forward clenching my teeth and blow my nose hard, a large clump of clotted blood flies out like some civil war cannon ball. It lands in front of me, kind of dry looking. I stare at it blankly, seeing half bloated bodies and men torn in half by artillery shells does that, I guess. It’s already got some strange mites crawling on it. I lean my head back, push a rolled-up bandage in each nostril, soaking up some of the blood. I look like an idiot; my nose is packed with this bandage and there’s still blood dripping from it. I reach up and feel the area in-between my eyes. I feel a hard object, I’m dumb and what do dumb people do? I push hard on my wound.

Stuff me! I scream as the pain is immense, feeling like a carpet burn, but your skin is on fire and you have some asshole wasp stinging at it all at the same time. I feel extraordinarily angry and the pain is getting worse. My primitive mind goes blank, and I punch the stair behind me. Out of anger, I grab the bottle of fresh water out of my bag and pour it over my nose, press some bandage up hard on it, and reach around my bag for some tape to hold it in place.

What an ordeal. I whisper with relief; my nose agrees with me, and the pain isn’t as bad.

Why am I a mindless dog? I attack myself, looking down at my now bloody and bruised hand. I brush of my throbbing hand pain, I pull the pill bottle out a take one like a champ, should kick in soonish, looking into the entrance of the forest.

I better go look for Akira in this veggie patch before night comes, shame our forces didn’t turn this area into wet dirt, I sarcastically emphasise. I push my legs up and use my right hand to balance myself. Once up, I place my hands on my lower back and push to stretch it. I look back at the staircase and give it a dirty look, the one. Once I regain my focus, I pull up some snotty blood-filled spit and hurl a big one at the staircase, then frown, that staircase beat my ass.

I walk up to the gate of this forest, there is a crest of some sort on the left side of it. There’s some old ancient writing on it. I know a small portion of the script, stating guardian frog willow well. It annoys me, I’ve had enough of frogs. There’s more but I can’t interpret it. I’m not a pre-school art teacher or a snarky high school English one. The crest seems to be something that had a large body, similar to a Viking giant but the head was scratched out. I notice the edges, where the metal plating meets the old stone wall are surrounded by a strange blue liquid variant. I run my finger in it. It’s sticky and smells sweet like a nectar, do I dare taste it? Yes, I do, I’m dumb. It’s sweet but it’s like nothing I have tasted. I get a feeling of dread, a strange aura of eyes looking at me. I feel uneasy and whispers begin to enter my ears. They’re quite like the first stages of tinnitus. I can’t make it out but, it sounds like something along the lines of go inside. I quiver, the feeling you get when your mum goes through you search history, I guess. I hate being told what to do, a bad way to try and stop me.

Alright time to conquer this oversized cabbage patch, I confidently spout out these words, it’s the most confident I’ve been for the last hour. I perform a shamble looking walk to the front entrance. I’m about a step away from it and the whispers seem like screams sounding from the dead. I don’t feel so confident anymore. I sit and stare at the entrance for a few moments.

Oh damn, okay. I’ve done worse things than trespass in an ancient dog park, I step in and it’s painful. My vision is blocked by a lime green light, my head thudding like I’m being beat in the head with the bottom of a steel laced boot. Or possibly like I’m being dragged through the street like a trophy or a warning to others.

He finally arrives! I hear this phrase from what feels like a distance, my head hurts. I think I’m screaming. I can’t tell, my mouth burns like I’m choking on boiled water. I feel a spinning sensation like I’m falling from up high in a spiral. My head swells with visions of people running for what seems like forever. Scared of the night, it’s twisted, hurting. I’m going to die, and I know it. I feel it, clutching my what feels like non-existent hands over my face to cover my eyes. Then… silence. It’s gone quiet. I’m on the damp dewy grass huddled into a ball, like a cold baby trying to warm itself. I’m breathing heavily, the air is fresh, it’s good, very good, and it smells of that sweet blue nectar. I try to push myself up but my arms are trembling, like a kid terrified of a boogie man under his bed, or someone who just went through the shortest and most terrifying psychedelic trip, scary stuff man. I manage to look up.

What the, uh, I’m lost for words. A stone statue stands before me, it has almost a T shaped head, a small circle in the middle of it depicts an annoyed face, lines course through its body that glow a faint purple. it seems to be the forest. A straight path goes through it and appears to connect multiple other walkways surrounded by thick masses of blood red stalks, half like bamboo stalks but sections that are darker green, large flat top tree’s that resemble thick oak trees, a mass of long grass and a variety of coloured flowers. A normal forest, but from my view of the path, it seems to go on forever in front of me. No hills, lumps or craters to be seen, just flat. I look to my left and it’s the same, it seems to go on forever, I look to the right, it’s the same. I turn around and look behind me. It’s the same, the exit has gone. It’s just flat ground and forest land.

