Fan Fiction ❯ Expulsion of Disbelief ❯ Intro ( Prologue )

Three A.M. He should be sleeping, conserving his strength. God knew the chemo was killing him. He had barely managed to get out of bed the last few weeks. With only six months to live, his parents had withdrawn him from school.

 

At first, he was crippled by devastating loneliness. His friends had unwittingly abandoned him, pursuing the active lifestyles that he was denied. In his heart, he knew he couldn't hate them for it. They should make the most of it; carpe diem was all that kept him going.

 

No, his newest dementor was by far less benign. A dread sense of failure filled his every waking moment. What had he achieved in sixteen years? Once, when he had just entered the internet scene, he received a flurry of forwards, several of which addressed his goals.

 

One in particular stood out: “Ten Things You Want To Do Before You Die.” He'd printed it out, and taped it to his door. At first, it had been a joke. For example, his #1 item was to “have sex,” a given as he had planned to marry and have children, someday.

 

But now it glared back at him, mocking him and his empty life. He laughed, bitterly, wondering how he'd ever meet a woman, much less seduce her, when he never even left the house. Of course he was going to die a virgin.

 

His mind filled with humiliating thoughts from his past. Kids had started using the “s” word in second grade, and he'd understood it was bad, but the details weren't particularly forthcoming. As time progressed, he, ever the bookworm, turned to the dictionary for answers.

 

And answers he found, complete with detailed illustrations of the human anatomy. He was fortunate, in that aspect, to be curious. His father absolutely forbade him to take the sixth grade sex ed classes, a dubious distinction at best.

 

Curiosity killed the cat, however, as the saying goes. In time, his insatiable lust for knowledge had driven him to pornography: he wanted a deeper understanding of sex, and the elusive female anatomy.

 

This on-off habit plagued him for several years; while momentarily pleasurable, the activity had always left him feeling more a little dirty afterwards. The guilt seared his already tender conscience, which created friction with members of the opposite gender.

 

He was awkward with women, to say the least. Fantasizing about his classmates only made it that much more difficult. Suddenly, speaking to them in person was next to impossible; how did one address the object of his desire?

 

But none of that mattered now. It was over, before it had even started. All that anguish, it meant nothing. In the end, he was as castrated as any eunuch; what is a man without his manhood? And what is his manhood within the confines of his trousers?

 

He angrily tore at the scrap of paper, crumpling it up and tossing it in the wastebasket. Damnit, if he had to die, at least he would rest in peace. This obsession would precede him to the afterlife. Almost wistfully, he sighed. “Oh well, what the hell?”

 

Suddenly, the room was unbearably hot. He smelled fumes, as if a fire were burning close-by. Smoke began to rise, and for a few moments, he contemplated his impending spontaneous combustion.

 

Closing his eyes in white-knuckled terror, he braced himself for the worst. As his pulse jumped to ninety-five beats per minute, he wondered how merciful the Grim Reaper would be. Suddenly, sixteen didn't seem so long.

 

A wad of crinkled paper hit him square in the forehead. He blinked, disoriented. It was the same sheet he'd just discarded. “You rang?” A deep Voice echoed, altogether unsettling given the circumstances.

 

“Huh?” He asked, rather dumbly. His senses were still recovering from his latest shock, when the same Voice repeated, “You rang?” Sweat broke out on his forehead; who was it? How had someone entered his room?

 

The doors were locked, the windows shut. And where was that acrid scent coming from? “Who are you? What do you want?” The Voice chuckled, a disturbing and altogether unpleasant sound.

 

“Who I am is of little importance. What I want is your soul.” He shuddered violently, recalling several occult comic books he had read. But, this couldn't be. It was a hoax, albeit an ultra-realistic hoax; he was dreaming, that was it.

 

He pinched himself, only half-surprised to find himself wide awake. “What makes you think you can take my soul, just like that?” He could've sworn he heard a faint clucking sound, almost as if the Voice was scolding him.

 

“Relax, insolent mortal. I do not come as a thief; believe me, if I could have merely stolen it, I would have. No, I come to barter.” “A trade? You want me to exchange something for my soul?” He snorted in derision.

 

“Let me guess, I'm going to gain black magic. I can perform hexes and cast powerful spells, and demons will do my bidding.” He trailed on, listing several other stereotypical deal-with-the-Devil type bargains as the Voice waited patiently.

 

“No. You are not the ambitious sort, a man who would sell himself for power. Magic, I'm guessing, means nothing to you. No, I bring you your youth. In exchange for your tattered soul, I offer you three days of untainted health.”

 

He gasped, unbelieving. “Three days? Why would I possibly want my funeral any earlier?” The Voice growled, a menacing, guttural sound that silenced all opposition. “Do not be so quick to refuse, impudent human.”

 

He paused, as if awaiting a challenge. When none arose, he continued, ignoring the chills that racked his client's meager frame. “The doctors prophesy another six months of life, no? But think, mortal; you have intelligence for a reason.

 

“Just what is life? Twenty-six agonizing weeks on pills? Even more radiation, just to extend your depression? You're already as good as dead. You call this mockery life? I call it a joke, and a sick one at that.

 

“I will grant you three days, three pain-free days of whole-life. Three days, boy! Seventy-two hours to do whatever you desire.” He was gaining momentum. The teen nodded, still unsure but finally tempted.

 

“This list you threw away, why forsake it so easily? Your greatest desire was to lose your virginity; here's your chance! Don't worry about the continuity errors; your family will not miss you.

 

I see you still doubt, if not me, then yourself. Perhaps you lack the machismo for such an event? There is, as you say, more than one way to skin a cat. As a bonus, I will strip away your image, and with it your impurities. Invisible, no one will question you!”

 

He stroked his chin, considering this latest deal. The rest of his pathetic life, for the opportunity to make his dreams (or at least the wet ones) come true. What was he waiting for?

 

“Fine, I'll do it.” The Voice grunted in acknowledgement, as if trying to contain it's euphoria. “You have made a wise decision. However, there are a few formalities.” A quill appeared, and a scroll of parchment.

 

The script was illegible, as were several hundred signatures preceding his own. “I bet `x' marks the spot,” he mused wryly. He pressed the pen to the paper, resulting a sharp jolt through his write arm.

 

The Voice spoke, seemingly amused. “Oh, did I forget to mention? You sign in blood.” He shook his head; when did his life become a horror movie? Nevertheless, he signed, sealing the contract in the murky red fluid.

 

“That will be all. Your first day begins the moment you awake tomorrow morning.” With that, they fell into the darkness, the Voice retreating to its Void and our hero sound asleep.