Excerpt: Dominoes: Because one small idea can throw everything off

[the disappearance]

The seemingly normal day at the communication building would take a disastrous turn.

The clocks on everyone’s watches read 2:00 in the afternoon. The female professor was finishing up her lecture on the importance of being active communicators. The male students stared intently at her-not for the lesson-but for her figure. They drooled over her until the class was over. The females-most of them were texting away on their cellphones, so they weren’t paying attention to the lecture. A smaller amount of them were taking notes and being good students. The professor closed down her computer.

“Class is over. For homework, I want a paper about communication with a disabled person. Yes, you have to interview your subject.”

Groans emanated from the students as she continued.

“No plagiarism. All of you are college students, so I expect scholarly work.” As soon as she uttered that last word, the sounds of opening zippers and putting books in filled the room. Students got up to leave the classroom. Among them were a smaller group of females. Their laughing and talking filled the outside hallway.

“OH MY GOODNESS, did you get to that party last night?”

“Yeah, it was SO COOL!”

“How many did you drink last night?”

“Before or after I got buzzed?” The females reached the outside and stepped on the sidewalk. They were all dressed the same: sorority shirts with matching jeans and leather handbags. All of them were typical blonde-haired white girls. They all made a right and continued walking on the sidewalk.

Suddenly from among them, a cellphone rang.

“Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you! Never gonna make you-"

One of the girls was flustered as she searched for her cellphone. The right pocket! She took it out and answered her phone, which was not a Blackberry, but was an older Nokia phone. “Hello?”

“Kenna, it’s me.”

Rick was her brother and everytime she was asked about him, she would inevitably get some remark about the similarities of his name to a certain “washed up” pop singer. Rick usually picked her up in front of the building after her afternoon class, but Kenna hadn’t seen his car yet.

“What’s up?”

“Well, I’m having a bit of car trouble, so you’ll have to catch the bus home. Be sure to shut the door when you get in.”

“Okay,” Kenna said as she hung up the phone. She turned to her friends. “Hey, I can’t go with you to the bar today. I’ve got to catch the bus home.”

“Hey, what are you talking about?” one of them asked. “We always go to the bar on a Wednesday afternoon.”

“And I could pull it off if my brother was picking me up. Besides, you know how these buses run.” Kenna was no novice at catching the bus, but this was the Sandwich district, where if one wanted to catch a bus, he or she might as well plan around it.

“Later, Kenna!” The girls walked up the street. Kenna walked the opposite way. The streets in Sandwich weren’t crowded yet, for it wasn’t rush hour. The bus stop was a couple of blocks away and one street down, so Kenna had no other choice but to walk. Kenna’s feet touched the pavement as she continued walking.

Rick had told her not to use her headphones while walking in the street, lest someone find Kenna and snatch her up unaware. Rick was a good brother, but sometimes she felt that his advice went against what she believed. But he was also her figurative father, so Kenna understood this.

He had to provide the discipline that was lacking since their real father was killed before she was born. Kenna soon reached the first street that she had to cross. The cars were zooming past her at a fast clip, so fast that if she took a step while she wasn’t paying attention, Kenna would be roadkill.

She had to continue looking. The light in front of her changed from red to green, indicating that the pedestrians could cross. Kenna crossed brickly and at a fast pace, all the while looking around to make sure that no other cars were going to run her over. She reached the other side of the crosswalk and looked in the distance. The rest of the way was downhill from here, Kenna observed. Not many people were out today, but some cars were zooming on her left.

She continued to walk down the hill, only looking back once, where she spied a black Nissan Maxima at the corner. Kenna reached the second corner in about 5 minutes and crossed with authority. While crossing the street, she continued her manner of looking around.

That black car was still there! Not minding it, Kenna turned right and kept walking. The bus stop was in the distance. Kenna was getting frantic now. The source of her now-ignited worry was the black Maxima; it had latched onto her like a leech to a human looking for blood. And it was STILL following her.

She broke out into a run, but not before she was grabbed by a dude. He was wearing a dark blue robe. Kenna tried turning around to see who it was, but to no avail; the dude carried her to that black car.

“LET ME GO!” Kenna struggled to get out of his grip, but she was dragged and pushed inside the car.

“You have her?” another voice asked from the front.

“Yeah.”

Kenna tried to get out of the car on the other side, but another dude was beside her. He took out a bottle of some unknown substance. The dude from before held her so that Kenna was unable to move.

The dude with the bottle took a cloth and poured some of the liquid on it. He held the cloth out for her. “Breathe it!”

