Young Writers Society

Silas Oracle had woken up that morning wedged messily between walls, his giant shoulders squeezed together in the cramped space. He had removed himself with some difficulty before an item in his pocket began buzzing. He had taken the metal rectangle into his hands, reading the text that displayed itself on the screen. A reminder to visit Matthew, with a street map already attached and detailed. Silas had studied this map, grinned, and run to the door. And Silas had also ceased to be Silas Oracle.

Chaser Oracle strode down the city sidewalk, shading his eyes to look around. He absorbed his surroundings hungrily, drinking in the luscious sky while basking in the rapture of the sound that enveloped him. And the sun! It flooded him with divine warmth, baptising him in soothing golden light.

As he passed a clothing store’s window on his merry way, he caught a glimpse of a man walking by. He stopped immediately and stood before the pane. He gave the man a tentative wave. The man waved in unison. He pulled a face. The man replicated the gesture perfectly, perhaps with even more guile than Chaser. He leaned forward, scrutinizing the image. As did the man.

It was him! Chaser laughed out loud, observing his own face from every angle. He barely recognized himself! His poised, handsome dream-world visage had been melted away, replaced with the action-hero guise of Silas Oracle. He bore a rugged scar just above his left eye, while his jawline could only be described as the definition of manliness.

But his eyes were still his own: ebony wraiths that twisted and cavorted in two sinister pools of crimson. It was certainly a disturbing sight. He’d need to conceal them somehow.

Slipping into the store, he hastily purchased the necessary preparations. Upon completing transactions, he exited the store with extreme gusto, taking the path less traveled through the shop window, thereby taking revenge upon his imitator. Some called it petty; he called it justice.

Ignoring the enraged cries of the shopkeeper, he looked himself over, nodding in satisfaction. A new white suit jacket and hat fit him perfectly. The shades were an excellent touch as well.

Brushing the shards of glass from his shoulders, he turned and made his way down the street, his swagger not the least bit dampened by the numerous stares he received. Perhaps it was poor etiquette in this world to travel in the street. It was an empty stage, however, and the temptation seized him without hesitation.

Chaser sighed blissfully, spreading his arms wide and spinning, his magical musical moment failing to be ruined by the countless taxi horns and angry drivers. “Is this the real life? Or is it just fantasy?” he sang. Laughing jovially, he continued on his way. “Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality…” It felt so good to be real.

Suddenly, he broke off from his rhapsody, the mood interrupted by a sodden sight. An old man held a grimy tin can wearily at the strangers who pretended not to see him, pleading for the lofty miracle of benevolence. His clothes could not have been called rags, lest the rags feel insulted, and it whether or not he remembered what a bar of soap was could’ve easily been up to debate. His eyes were closed, weighed down by hideous wrinkles, while his bristled lips barely managed to beg for money in an emaciated whisper. Chaser could see his bony frame tremble as the world averted their gaze and passed him by.

The Prince of Nightmares, with catlike poise, watched the man for a few seconds, pondering the iconic plight of poverty. If he’d had a tail, it would most certainly have been twitching intently.

His mind made up on a whim, Chaser strode over to the hobo, towering over the old man’s slumped form. Reaching up, he removed his hat and jacket, placing them on the frail, shivering soul that lay before him. “There,” he grinned down at the vagrant, “You look better already, Pops.”

He tilted his sunglasses downward, letting the man catch a glimpse of his terrible eyes. “Stay classy, my friend,” he said. Turning away with an elegant flourish, he continued on his way, strolling dauntlessly in the middle of the city street.

“I’ll be back for you soon,” he whispered without looking back, “I’ll be back for all of you soon enough.” He breathed out slowly, his gleaming crimson eyes surveying the glorious new world around him. A mad grin seized his countenance, dementing it to insanity. “All hail the king.”