Le Pen's short story anthology by Le Pen

Author:Le Pen [Pen, Le]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-02-29T04:30:00+00:00

Fuzzy...The entire world was fuzzy for the rest of the evening. Josh awoke in a hospital bed. He had returned exactly to where he was before. Josh looked down at his right side through blurred vision. But his entire arm was gone.

“ Nurse. Nurse!” The previous nurse rushed in.

“ Oh, you're awake.”

“ What happened here? What the hell happened to my arm?”

“ The cancer had spread to your entire arm. It was completely inflamed, and we had to remove it.” Josh shook his barely even a stump of an arm at her.

“ I didn't sign up for this.”

“It had to be done, Josh. Now you should grow up and recognize that fact.”

“Recognize...” Several hours later, Josh was still in his hospital uniform and his minty green blanket, surrounded by the smell of anesthetic antibacterial agent.

“ But my hands give me the ability to mold my vision.”

The smell grew stronger and began to choke him. His eyes covered in a layer of acceptable indifference, and he lost his memories of everything from that point onward.

“ Trailing in from a distant land visits the origin of what could be. Yet it cannot be. For it cannot manifest...” A deep, ominous voice said.

Josh awoke in his log cabin in the middle of the woods.

“ A dream?” He looked at his surroundings. They were warm, and they glowed with the light of a warm autumn's sunlight. The leaves were a golden russet which trespassed upon and intertwined with those golden rays as they fell in mass numbers to the earth.

“ Beautiful!” Josh proclaimed. He got up, and in a passionate fit, went to his canvas. It felt as if he hadn't lost his hand, and Josh believed that lie as if it were true. If only for a slight moment. When he went to grab his paint brush, he was reminded of what he had lost. By this time, the leaves had stopped falling.

“ Hmmm...” Josh went back to bed. At night, Josh awoke. There was only a single light in his house, and it was an old-style lantern light. It cast a dim yellow glare on the white canvas, and tinted it with jaundice.

“ I suppose I should try it a couple of times.” Josh walked over to the canvas, grabbed a brush with his left hand, and painted the canvas with a mound of piling- slurring black paint. A figment-like entity

hung on the ceiling of the room. That entity caught the light just enough to be recognized as a fan. But Josh's mind didn't- couldn't see a simple fan. In Josh's mind, the fan was a barely lit gateway. He knew not of what was on the other side. But Josh could see the skull which stood at the center. He could sense the intent which was barely blocked by the enclosing fins of the fan. When Josh attempted to draw this gate, something unlike his vision came into being on the canvas. It was a jumbled mess of pustulating disease. Its black color oozed with a clear dissemination.

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