Hello, my name is Andrew, I live in London. I am currently twenty years old and living still with my parents. They constantly pressure me to move out of the house and find a job as I find myself doing nothing with my days. I just sit in my room, and stare at the walls. I don't see a point in finding a job now, with what I know now. All I can do, all WE can do is wait.
I first moved to Hampstead High School after the summer of 2007, I was fifteen and it was my first day at this new school, I had to leave the last school due to bad issues with bullying. You see I never had really fit in with my peers for as long as I can remember, I didn't play sports and wasn't physically fit whatsoever, nor did I enjoy playing chess or entering the science and maths clubs. So at either ends of the popularity spectrum, I was shunned. At this school I anticipated exactly the same treatment from my classmates as I had before. Of course, I was right.
As soon as I entered the cafeteria at lunchtime after half a day of your generic school lessons I immediately noticed all the little 'cliques' and groups each huddled round their own tables which no one of an opposing group dared to tread. It was my job to try and mingle with one of these groups or else, like my last school, I would be eaten alive. It was natural selection in its purest form. I was dreading having to attempt to socialise and warp my personality to suit these herds, but a spark of relief hit me when I saw, on the furthest table back, another loner sitting there. I felt quite optimistic when I saw him, we both have no group to belong to so we could just be ourselves, I mean we already have something in common anyway. So after buying my practically plastic food from the cafeteria I parked myself on the seat next to him.
He didn't look they way anyone else did, his face was as pale as snow, yet it still looked healthy, by contrast, his hair, which was neatly combed was jet black, so dark you could hardly see the textures in his hair. It was the darkest shade of black I have ever seen in someones' hair.
He also, unlike the other students had his tie neatly pulled up to the top of his collar, and his shirt was tucked in. It was radically different to the way I dressed, which was sloppy, to say the least. I then after making this observation, awkwardly introduced myself to him as Andrew Lambert and asked him what his name was. He slowly turned round to me with this blank, pale, aloof and unamused expression, with his eyes with irises as black as night. I initially thought he was going to say something hostile until he calmly said
"My name is George, George Oliver Davies."
He said it in a very eloquent and formal tone, probably the most formal tone I have ever heard from someone my age, I felt as if I was in a business meeting or something, I would have laughed but, something tells me he wouldn't have took it so well.
He maintained that blank expressionless face until about, I would say twenty minutes into the lunch break, where he folded his arms and scanned the room with intensity, he stared at each student with a piercing unmoving, and undeterred gaze which seemed to make them rather unnerved, even forcing some to leave the cafeteria, I saw him slightly shake his head at them, as if he were disappointed or angry.
His stare got more and more hate and fury filled and caused one student, to flee in terror. To my surprise, no one stopped him or even questioned him as to why he is staring at them so harshly, they just sat there, silent, the before booming cafeteria was now silent, I saw... that people began to sweat and bury their faces in their hands, some even began to shiver and cry, mumbling to themselves as they left the area. I never saw them again.
I asked him why he was staring at them, he finally broke his stare and said to me:
"Something is wrong here, It needs to be fixed."
Before I could ask him what he meant, the bell sounded for class time, and George swiftly stood up, It was then I noticed how tall he was; he stood a towering six foot six inches tall, and towered over every one in the entire school. As he walked to go to his next class he circled around some students, and then leaned over and whispered in one of their ears, after he did, the student began to stare at the ceiling and closed his eyes, the colour drained from his face and he- he even looked as if he began to sob, he then sat there as the sobbing got louder and louder until eventually he ran out the room tears just... streaming from his face as he wept loudly throughout the corridors, vexed by what he must've heard. Again, like the others, I never saw him again. I myself was very disturbed at this point.
I never heard or saw George for the remainder of the day, and several students in the school went home after lunch, catatonic. I had a lingering fear and confusion in my mind as to what the fuck happened at lunchtime. I tried talking to some of the students in the class about it, but was very aggressively berated by the teachers if I even mentioned the incident, the teachers turned round and, my memory is probably distorted but, I'm sure I remember one of them, when they turned round to shut me up, having exactly the same deep, all black, abyss like irises that George had, and the pale skin with that, that hate filled expression...
I finished the day, not having absorbed anything that I had been taught that day, my thoughts dominated by the incident, as I walked home with the images of those students crying and fleeing. I noticed, on the top of the large hill near my house, George was standing.
I ran up the hill and asked him first what he was doing. He didn't answer, he instead looked upon London from the hill, and again looked all throughout the landscape as if he were scanning the world. I then asked him what happened at lunch. Again to no avail. He stood there with his arms folded. His chin then moved upward slightly, and his face twisted to show this look of malevolent contempt on his face as he gazed upon the world.
