Bell lay in her bed, staring up at the leaky ceiling, in a palpable darkness. She couldn't turn her head left or right. Her neck felt thick and her head as heavy as a newborn's. She arched her back in a futile attempt to get much needed air into her lungs. She craved oxygen the way a drug addict craves a fix. In the place of sweet relief was searing pain, which radiated throughout her chest,  feeling like thousands of bloody paper cuts. To ward off panic and hyperventilation she imitated Izzy and counted slowly in her mind, "One... two... three..." The room darkened further and the air became coagulated, cold and clammy. Bell had the sense she was not alone and it wasn't good. Afraid of blacking out she continued her counting, "Four... five... six..." Math makes sense... it never changes. "Seven... eight... nine..." Then she remembered the final thing her grandfather told her before he left. 'King Rophe is the same yesterday, today and forever.' Her heart raced and her elevated blood pressure pounded in her ears. As the fear and the blood rush collided, she experienced one clear-headed moment. If she could simply utter the King's name an unknown peace would follow. What she didn't know was that her newly established interest in The Book had ushered in the resurgence of an old evil. It slithered under the door. Bell opened her mouth to speak but no words came, only a hiss. Helpless she opened her eyes even wider hoping to find a spec of light. Instead of light a slimy substance slithered across her corneas. She blinked wildly to rid herself of the sticky parasite but the purposeful phlegm only slithered in the opposite direction crossing her opened eyes once more. Desperately she tried to wipe off the meandering mucus but her arms lay useless at her sides in a state of perpetual pins and needles. Bell began to rock back and forth, back and forth; her goal was to flip over and wipe the unwelcomed creature onto her pillowcase.

Rock a bye baby on the treetop when the bow breaks the cradle will rock...

Thump. Bell dropped to the floor and wildly rubbed the oozing visitor onto the yellow bed skirt. Falling to the floor afforded Bell an adrenaline rush and a much needed hit of oxygen. It also dragged Ella into the room.

Ella gasped. "Bell what on this pitiful Earth are you doing lying crumpled on the floor?"

Bell panted. "There was this creeping, slug-like thing on my eyes and I was trying to wipe it away."

Ella peered closely into Bell's eyes, Well I don't see anything and next time just call for me. There is no need to flop onto the floor like a fish."

Bell pointed with her chin."It's here on the bed skirt."

Ella pulled the material away from the boxspring. "There is nothing there daughter." Ella easily plopped Bell's seventy pounds back into bed.

"Light a candle and you'll be able to see the slime mother."

"Light a candle? It is two in the afternoon. This room is as bright as day; there isn't a cloud in the brown sky." Ella pulled the shade up further making a flittering sound.

"Then I can't see." Bell's voice quivered.

"Well it's perfectly natural to have a crunchy film over your eyes after a long sleep, especially in your condition." Ella placed a wet rag over her daughter's eyes. "Here, this should do the trick loosening up that crust."

Bell managed to turn her head to the side allowing the rag to drop from her eyes. "No mother... I mean although my eyes are fully open it is as black as night to me."

Ignoring the obvious Ella rummaged through the nightstand drawer, "I'll just get you some ointment for your eyes and you'll be as right as rain."

Bell spoke dryly, "No amount of eye salve will cure this mother. I'm blind."

Ella broke out into a cold sweat and yet didn't reveal the pain in her heart. "Yes, well the doctor said as your time neared this was to be expected. You mustn't make a fuss. Seeing at all is highly overrated these days." Ella busied herself fixing Bell's twisted bed covers. "You've read all of our boring safe books and since there hasn't been television or internet for years now--there's nothing else to see really. Seriously, you've seen my tired face enough haven't you?" Ella did not pause for her daughter's response instead she over compensated with her voice, "Bell, I am placing the bedpan under your bottom so you may relieve yourself."

Bell wanted to die.

—-

Izzy was exhausted. She had run more than a marathon since leaving Brooklyn Heights. Falling down backwards, by the side of the road, she took off her now well-worn Nikes and rubbed her sore, sweaty feet. By the sun's position, she could tell it would be nightfall in less than two hours. Still she needed to rest. She checked her outdated map. "7 more miles... I'll just rest my eyes..." Placing the book under her head as a pillow she fell asleep and dreamt the dreams visions are made of.

A single man in a long silver and black coat walked down Hollywood Boulevard. He had a high fashion air about him. Knowing his vanity obviously clashed with his medieval glare did not concern him. He had it all, good looks, riches, fame, as well as well as the "It" factor. If he said something was "in," a particular season, it was in and if it was "out" it was out. He had the masses easily fooled and his followers would openly swoon over any of his newest creations, (no matter how lewd or ridiculous they appeared.) How did he manage to conceive hundreds of millions of fans? "One at a time," he would gloat, "One at a time." He waved his hand and an indecent film became an instant blockbuster. With a wink of his eye, a television deal was set so he could sway the population to his insidious way of thinking. Nothing was off-limits to him and ratings meant to protect young minds were of no consequence. "I have time," he would calmly say. "I have all the time in the world."

