"Hey!" Dennis called out into the haze.
"Is anyone still here!""HEY!"Dennis couldn't remember how long he'd been stumbling around here. Everything defied description and nothing made any earthly sense.
"Huh..." A disgruntled grunt pierced the fugue.
"We aren't the ones who ever left.""Who is that?!" Dennis called out, plunging onwards towards the sound.
"I know that voice!"Dennis waded through the viscous soup with uncharacteristic courage. A courage that would not be rewarded as he came face to face with the source...
The demonic face that had haunted him ever since that day.
"What the HELL?!?" He exclaimed, stumbling over and sliding on his rear end away from the growing figure in the darkness.
"Hell? No, no. You know me, Dennis. You know I'd have gone to the 'other place'." The figure kept growing, casting a larger and larger shadow over Dennis, but as it did he saw that he was wrong about the face. His initial thoughts as to the voice seemed correct.
"Sean?" He called out the name of his dead brother.
"Sean, is that you?""Got it again. Heh. You sure you're MY brother?" Dennis' now-giant sibling mocked.
"Hey, what are you doing?""Same as always. Taking care of business. Cleaning up the mess." Then Dennis saw what was in his hands. He saw as it was pointed at him.
The Golden Rod.
"Sean... what are you doing? No!""The mess always seems to have the same source though. Seems the best way to clean it up so it doesn't come back is to jump to the source...""Sean, no! I'm your brother!" Dennis implored, his eyes dripped cold tears, but he felt sure he had to hold them back to talk his way out.
"This is going to be mighty uncomfortable for a second, bro." He felt light pass over his body from the rod, in a second would come the intense heat, what a way to go...
"SEAN, NO! WHATEVER I DID! I'M SORRY!"A bright flash passed over him and his whole body shuddered.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"Dennis sat up with a gasp, shaking from the sudden intense cold.
Gone was his brother, the demon, the fog. All he saw was his bed covered in all 24 empty cans from last night's case of beer and a small pile of snow...
"Get up. Traumatized meltdown time is over. You're back in training." The old man abruptly informed him before closing Dennis' bedroom window and walking back to the main house with the empty snow bucket.
Dennis breathed heavily and quietly thanked himself for stashing the more objectionable substances the night before. He ran a hand through his bed-hair and as he heard the screen door slam behind his grandfather, he wondered whether this world or the dream one would be preferable.
Fifteen minutes later Dennis was in the main house in warmer clothes addressing his grandfather.
"What the hell was that all about?""I gave you your time off. We're getting back to work." Alan calmly replied, not gratifying Dennis' dramatic outburst in any way.
"Back to-- Back to work? Hey! I almost died!" Dennis was getting increasingly frustrated.
"You 'almost died'? Heh. Do you have any idea how many times I 'almost died'? If you're not almost dying, you aren't living.""I--" Dennis caught himself yelling, then steadied himself.
"I disagree..." Dennis said through gritted teeth.
"I've been living for 20-odd years now just fine without almost dying.""Is that what you call it?" Alan replied, with a wry old smile creased across his face.
"You've had it now - used the Golden Rod - felt a taste of what it can bring you, and that's what you call those years?""Well, what do you call it?!" Dennis burst, immediately regretting asking the question.
He'd seen the looks over the years. The unmistakable expressions of disappointment. Sorrow, with a hint of the contempt of pity even breaking through. He immediately regretted throwing the question out there, because he knew the answer. But surely he wouldn't say it.
Surely.
"I call it a waste of life.""I call it a selfish refusal to realize potential to run from the responsibilities it might bring.""...""And I'm not going to let you anymore. I can't. I don't have the time.""Hell literally broke loose..." Dennis weakly replied.
"And it was pushed back. It won't be the last time. That or something else, something bigger."Dennis stood like a thin tree; looking like a light breeze could knock him over until his grandfather once again broke the silence.
"Now one way or another you're training. Either grab the damn rod or we're working on your ability to take a punch from an old man..."Dennis looked away and wiped his cheek, realising the cold drip from before was from the snow and not actual tears. He picked up the Golden Rod.
Alan Coghlan. To Dennis Connolly; the one man whose wrath made the gates of hell seem like a pretty good alternative.
RPM
Captain Uni
xVampire3go
Antlers
Master Bruce
Eddie Brock
Sep
Moon Child
CabbageAngel
