The Sides of the Sun - Part 1/3 [Sci-fi/Horror]

Note: The following is a first draft, and will be subjected to editing.

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It was mid-day in May, and the heat of the sun was piercing like hot needles into the skin. It didn’t help that the traffic signal counted down a hundred seconds for cars, and only ten seconds for pedestrians. The crowd of the Legarda crossing was growing rapidly, each new body pumping up the heat, and Kristine, with her bright blue jacket and charmed backpack, was running short out of breath.

Each second dragged like hours, and her clothes were suffocating, tightening around her like flames in a fire.

Ten seconds left, nine, and drops of sweat dripped from the side of her face to settle as dark, circular marks on her collar. Her throat was dry, searching for water, while her ears were assaulted by the noise of a chattering crowd and speeding jeepneys.

Three, two, one. The light was green. Without an umbrella, Kristine braved the scorching sun and dashed to the other side of the crossing, an air-conditioned train to take her home.

Finally, she thought.

She whizzed past the metal detector and slammed her backpack down to the conveyor of the x-ray machine. Hearing the unmistakable sound of the arriving LRT, she ran and gasped and squeezed herself until she was safely inside. The view outside the train blurred, and she welcomed the cold of the train.

“Cubao station,” announced the conductor.

"Shit," she said, the air-conditioning was gone too soon.

Kristine shuffled past the crowd, accidentally elbowing a stranger to make her way out. Someone at the back yelled at her, but she was already on the way down the dirty streets of Cubao.

She turned three corners on, past the blur of colorful motel doors, bored vendors, stands of fruits and kwek-kwek, and clumps of people buying groceries from the nearby wet market. Eyes followed  her. Alleyway after alleyway, foot after foot, finally she found the familiar black door of a house made of hollow blocks.

With all the force she could muster, she swung the door open. The outside light illuminated three shocked men sitting around a plastic white table, passing around beer.

One of them, a stout man with a bald head, stopped and grinned, “Hello there, my dearest cousin! Here are my dearest friends! Come, come.”

Kristine’s fingers fumbled frantically to unzip her jacket. Once open, she slammed it on the table, almost knocking out one of the bottles. Her black crop top was shining in sweat, her exposed stomach a vibrant orange-red, “Get out of here.”

The grinning man leaned over and vomited on the floor. He was attempting to chuckle in between chokes. When he was done, he stood up, strings of purple saliva clinging to his white shirt, and placed a calloused and heavy palm on Kristine’s shoulder, “Calm down, cuz. Have a drink with us, why don’t you? You’re so sweaty.”

“Where’s my sister?” Kristine asked, “You scare her when you’re here.”

Her head was still thumping from her run, but now she could also feel a warmth in her chest, a rising tide waiting to erupt. She wanted to shut the door and windows to shield against the sun, but the nauseating smell of cigarette and vomit was circulating around the room.

“Scare her?” Mark laughed and walked closer. His every step drenched his shoes in the puddle of his own drool. “Your sister let us in! Anyway, I sent her over to my mom’s. I’m responsible like that.”

“Mark, your cousin’s really hot when she’s angry,” said one of his friends. The three of them laughed, “I mean, taking off your jacket and all, oh wow.”

“Pretty nice abs, girl.” the friend said, “Though, easy on your arm. I know a dude who was doing that. He’s fucking dead now.”

Mark shifted his gaze to Kristine’s arm and held it up to inspect. There was a brief glaze of surprise, and then silence. He nodded, “Pretty emo, cuz, but you’ll get over it.”

Kristine yanked her arm down, “Get out, Mark.”

“Just pray to our lord and saviour Jesus Christ,” Mark said, and then he froze.

The scent of alcohol from his mouth still hung on the air, but he stopped breathing. His eyes, darting around a second ago, locked in on Kristine’s without a minute twitch. The rough hand on her shoulder was heavier. There was no movement now except the swinging string of vomit on Mark’s clothes, which was slowing in momentum.

“Mark?” Kristine called.

He stayed in place. No drunken answer. The laughter of his scumbag friends were replaced by a deafening silence, her voice the only sound echoing against the bare, hollow block walls.

And then, the sound of glass.

Kristine looked over to the plastic table, and found that a red beer bottle dropped from the grip of Mark’s friend and shattered into pieces. All three of them were frozen in time.

Every beat of her heart thudded faster and faster. She noticed a sudden, subtle inward curve tracing down Mark’s forehead, as if it was being punched in with force. Her toes felt wet. A gelatinous substance fell on her feet.

When she looked down, there laid a bloodied brain.

Her body stiffened. A gutteral scream climbed her throat and tried to escape, but her mouth was shut. She couldn’t move her legs.

Then it was Mark’s chest that curved inward, as if being hollowed out. A singular heart slid on her feet, bouncing on her skin before reaching the ground. It happened fast, instantaneously. Mark’s body wobbled as his organs one-by-one vanished from inside his body and appeared on the floor.

The tiles were now covered in innards and blood.

She ran.

The world around her once again disintegrated into swift smudges of color as her legs took her away from her home. Before reaching the next alleyway, she caught a last look at the ajar door, and saw no one, not Mark nor his scummy friends, not the beer bottles nor the bloody organs.

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