Quarantine · 6:15pm Oct 15th, 2017
Angelo wakes up. His miserly twin sister Angela knows just how to ruin his day. She tells him to meet her at Montclair Plaza.
She never gave him anything but a small hand radio, save the 100 she gave him for his birthday, which is hers, too. He gave her a nice plaid blue and white dress, which is within budget. He spends far more of his free time at home than he does doing anything else. He is just about to set off to work when the house phone rings. There is only one mobile between them, and she currently has it. She wants him to come to the mall. Splendid. Good god, does she know how to rub his failures in his face. He slips the cutoff shirt on and walks to the facebowl to freshen up. Again, the telephone rings, and she adds to make it hasty, as she has something for him. He rolls his eyes, expecting it to be some sweet.
He mounts up, and heads on over to the mall. When he pulls off and dismounts, there's some kind of procession. He knows not the nature of it, and asks not.
A policeman stops him dead in his tracks by the lot.
"Sorry, Sonny, there's no entry here. Do you not know what happened?"
"No. No one tells me garbage." He responds.
"This place is sealed off. It's condemned."
"May I ask what for? "
"No. That's top secret. We may declassify it later today, but we make no promises."
"My big sister is here. We planned to see each other here down around eight AM."
His face goes flush. The cop swallows, and tells the young man not to fret. She is likely alright. In fact more alright than she's ever been, and possibly will ever be again. He does not ask any more questions.
Angelo goes around the corner to see if the two story parking structure is up and running. It's no less available than the bookstore lot. He's getting frustrated, and he knows he cannot do this all day. Angela is most insistent, and will not let him off easily for missing an appointment.
A huge, booming sound erupts from half hidden loudspeakers.
"STAY WHERE YOU ARE! THIS IS NOT A DRILL! IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIVES AND YOUR SHAPE, STAY PUT!"
He obeys, and stays put where he is, as instructed. Along the walls and entries, several men in surgeon/dust masks and latex gloves are seen handling some tools and miscellaneous equipment.
Around comes Angelo to the front, and he tunes in to his radio. Every station is jammed with reports of dozens, maybe hundreds of large buildings across the US of A, Canada, United Kingdom, and Australia and New Zealand sealed off and condemned. All of them have been placed in effect in a matter of minutes, and very suddenly, too. Many smaller ones even have lead drapes over them. When has the government ever been this efficient at anything, never mind sealing off super viruses before they plague the entire world?
The large bookstore is in plain sight from the outer area of the parking lot, where he is allowed. Several dozen others are standing here motionless, or demanding an explanation from the police. The most anyone can get is it's dangerous. He looks from the freeway side of the lot at the large glass window of the bookstore. Outside, armed soldiers (they have fatigues) and one security guard are armed to the teeth, and aiming squarely at the windows, with no clear intent to shoot, but they are ready should it be needed.
Somebody in a plain suit shows up, who is presently closest to Angelo.
"Is that what you call a security measure, Monica?" he asks the suited figure.
"It is. If you don't calm down, I shall have to traquilise you. I do not wish to do this to a friend."
"Alright."
He looks closer. Then he squints. HUH?!
Several specks can be seen about the windows and glass doors, vigorously beating and batting at the damn door. Shoot. He cannot tell what they are or what they want in detail, but they seem to want out. Is Angela in there? He hopes not.
"Have you binoculars?" He asks the cop.
"Yes, but it's not recommended to see it. Unless you have tinted goggles or a mirror, looking at it is seriously not recommended."
He gives a stern glare. "Give them to me."
"No."
"GIVE THEM!" He snatches them from Monica and instantly feels a jab in his side. He pays it no mind as he adjusts the lenses and stares at the dirty doors. He gives out a small gasp, for what he sees is like nothing he had ever seen before. Actually, he had, but not in reality. He cannot place where he had seen that before.
Inside the window is a flock of birds at a glance. Upon closer inspection, they are birdlike, but by no means birds. And several others even have batlike features. He's getting dizzy and dizzier as the minutes pass. They all seem agitated, and want out like nobodies’ business. Some are purple. Some are blue. Some are green. None are anything like he'd seen outside of manga with their eccentric colours..
On the floor are a sparse few not fluttering round the ceiling and midair. One is staring directly out of the window, and he feels he should connect with it. As he begins to approach the door, he gets wobbly and falls right over.
As he is coming to, Monica props him up and asks if he's alright. Yes, he responds.
