Chapter 1:

Prologue: Failure

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    A grandfather clock drums its beating heart across a dimly lit living room with hard wood floors. Near to its left remained a door that led out into a lawn and on the right a window with opened shades. Across it, however was a couch sitting near a coffee table and a simple TV facing it. On the couch sat a man with a chiseled jaw, a rigid upright back with a flat top military haircut, and a prominent chest. His right leg pounded the floor with considerable impatience as the clocks beating heart strummed a tune. To kill the time his eyes drifted down to look upon the coffee table that held a .44 Magnum Revolver and an almost empty beer bottle with words on the tag that said "Mister Yums Tasty Elixir!". From impulse his hand grabbed the remote near his left leg and turned on the TV to the local broadcasting news.

"With the war almost over June we may finally find peace in the Hamon Cluster."

   A thin man on the screen in a blue suit and a suave haircut spoke with relief. A woman in a pink coat and long brown hair, however, spoke with some modicum of pretentious respect.

"You're right Gerald, yet my heart goes to the men who fought through this war from every
loss to this inevitable victory, may god grant them peace."

   The stress was ever so palpable as a car crash could be heard directly outside with screams of terror. His eyes did not turn to look with the sweat coalescing on his skin; the man in the blue suit and suave haircut began to speak.

"Hopefully it ends soon and...."

   The words were cut short by a deafening sound of white noise piercing his ears as the eyes that he had hardened for war tried to focus. The mouth's of the news anchor's still moved, but the words werent there. Suddenly voices of men could be heard speaking, yelling, and voicing commands between distant gunfire and explosions as they scratched at the inner part of his skull.

"Get down!"
"Prepare to defend yourselves!"
"God what is that."
"I need a medic!"
"My legs, my fuckin Legs!"
"Suppress, suppress my mark god dammit!"
"I cant feel my body sir, its so cold."

   His left hand dropped the remote to the floor halfway as it reached for the bottle and soon downed the remainder in a single instant. His right leg pounded ferociously as he set down the bottle clumsily and reached for the .44 Magnum Revolver with his right hand. Again words reached into his skull and now began to itch the skin on the back of his head.

"I love you, you know that right."
"Dad, where are you going?"
"I'll be back, I swear."
"You're a failure Clark!"
"Tell me brother what's the point of fighting for the people of this world when they dont even care for the truth? Well answer me!"

   His eyes reddened, closed, and then opened. Like a dam unable to hold against the tide of a river the tears rolled off his cheek. The gun was raised to the side of his skull and a faint click could be heard; a small eerie voice split all the other voices away like an estranged fog dying from the light.

"Its over Clark."

   From that moment a pained look ravaged his face and a sacred shadow casted against the light of the TV; a shot was heard and the world faded to black.


This Novel Contains Mature Content

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