01 :: Dislocation
Dislocation (/dɪsləʊˈkeɪʃn̩/) n.
- The act or state of being moved from its usual place.
- (Geology) The movement of elements from their original position.
It felt like a hard shove, then wheeling, panicked in space until…
David fumbled with the bullets, dropping them on the dirt floor. He grabbed for them, loading them into his clip, pushing against the spring before—someone at the door. A gun. An armband.
Wheeling in space, thrashing about seeking some purchase, not knowing where…
Ian clung to the side of the locomotive with a white-knuckled grip. He had climbed on the outside, up the service ladder as it pulled out of the station, desperate for a ride out of the Dead Zone. But the locomotive radiated heat and his hands were slick with sweat. He used one hand to brush the drops from his eyes, then suddenly swung loose as his hand slipped from the rail—
Sound, overwhelming. Red, viscera, a sick feeling like I don’t belong…
Colton nearly fell off his horse, suddenly convinced he didn’t know how to ride. He regained his balance and scanned the horizon, looking for the red eyes out in the desert. He didn’t want to face the eyes, would rather they took a head of cattle… but if they started taking cattle, then men were next and—he screamed as something grabbed him from behind and yanked him off the horse.
A crunch, slack, reeling, I felt nothing but suffering. Leave me alone, I pleaded, leave me alone…
In time a shape touched me, gentle. Like a thin tendril leading up to a huge glowing form. Broken, it seemed to say, not right. A mismatch. It cradled me, like a god weighing a soul.
And then I fell!
***
Ceph sat bolt upright in bed, heart pounding in his chest. “I… what? I got shot! No, I fell off a train… or…” He trailed off, because the dream had been so real. And he had been someone else every time. A cowboy, attacked by vampires at night?
“It’s just me,” he reassured himself. “I’m Ceph.”
What kind of name is Ceph?
He rolled his eyes. “Bucephalus. Dad was a classics major.” Another thought pushed. “Ceph Harper.”
He frowned. Because that was weird. Why ask his own name? He made a fist, fingers curling against the scratchy industrial sheets.
He stared at his hand on top of the scratchy sheets, then turned it over.
“This… isn’t the right skin tone.”
***