This entity's influence over humanity was so great it even began to affect the political climate. Celebrities would not only run for office they would win by landslides and then do this media giant's bidding. Glued to their flat screen television sets, IPads and computer screens were young and old alike. Reading books became passé and writing books impossible. "Give me one generation," he would say, "one generation who does not read or think on their own and I will be on top of the world--forever."

Modern society was so focused on social media they missed the energy crisis of the century. People were duped and helpless. They no longer lived in their own solid realities but instead lived through the immoral fictional and non-fictional characters who constantly invaded their homes. YouTube stars, Instagram models, gamers... you name it they hungered for more. Unemployment reached an all time high, fuel prices skyrocketed, alternate energies forgotten. People would sell their cars, furniture, jewelry, even their French poodles, before they would ever dream of giving up their precious media centers.

After several decades of living the high life, this man became greedy. It was not enough to have ninety-nine percent of the populace on his side; he wanted them all. He knew there were a few left of them--the individual thinkers and it disgusted him. He would not rest until all of them forgot and if it meant killing off the last of them then so be it. However, he made one critical mistake and it would cost him. He sped up the decline of the moral climate. Rapidly the depravity ensued causing a few of these lonely, self-thinking souls to wake up. The New Regime declared most books un-safe and even if that decree was not enough; it was popularity suicide to be caught reading and especially one book in particular. By the hundreds of thousands books were gathered up and "recycled" for the greater good. A trendy saying was, "Save a tree, recycle a book."

Izzy moaned in her sleep as her dream took a strange turn. Across America, she saw television sets and computer screens, one after the other, explode in a cloud of glass, metal and plastic. Mesmerized men, woman and children continued watching their blown out sets as if this were a new reality program, "Bombs and You." Entire dysfunctional families stared at the blown out screens until a single child dared to speak up, "Something's wrong. Nothing else is blowing up." Then the people cried. All over the nation, they wailed as if their one and only child had died. As they flooded the stores in search of new and improved models, they found all sets destroyed. Outraged the people gathered onto the city streets once again unified over a common cause. "Save us!" they cried. The new government promised it would set up a global station which would send down holographic images from outer space. The political cabinet vowed, "This great nation will never again be without--media. Of course establishing this new global media will take some time as well as a significant raise in taxes." The people gladly threw their credit cards at their shattered televisions and computers and bowed their heads in reverence.

The revelation jarred Izzy awake and she jumped to her feet and yelled its meaning, "It's the Author's mercy! The entire satellite system defaulting, the television industry gone, the Internet wiped out--everything is the Author's mercy!" Then she danced around and felt cool sand under her feet. Somehow, she had gotten to Atlantic Beach without running another mile.

—-

Alfred and Dave tread the rapidly cooling waters. Dave was having the more difficult time of the two. He took off his prosthetic leg and was surprised to see that it did indeed float!

"Hey Alfred," Dave asked using his leg-saver, "Are those shark fins or dolphin fins speeding our way?"

Alfred flipped over and squinted west. "It's hard to tell with my eyes stinging and the sun setting... but if I had to guess--"

Dave begged, "Please say dolphins, please say dolphins..."

"Its... both." Alfred was amazed to see man's best sea-friend and man's worst sea-enemy sharing the choppy waters. He stared on in bewilderment. "I think the dolphins are keeping the sharks from attacking us."

"You kidding me?" Dave was also shocked. "Who do you think will win? Personally I'm cheering for the dolphins."

"Watch," Alfred said as the silvery-gray, bottlenose dolphins charged the tiger sharks. Repeatedly they rammed the sharks with their noses until; finally, the sharks gave up and swam towards the smoky sunset.

"I thought it was a myth," Dave stated obviously tiring. "I guess now that I've seen everything, I can die."

"Don't you dare. You hold on Dave." How do you think we managed to stay alive so far? We are a rare, old breed and when we get back to shore we have a lot of work to do. I smell a revolution my friend."

Alfred would have said anything to keep Dave from giving up. He knew it was only a matter of time before total numbness would overtake them both and they'd be swallowed up into a watery grave. Still to motivate himself as well as his new companion he bellowed, "Oh merciful King," I know you are far above bargaining with but I think Dave and I can be of some use to this dying generation. We promise to not stop speaking of you until the day we die."

"Which may be any moment now," Dave teased but inside he agreed all the earthly nonsense had gone on long enough. Still he could not resist one last joke, "And what's with this we stuff?"

-End of Chapter 18-

Author's note: I hope you're enjoying the story so far! Please vote, comment, follow and add The Wasting to your library. If you've got a book you'd like me to check out comment the title here:
I'd be delighted!