"George?" I said, wondering if he was in some sort of trance like state. "Are you there?"
With that question, he smirked and turned around to face me.
"I've been here for a while."
I looked confused "Are you okay?"
"No," stated George in a very aggressive and assertive manner. "But I will be soon," he said in a chill inducing way; calm, yet, with what I can only describe as a tone as if it were the eye before a storm.
"I'm leaving tomorrow." He snapped. "But I'll be back soon."
"Why are you going?" I asked.
"You ask a lot of questions don't you?" he said with that smirk crawling its way up his face.
"Okay, I'll tell you tonight." And with that he simply just walked away. And I was left a persistent feeling of dread and uneasiness, one that still exists to this day.
I sat there as darkness engulfed the skies, I realized that George couldn't tell me anything, as he didn't have any means of contact with me whatsoever, so, I repeated this to myself to calm my feeling of anxiety, and then my eyelids fluttered and eventually I was asleep.
I then suddenly awoke to black smoke blinding my eyes, my body... felt as if it were being cooked in an unbearable heat surrounding my room, i could hardly breath, the air so thick that it burned my throat as I inhaled. I cleared the smoke, violently coughing all the way to discover that my house was completely ablaze.
My heart raced so much it felt as if it was erupting from my chest, I was shaking and jerking and more fearful than I had ever been in my life, my eyes darted back and forth as I stormed through my rapidly burning house. I fiercely kicked down my parents door only to discover that they weren't there, as the flames began to creep up, closer and closer toward me, attempting to cook my skin - which already felt as if it was melting in this heat. I frantically opened my parents window as my house began to topple, leaped out the window, and landed on the bushes outside my house.
As I heard my home fall to pieces, I lifted my head up from the bushes to discover something terrible.
It wasn't just my home that was on fire, the entire street was an inferno; trees cars, and... and even the people were burning. I looked up to notice this awful, blood red sky, from which endless amounts of thunder bursted from, which to me, sounded like screams, of people... suffering. Screams which, as I am writing this, I can hear, as if I were among them...
I ran horrified through my street, while the bodies of the dead were scattered like children's toys all throughout them, burnt to a crisp, some dismembered and mutilated beyond recognition. I ran, and I ran. until... I halted suddenly to find..... my fucking parents, just... just lying there, rotting away on the street like roadkill. I fell to the ground, all strength in my body had left me, I choked up, tears running rivers down my face, screaming in disbelief until I felt like my organs were going to protrude from my throat.
I then after what seemed like an eternity of screaming, crying and vomiting, I turned, to again notice George, just, standing there... Looking at the destruction that was being caused, I raced up the hill, devastated, confused, and on the edge of sanity. I halted again, and to my terror, I discovered that these flames, this destruction, extended to as far as the eye can see, all around I saw people, being burned alive, I saw them... raping each other... Killing and defiling each other.... Destroying each other. I saw the whole of London collapse before my very eyes. When I heard him whisper in my ear
"Now this is better, isn't it?" He began to giggle at that...
I looked at him and couldn't muster any words, he stared at me, smirking, a black liquid seeping from every orifice in his body and sizzling everything it touched, as he stared at me, the blackness in his irises spread... slowly, like an infection, to completely fill his entire eyes. The liquid oozed from his face faster, and faster until it was drenching and burning the ground beneath us, stripping it bare of all the flowers and grass that lived on it. As he continued to stare at me, Images flashed in my mind, Threats of war, Natural disasters, Greed, Corruption... Death... Destruction... Doom. Some of these images I have seen before on the news, some haven't happened... yet.
"It was all the build up," cackled George. His tone got more demonic as I felt the blood drain from my face, my body, feeling as if life itself was draining from it. His face... it was... rotting and breaking apart, clumps of his dead skin and pieces of flesh began falling on the floor, still cackling as it happens. His eyes began to pop and fall out of their sockets, his mouth gaped open, and slowly begins to separate from his rotting, skinless body, I look upon him, the parasitic slime, and the world has now become, just a putrid, decomposing mass. Amongst this, George's cackle can still be heard.
It can ALWAYS be heard.
Then I woke up.
I was shaking like a leaf, I was empty of joy, of happiness. I was... destroyed after what I just seen, "Had I been to hell and back?" Is a question I still ask myself.
My Mother barged in and threw a letter on my bed, and left, reminding me of breakfast.
I looked at the letter, "From George" it read, I resisted the urge to scream and vomit and forced all the courage and strength I could muster to read this letter, repeating to myself in my head "It was only a nightmare, just a nightmare". I opened the letter and to my surprise, it only had one line. It read:
"Now all you can do... is wait."
I then felt my mind explode with fear and my stomach constrict within me, and then I read the signature
"Yours sincerely, George Oliver Davies
G... O... D"