As the title says, this story is not for the faint of heart. Contains language. Read it to find out what its about.
Extraho: (Latin for Prologue)
“Holy shit! Tommy, please, you have to get up!” All around them, people were screaming, crying, shouting out in terror, a whirlwind of limbs flying around the tram car. The emergency lights went on and started to blink as the car shook back and forth on its rail. It should have been a blessing to have the light, but it only illuminated the contorted faces of the tram's terrified passengers. There was a sound of crunching metal and the screams heightened in pitch and volume. “Please, Tommy, please!”
The wounded man began to open his eyes. His head was bleeding excessively from being thrown against the metal siding by the crash. The concerned passenger gave a small sigh of relief, uninformed of the metal rail from the second story that had begin to come loose. The injured man looked up quickly as he heard the grind of the metal coming lose, like the entire Woodwind section of an orchestra playing off-key. He wasn't able to close his eyes before the rail fell and the pointed broken end went straight through his eye to the back of his skull with a sickening squish that disturbingly reminded the onlooker of the sound produced by gum being chewed.
Blood gushed rapidly from the eye socket of the man and his fiance screamed.
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Darkness. All around her, just darkness. But their was something else too, something accentuated by her lack of sight. A sound perhaps? But what sound?
She listened carefully. A scream? Whose scream? Why was someone screaming? Panicky thoughts began to race through her head and she struggled to keep calm.
Oh wait! That was her! That would explain a few things. She quieted down and rolled her head to the side to look at her alarm clock. The radiating green lights cut through the onyx blanket of night, telling her that she had just three hours to sleep before she would be up to go to work. She cursed under her breath.
Then her phone began to ring. It was quiet compared to the screaming she had done just moments before. She picked it up and mumbled a hello.
The person on the other end of the line was Mr. Chin, an elderly Asian man who lived in the apartment next door. “Are you OK, Tabatha?” he said with his heavy accent, sounding genuinely concerned. After she assured him that she was fine and had only had a vivid nightmare, he was satisfied and hung up. Tabs head hit the pillow and she was quickly falling back asleep.
Seconds later, the phone rang again. “God I hate my life!” she announced to no-one in particular. This time the caller was Mrs. Chin. “Shut the hell up before I call the police on you for disturbing the peace!” And then she hung up as well.
Happy Birthday, Tabatha Hartly, she thought, and then struggled back into an uneasy sleep.