We’re in a royal veggie patch now, I say to myself. It sounds shredded and unhopeful. This place is endless. I look around frantically, in all directions. It seems very quiet. Not seeing a wall hurts my eyes. along with my brain.

Stand, ghoulish man, I jump back like a fear-stricken rat, I look around but see no one.

God. Is this heaven? I ask thinking I got pulped by some weird ancient magic.

No, you thwonk, in front of you, filth, the voice sounds rusty but dangerous, like I’m about to get mugged by a smoker of forty years. I look up and the stone statue has moved closer, its eyes beam at me with no expression.

You just called me a thwonk. The hell does that even mean? I reply, asserting dominance over this thing. It’s greeted with a round house kick to my kidney, resulting me to collapse and start weeping like a widow.

For someone made of rock you sure move fast, I manage to cough out another unneeded remark.

Stay down and listen, it demands from me. I quiet down. Better to listen to the big scary stone man. It looks at me for a few moments more, it lets out a small laugh.

Would you look at that, Cripticion was right, you did come after all these years, it states.

What? I ask back in confusion.

It does not matter, he will be pleased though, and I thought I was being played for a fool by him, very intriguing, it adds. I stay silent, a strange dread falls over me, as I feel I’m being watched by something else.

Choose your preferred memories and choose wisely, it demands, annoying me. I value my kidneys so I just go along with it.

Why? I blankly ask, no point in trying to talk about the news. I look up, the stone entity looks upon on me. It has no facial features apart from eyes and its body looks plain and mossy. A purple mist emanates from its eyes.

The witch’s rule, creators of the eternal unlimited being which we stand, once entered, memories shall be removed some shall be kept, it replies with. I give it a daft look, like I’m waiting for more. I want to turn it into cement mix, it annoys me.

What do I forget? I ask, I sound defeated, I’m still recovering from the drug trip of lifetime. The entity shifts towards me slightly, its feet are covered in that same blue nectar.

Everything except common knowledge, you will remember entering this being, the reason you did, speaking, walking, running. Memories like that will be kept, it responds.

What kind of place is this? I ask.

It does not matter, one think’s it’s for herself, but really it’s for you, it responds.

So, why is it for me, and what do I get to keep as my memory? I ask.

You will know eventually, it does not matter, you have no choice but to follow my rules, you can choose a few based on the rules I have been set, but I already know what they are, it responds. I really hate this, it’s like I’m being set up.

Fine, I respond hesitantly, then let me keep my combat experience, so I can at least live in here, I respond. It laughs.

As you wish, it responds reaching and grabbing onto my forehead. A flash of white followed by scenes of warfare fill my head.

I think to myself; my head feels empty and I’m conveyed by the dizzy feeling to continue to lay down. I muster up some strength and look up. The stone dude’s gone and I don’t know my name. I kind of sit there and try to gain my senses, I don’t know how to speak, or that I’m in a forest. It feels like the first time but, I’m sure I’ve seen this before. It smells sweet, like sugar or something similar. I think for a moment and it’s that damn blue nectar, I remember it. Is this what he meant about the ability to remember? The ground is extremely flat and I don’t see any hills or craters. Not even an ant hill, do animals exist here? I look around and I don’t see as much as a bug. I notice that the air feels extremely fresh, and there’s an abundance of red, every plant has a deep red to it. After noticing that, it starts to fade to a yellow colour half way, like old dead stalks you could find on display or in a pot. They are more than often surrounding a large flat top tree, like it’s some weird prized position in each of the separate patches of forest. The grass is all the same length.

I move my hand from the ground and the grass which I had pressed down springs back up into place. I pick a blade and the grass grows back almost instantly. The piece of grass which I just picked has already died. It’s gone black and ashy, like it’s been burnt. I notice a strange looking bush; it appears near the ends of where the stalks shoots begin, near the path’s edges. They’re a deep hypnotising green, appearing fresh. Not a single imperfection on any leaf, or blade of grass. The burnt piece I held has disappeared. I’ve never seen such an array of flowers. Actually, I don’t remember even seeing any flowers, but looking at them makes me think I didn’t know such a spread and friendly look of any plant. I notice that the stems are all a light turquoise colour, with the petals being a deep red, or yellow, sometimes blue and pink. I only spot one purple but there’s no green ones. I don’t mind, I doubt I was a gardener. The colour green is well used as I notice nearly every shade; it keeps my eyes fresh.

