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#ACTION
#ROMANCE
#ADVENTURE
#MYSTERY
#SCARY

Black In the Water

Where mystery meets romance... —Excerpt— We lay next to each other, both of us not saying a thing, but I feel comfortable. I don’t have the impulse to have to talk to him to avoid an awkward silence because it has never been awkward with Ash, I realise. “You asleep?” he whispers to me. “Nope,” I reply quietly. “It’s weird because my body is so tired but I can’t seem to shut my brain off.” “Me neither,” he says. I hear the crackling of the fresh sheet under us move and realise Ash has turned to face me. “Uhm, what?” I ask dubiously. “Nothing, I’m just trying to find a comfortable position.” “Okay,” I say as I stare at him in the dim glow of the candles. Ash stares back at me, his hand lifts to push away a strand of hair that has fallen into my eyes, then he closes his eyes. He is asleep in the next moment, with his hand frozen on my cheek. Usually, with anyone else, I would push his hand away because it feels wrong and uncomfortable. But his caress felt good against the slight burn on my skin. And as he rests his hand on my cheek, I can’t help but think about how no one has ever held me close to them and makes me feel this way. Even though Ash and I are far from holding each other close, just a touch of his hand comforts me in ways that others’ hugs have tried and failed. Without much thinking, I push Ash’s fallen hair out of his eyes and rest my hand against his cheek. In the next moment, as my eyes start to droop, I feel a pull of his cheek against my palm and realise he is smiling. —————————————————————————————————————————— When an apartment building is plagued by a strange substance in its water, its residents uncover a foreboding mystery that will perish them all. With a deadly fog that blocks their escape, they must now forget their differences and work together to overcome the horrifying events that ultimately threaten their survival.

krydwen · SF
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203 Chs
#ACTION
#ROMANCE
#ADVENTURE
#MYSTERY
#SCARY
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PRELUDE

In the pale-blue light of the solar-chargeable lamp perched on the lip of the bathtub, I watch my hands move in front of me. Grip. Un-grip. They seem far away, not my own. Like I am seeing through a grey fog that clings to the moisture of my corneas.

I watch as the crimson coating around the tips of my fingers and palms start to dry. It gets harder to grip my fists, the skin pulling firmly. The brown half-moons that replace my grown nails disgust me. How has it come to this?

I can't help the thought from replaying in my mind. The things I have witnessed in the past weeks of this horrifying and dreadful new life.

New life. Because that's what it is, isn't it? The stark difference from my life just a month ago makes it impossible to believe I haven't been reborn into my own personal nightmare, one I cannot seem to wake up from.

The white ceramic basin is stained by pretty pink drops as I wash my hands in the sink. My hands are numb, cold, as I pour the plastic cup of cool water over them. I don't remember the last time I have touched warm, soothing water. The rotten fruit of no electricity. I am careful not to waste even a drop of our conserved water, and I count the number of times I have refilled the cup. What an odd habit, albeit necessary.

Seems that I have reached the accorded limit for the day. Damn. I stop the cup from emptying over my hand and, instead, tip it into my mouth soundlessly, relishing in the few seconds of salving coolness it gives to my parched throat.

Unlike the rest of them, I recognise the importance of trust and order in a whacked makeshift society, and if ever one of us breaches the agreements, things will turn to chaos within seconds. Which is why I never exceed the limit. Else we really find out what it feels like to live as trapped maggots in a meatless carcass.

Not that it hasn't gone to shits already.

The truth is, when push came to shove, I was the one who transformed myself from your everyday run-off-the-mill part-time-working college freshman into a knock-off version of Tomb Raider that first week. Everyone else just fell behind, not in support, rather because they were too lazy to take care of things themselves, selfishly dumping all responsibilities on me.

And now? I can't even seem to get a few hours by myself without a moron coming up to me to ask a moronic question. Though the ultimate question remains: how long will we last when the supplies run out?—when the few dozens of filled pails run dry and the packaged food disappears.

There is no way of knowing how anything will turn out anymore, not since that first day that marked a shift in all of our worlds, and now a month later we are no closer to finding a way out. Perhaps another week or so and we will all be dead.

One thing I am utterly sure about, though, I will not go down with them.