"What were those, aliens?"
Hesitation. "The less you know, the better."
"Don't kid me. Did you see something or not?"
"I did. But all it took was one glance, then they told me not to look again. They told me this would happen, and it would only get worse if I tried to pry any further. You sure you want to see this?" Points to cap. "Yes."
Monica removes the cap and reveals a messy mane of hair. Poking from the top front corners where the hairline would meet the forehead are two ears poking out of the bangs. Triangular, red, three inches approximate. Their owner immediately hides them with the cap and tells Angelo he should not ask any further.
An announcement on the radio can be heard, and a high pitched voice, more so than most celebrities and his neighbors may be heard.
"DEAR CITIZENS OF THE WORLD," it says, and with something of a singsong-y tone. "DO NOT BE ALARMED. YOU HAVE NOT BEEN HARMED. YOU SHALL NOT BE HARMED. BUT YOU SHALL IF YOU CONTINUE TO STRUGGLE AND FIGHT."
Everyone in that lot freezes up at this announcement, and those inside, whatever they are seem to suddenly take stationary position on the floor.
"IF YOU ARE IN A POSITION OF POWER, WE WANT YOU TO STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING AND POSTPONE ALL OPERATIONS FOR THE NEXT FORTY EIGHT HOURS STRAIGHT. IF YOU ISOLATED ANY OF MY, OR YOUR CITIZENS, PROPS. I CONGRATULATE YOU ON YOUR TIMELINESS AND INGENUITY. I ONLY WANT YOU NOT TO HURT THE INFECTED. THEY ARE YOURS AND MINE."
Angel suddenly has an aching feeling in his gut. Not physically ill, but a bad gut feeling about this "infection".
She goes on: "YOU MUST NOT BE AFRAID. WHAT YOU NOW ARE SEEING IS THE NATURAL RESULT OF A LIFELONG CONFLICT THAT HAS FINALLY ENDED. EACH OF YOU HAD A RECESSED TRAIT BROUGHT TO THE LIGHT, EVEN THE MOST MINUTE BIT OF IT.."
What is this nonsense? What is she talking about?
"STAY TUNED. YOU'LL BE GIVEN AN UPDATE IN THREE DAYS."
With a click and a shutdown, there is No more voice. Angelo asks Monica if he could borrow mobile. Compliance is successful. A quick call, and Angela's phone rings. She was too cheap to provide her brother with his own mobile, which is why they shared one between them. It would have been nice to be informed the trip was cancelled in advance. No answer. Stand me up, will you?
How much he would wish today was a work day for him. He got Friday off, and he never likes taking these days off, which is why he would seek bottles on his off time. He does not know how fortunate he is.
After several rings, and no response, it finally clicks. "Hello, Angelo? Monica?" He does not recognise that voice. It is way too high.
"Angela?"
"Yes, Angelo. I'm on the balcony right now, and overlooking dozens and dozens of equinn monstrosities. And avian."
He goes white. They both do. "Are you in the mall?" He does not hold his breath for the response.
"Yes," she responds. "I don't know what happened. I guess you heard the broadcasts, too." "I did. What is mother's name?" She responds, and gets it right.
"The police and military are on it, and we are not to leave under any circumstances whatever. It may be contagious. They'll burn the place if they have to." A murmur is heard.
"Alright. Listen, Angelo, Monica. The security guard is not going to let me stay on the line for much longer. Besides, my battery is dying, and the outlets are disabled."
"One moment, sister. You wanted to give me something?"
"Yes. A nice, new cellular. I guess you won't be getting it now, huh? And if so, the next three days. See you then."
He hangs up, as she could not. Not easily, anyway. What the hell is going on here? Has the world gone even more mad than usual? Has his sister's mind been melted? He would like to go home, but he won't leave Monica, nor Monica him. How did this happen, and how would it turn out? Who was that mysterious voice on the tube?
He stretches out in the back of Monica's van, and chills. Twelve noon, four, nearly five hours since he got up, then mounted around eight AM. He gets another nice load of the pointed erect ears on Monica's head, who has no apparent qualms with letting him feel them for the time being, as he already knows. They're so soft. They're so nice. And they are apparently attached. Weird.
When he looks out again, the crowd has grown. He could see several people in the crowd have oddly colored hair. He'd pass them off as wigs, but one lady comes near enough he could see her scalp and the roots. They're the same bright fluorescent orange as her jacket.
