Armageddon: Rain - Chapter 01

Armageddon: Rain – Chapter 01

   Many say that our world is coming to an end. That it is infested with sinners sent from hell to fulfill Satan's biddings. How "God" will smite us all hence leaving the human race extinct. Tsunamis, flooding the very earth we walk on, earthquakes, tearing apart what we hold dear and finally, molten lava, burning the remainders of our precious lives into ashes, straight through the cracks of the earth where we shall see them no longer. Others believe we will destroy ourselves through the numerous wars we create. Truth be told, none of the above shall happen. The world will not cease to exist in the years we say it will. Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Jack Rowan. What I am about to tell you, is the beginning of the end through my eyes.

                                                     *   *   *
   Growing up as a child, I never knew my mother. I was brought up alone by my father like most dramatic cliché stories start. He didn't stick around long enough for me to become attached, so technically, I never knew my parents. Not to bore you with my life story, but this is an important explanation of everything that has now come to be, the beginning of the end of this world, so I shall make it as quick as possible. When my old man finally took his last breath, I was sent to stay with my drunken aunt. There, I discovered I had a sister, Dominique. She was put into possession of our aunt when my mother suddenly left without a trace. I never knew her, and my father had never spoken of her before, so this was all so very new to me. She was younger than I, which gave me hope that my mother was still among the living and made me wonder all the more why I had never met her before. It was truly tempting to bring the question of my mother upfront to my aunt, but if she had left, or passed away, it might just be best to forget about the whole thing, for now.

                                                    *   *   *
   All three of us lived in the outskirts of town. We never went to school, but not because we lacked the luxury to do so. "It's useless," my aunt used to ramble on, "the only experience you need is that of life!" Of course, she was only saying this because she had inherited a large sum of money from her late husband, whom had come from a very wealthy family. She wouldn't know the use of education past reading and writing...and possibly finances, most obviously. Our residence, (which was best described as a mansion during these times.) was basically our prison. Our aunt never let us out into the outside world, deeming it for our "own good" and "protection." By the age of nine, I knew every square inch of this house; the secret wine cellar under the way over priced bear skin rug she kept in the middle of nowhere, (at least, it was no where till I found the cellar.) mirrors that opened up like doors leading to secret chambers, which made excellent hiding spots for a game of hide and go seek. I even made a map of the entire house simply off of memory. My favourite spot of all though, was the attic hidden in the storage room. It's amazing how many books were up there. A little dusty perhaps... okay, maybe extremely dusty and cluttered, but seeing as I had no allergies that I was aware of, it just added to that ancient feel of it. Although, the dust did bother my nose, but pulling my shirt over it helped none, as I still sneezed and woke up in the morning with horrible pink eye.

                                                    *   *   *
   Regardless of how messy the attic was, I taught myself to read and write all on my own. By the time I reached the age of 12, I could probably have endless of discussions of pieces of literature many have never even heard of before; endless tales of ancient Egypt and Greek mythology, the history of our land, the legacies of our time's great heroes, but more importantly, there was this one script I had read, which spoke of an infamous bloodline who ruled our world throughout the centuries. Every few centuries there was a new heir, which then came to power and ruled for so many centuries, then the process repeated. I had trouble believing if this was the truth or not, due to my favourite genre of literature being that of the supernatural, occult, and Wiccan stories. (You just simply never know what to believe with those.)  Some may seem believable, but are truly a hoax. It is simply too hard to believe, so I let that one script slide, considering it to be just another mere fairytale to keep evil doers in line. Regardless, I became ever slightly obsessed with the darkness of the night. There were so many interesting stories that seemed to happen past midnight, so I began to slip out at night without my aunt knowing. I was never caught once, but I always felt as if I was being watched, and unfortunately for me, I was correct. There was indeed someone following behind me all this time...

                                                     *   *   *
   My little sister Dominique had been following up on me every night without alerting me, until one night I ventured farther than normal into a forestry area nowhere near our house. I went, hoping to witness some sort of satanic ritual taking place. Naturally, my sister being the little ten year old girl she was back then, heard a wolf's cry, and ran to me bawling her eyes out. I wasn't mad, but not exactly pleased that my satanic ritual seeking had to be put on hold for another night, and my sister, brought home. So we left the dark, dense forest, also leaving me unsatisfied and slightly annoyed, back to our aunt's residence.

                                                     *   *   *
   I insisted and warned her to never follow me again, but she kept threatening me by using, "I'll tell aunty! I'll tell aunty!" over and over again until I had no choice but to give in, and let her accompany me on my, I suppose, "our," next excursion into the forest. Since we were now in this together, I thought it best for her to know what exactly I – we, were looking for. So I offered her to come to my hide out up in the storage room's attic, just for her to refuse, using some lame excuse that "aunty" told us not to. "That never stopped you before..." I told her, trying to remind her of how she defied our aunt by following me at night in the first place. She caught on well with what I was implying, yet still, she refused to follow me up to my hide out.

                                                     *    *   *
   I never understood that girl. She was courageous enough to follow me into the night, where anything could have gone wrong, but too afraid to even peek into the attic. What was it about this attic that our aunt forbids us so to see? Or rather, something in the attic she forbids us to read... Either way, I still say that my sister was just afraid of the bogey man or something, who everyone knows does not exist. Because of all this, I was forced to smuggle the books from the attic to our room. (We shared a bedroom together due to her fear of the dark.) She obviously didn't know how to read or write, seeing as we didn't have a chance to enrol in school, so I was stuck reading to her every night instead of running off at night. She loved to stop me at every big word she heard, leaving me annoyed every five or so seconds. Wishing I could tell her to use a dictionary, I tried to shrug off my anger and frustration and not pin it on her, seeing as she was so young. Although, I wasn't the most patient, I eventually snapped and our drunken aunt heard us bickering, certifying our doom.

                                                     *   *   *
   We could hear her storming down the hallway, while we sat there staring at each other in fear of how she'd react when she saw all the books, and probably even more so if she knew where I took them out from. We hastily stuffed them under the covers as her footsteps got louder, and sat on the lumps they made under the bed sheets to hide them further just right when our opened the door to our bedroom. "What in the name of Christ is all this ruckus up here," neither of us answered, "Well?" we pointed at each other like two immature siblings caught red handed would do and snarled at each other, and instead of her getting more impatient and mad, she rolled her eyes and left, mumbling and groaning something to herself along the lines of, "Idiotic rebellious children. Why must I be burdened with this? After all that has happened..." while Dominique and I did the next immature thing, giggling away like little school girls probably would.

                                                     *   *   *
   Months later my sister finally got the gist of it all. She could read fairy well, but I couldn't say the same for her writing. She was writing her vowels backwards, some even upside down, while making squiggly lines for her "Z's" and "S'." But as long as she understood the supernatural and occult business, I was happy for her, because this meant I – we, could finally go off into the night once again. Sure, teaching a child about such things was not exactly the greatest idea in the world, but I was a child then myself, bored and stuck into the prison which was our aunt's residence, and we were both in need of some form of adventure and excitement in our lives. I would love to see anyone else living with a rich upper-class aunt who does nothing but drink her sorrows away, and not become fatigued by it.