I lay back on the wet dewy grass, it smells sweet as well. What is this? A spinoff to some candy movie or something? Or some kind of factory? That thought lingered my mind, I tried to speak but I can’t. The sky is a light magenta colour, and the clouds are peach, the one you would often see during a sunset, but there is no sun to be seen. As I stare at the sky like a newborn calf, something flies by my field of view, I hear a rustle in a bush behind me. I’m still oblivious to the dangers of the world and I don’t realise that this thing might want me for lunch. I let out a groan, one like I’m getting out of bed for school, early as hell. It’s a bright pink bird. I can’t make out what kind it is but its beak is long and multi coloured, it has black, void looking eyes. I feel kind of distressed. Suddenly it flies of past my head, scaring the soul out of me as it lands a few meters behind me. It just stares at me. It’s the only animal in sight. ‘Maybe this thing will help me find’ Akira I think to myself. Either that or I’m going to get ravaged by a gang of birds. I stand there and cross my arms, I’m in deep thought. I weigh my odds.

It’s better to go with this feeling then to go any other way, this place seems to go on forever in each direction. Maybe that stone guy is using this as that so-called guidance, plus, it is getting cold and kind of dark. I’d rather not get caught out here at night, I’d never get anywhere. I start to follow the bird, whenever I get close it takes flight to another bush or stalks shoot. While I walk after it, I think of the logistics on how day and night work without a sun. I can’t tell what my old home was like, if I knew anyone or if I had a family at that. My thoughts are interrupted by a large gurgle. It came from my stomach, I’m hungry as hell. I reach into the little bag I have on my side. It’s black and straps across my chest and over my right shoulder, I rummage through and find a small cloth wrap and a bottle of pills, I unwrap the cloth and there’s a light sponge material inside. I place a bit in my mouth and I’m greeted with a pleasant taste, some kind of bread with a spice to it.

As I’m stuffing a pig shaped head with this bread, I read the pill container. It reads ‘don’t take more than one every hour, keep away from children’. I forgot my age so that doesn’t matter, and in big letters it reads ‘Flthasom’. The hell is that? It doesn’t sound that appetising, maybe its dessert or something similar. My original thought of the surrounding area is replaced with the items in my bag. I hadn’t realised it was nearly completely dark, and that I was tired. I attempt to muster up some words to tell the bird I was tired, but I can’t. Instead it looks at me, but with concern, like a mother who’s just realised their baby is sick, it flies to an Oaktree and sits in the top. I push through the wall of stalks around it and make it to the bottom of the tree.

Its’s an old oak tree. With the remaining light I manage to see the very few places to grab onto and place my hands in. there’s no bugs or spiders anywhere to be seen. The tree is completely smooth as well, not a single rough patch, without any wind or animals, it’s quite nice actually. I manage to pull myself up, there’s a thick green moss on top covering most of the branches, the kind that could only live on stone. Its comfy and I lay back.

It’s been a rough day. I manage to spout these words. It takes all my energy; they sound tired but happy. This entire place gives me a good feeling, I just hope there’s some kind of food and no one’s starved to death here. I look at my bird friend, it seems distressed now that it’s completely night. It keeps looking around in every direction frantically. Me, being no smarter than a newborn lamb, I take no notice, instead I look out into the forest. It’s completely dark and I can’t see anything, there is no moon. But there is light, every few trees there’s a lime green light, it’s quite intense it reminds me of that light I saw when I first entered the forest entrance, I notice something else. Every now and then a light goes out like its being plucked, I notice a human shaped shadow approach them and they go out. I’m too tired to further investigate, it feels like I have work tomorrow and I need the sleep. I close my crusted, dry eyes. I notice the pain in my hand and nose.

Oh man, that sunless sky sure is bright, I cough these words through my parched dry lips, I need a drink. I slept like an infant who was at the park all day. I realise just how thirsty I am when I sit up, with a throbbing pain in my throat. I reach into my little bag and pull out the bottle I used to wash my nose with and swig it down. It tastes like dirt and blood, it must have picked up some drops of blood up when my nose got damaged, I don’t remember how though. My bird friend is awake and is on the path again sitting on one of those weird bushes. I swing my legs over the side of the large flat top tree and my mind hits a blank.

What in the hell…? I whisper. My voice full of fear and confusion. The stalks that once surrounded me, is ripped apart. The wall that once surrounded the tree is broken and dead stalks shoots are scattered around me. The stalks that lays dead is all grey and burnt looking like a forest fire had exclusively chosen these shoots and there’s a thick red liquid bubbling out of the stalks. My throat is dry again and I have no water. I look around and check to see if whatever had been here was, still here. I don’t spot anything and the bird looks calm, I push myself over the edge of the tree and start sliding down.