Another with multicolored hair will billow and blow in the wind, and show no indication of being dyed, or a wig. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, pink, in that exact order, in streaks. He thinks this has to be a hoax. This doesn't happen in reality.
He finally comes home, and could not be more content to sleep than ever. What a day. As soon as his head hits the pillow, he goes out like a light. No more does he dream. His rest is like death.
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He wakes up today, a full day later, to find the news blaring about cute, but creepy little horses with marks on their hides roaming the streets. He pays it no mind. After a full day of nothing but horse news, yesterday, he gets out and walks. Just walks.
Come the next morning, and the three days are up. Time's up, and he has scarcely eaten in that entire previous day, subsequent day to the isolation. This morning, he had oatmeal plus toast, then came to the mall for his sister.
He comes with Monica and they prepare for worst. An even bigger barrier, and tight pat downs are had, then they are free to enter. After they identify themselves, they look for Angela, and find her with relative ease. Or she finds them. Says their voices are easy to discern by listening alone.
Something that looks like a very small horse, half of Angel’s size, but with large, detailed eyes in proportion to its face, and with pupils, irises, and whites not at all unlike that of a human’s approaches them, out of a procession of others emerging from the building in a guided, orderly fashion. The front legs bend and twist with far more joints than a horse or a human should have in their forelimbs, and have more thick tissue than equines usually do. It bears a cream colored coat and ginger hair. In the same voice Angelo heard yesterday and the day before, it speaks up:
“Angelo, Monica?”
“Sister.”
"Everyone in that place ended up a chick, save me. I am one of the precious few who didn't."
Monica facepalms, then says, "Please, Angie, tell me you didn't..."
"I most certainly did. No point in trying to dance around it."
Angelo: "Doggone it, sister, missuer. Have you no shame?"
Angela: "Funny, no. Not in the least. Besides, what say do I have?"
Monica: "I guess you don't. Still, I'd expect you, and all others to make a bit more a fuss about it."
Angela: "It's how the ball rolls, I guess. Nice to see a summer day. It was quite easy to find you two, as your voices are more clear to me than ever thanks to my increased sense of hearing. "
Monica refrains from saying s/he knows what it’s like.
Angelo: "You have the most marvelous coat I've ever seen. I never felt anything quite like it. Not this luscious."
Angela: "Thank you, brother." He continues stroking, feeling, rubbing his sister's coat, and getting everything he can from it.
Who can say what the future holds. A month later, Angela lives with her brother, as she could not on her own anymore. She's out of work, and she will never be qualified to do her job again, unless a miracle happens. She cannot sew, but she can answer the phone. Good thing they still had a landline, which is all she can use. All of the faucets and knobs fortunately already have handles rather than circular knobs, save the outside ones. Still, Angelo does not lock any of the inside doors anymore. Everybody just pushes the wooden body of the door to open it without touching the knobs. Monica provides a little dog door for the household, and installs it in the back.
Ponies have been vanishing for the past month, always with some kind of people with garish hair an eye colors showing up hours or minutes in advance, often recorded as saying they are trying to help, before both parties vanish. Angelo is paranoid about the disappearances and overprotective of his sister, who he insists must stay in the house always, unless Monica is present. Ultimately, it is her decision, but they do not listen. Trying to help out however she can, she makes an extra effort to not make a mess, and cleans up for her brother who now works to the hilt to sustain them both. Who knows when those weird people who likely know more than they let on will strike again, and make people disappear? Whom can you trust?
4699253
Go ahead. Continue to bash whatever I write. I guarantee it's deliberate garbage of no merit.
" deliberate garbage"
Are you saying when you wrote this you intentionally mismatched your tense constantly and wrote sentences backward? It feels like it isn't up to your usual standard with regard to basic English grammar.
4699273
Yes. No. I wrote this in one sitting like everything. I'll likely go back to it in the morning and edit what needs to be edited. I've just come to terms that anything and everything I write will be completely uninspired, and it's no longer worthwhile to reach out for an audience. Just write what I so desire, and forget about amassing readers, as was your own advice.
If I have no grasp on plot now, I never will. I kind of envy those in whatever setting. It must be nice to live someplace where having any kind of purpose or talent is so apparent, it writes itself all over you, its specific nature spells itself out to you and anyone who wants to check it out. And without either is just as apparent.
As for the content, is it better or worse than the last?
4699253
Why do you hate me so much?