“No!” Kenna yelled. The one behind her bent her over and she was forced to inhale the liquid. Kenna then passed out, the chloroform having done its work.

Kenna was never seen again.

-

[the suspicion]

In the Mustard Dormitory, all was quiet with the exception of two people standing in front of room 408.

Lekima, the girl, was wearing a long black dress. Her face was glittering with the lights from above shining down upon her.

Harurot was the other one, wearing a dark blue suit. He didn’t wear a hat, and his brown hair, usually scraggled, was brushed back to look at least somewhat presentable. He looked at Lekima.

“Nice time that we had together, huh?”

“Yeah,” Lekima nodded. “But can we make it serious?”

Yipes. This wasn’t what he expected, and he didn’t want this. No matter.

“No, we can’t.” Harurot reached inside of his pocket and took out the silver key. He unlocked the door to his room and cut the light on.

Ah, home sweet home. Or, to be more accurate, room sweet room.

The room was exactly the way that he had left it-neat and clean, still without a speck of dirt in sight. Lekima’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Umm, Harurot? What’s that blue robe doing near the window?” She pointed to a hooded dark blue robe that was on a hanger. Said hanger was located next to the window.

Harurot sighed as all manners of annoyance came over him. Stupid! he mentally yelled to himself. Told you to put it away, somewhere else so that nobody would see it! But did you listen? No, you decide to keep it hanging thinking that nobody would notice. Huh. I bet that now, this Lekima will probably try to overthrow my operation!

“It’s nothing, Lekima. Just a decoration.”

“Of what?”

Curse Lekima and her stalking tendencies!

“I just wanna know!” He had to do something quick.

“Hey, it’s a play that I’m working on, called ‘The Night of the Larks’. It’s centered around-”

Can’t use the word cultist here…Bing!

“-a monk that lives in solitude, away from other people. He tries to figure out the meaning of life, but he sits every nighttime thinking about it, while sleeping during the daytime. You got me?”

Lekima nodded.

Harurot’s mind raced, hoping that she would buy it and get off his back.

“Good. Here is where the fun begins. A lark watches him every night. The first night, it was just one lark. The second night, it was two larks. The third night, it became three larks. The number of larks multiplied with every time that he sat and thought during the night. At the end of this 31-day month, 31 larks sat in a tree, looking at him.

But these were no ordinary larks. You see, these larks would only emerge on the last night of the longest month, looking for innocent flesh to eat. These were evil larks that lurked in the night. They were as black as the night that had surrounded them and holders of a keen bloodlust that enveloped them when they would strike their prey.

Nothing would be left when the larks were through. Blood, guts, even bones were on their lunch list. The first lark, the leader, had watched the monk all this time and communicated to its followers his pattern and habit of sitting during the night. That way, they all knew the goings on of the unaware mook.

Poor mook. Poor blissfully unaware mook, if only you had known about them beforehand. But there is a flaw-you can’t practice violence even if you tried. Your superiors would drown you in accusations and you would find yourself executed and excommunicated before you could even blink.

So the monk still sat down on his post, meditating and meditating until the air around him grew cold. He knew that this was the usual time that he needed to go back inside. The monk eventually relieved himself of his enjoyable trance and back to reality he came. It was then that he stood up.

The first lark had taken notice and flew to his robe. He sat on the left shoulder. A couple of other larks sat on the right shoulder. His back was now to the tree that the larks populated. The third lark-no, the first lark let out a sweet song. The monk turned to the first lark and listened to its song.

Suddenly, the third lark let out a loud, bloodcurdling screech! The monk had tried to figure out where it had come from.

No, it couldn’t be the lark beside me, it was-Before the monk could even get his thought out, the other larks surrounded him and started to peck at him.

Then, it happened.

Their infamous bloodlust awakened and they begun to murder that poor monk. They struck like rusty knives. Their sheer power was unheard of for larks, but remember-they were evil to begin with. As such, they had power unbound.

When they were finished, the only thing left of the monk was his left foot. It was a symbol of the terror that the larks emanated.”

When Harurot had finished, Lekima was speechless, just like two weeks ago. He could see it in her eyes-she liked it completely.

“You did all that? Wow. That would require a lot of work, not to mention numerous amounts of birds,” Lekima said. “Would you play the monk?”

Harurot smiled evilly as he answered her question.

“Me? Playing the monk killed at the hands of murderous larks? Don’t be silly, girl. I might have the president be the monk. Just have to ask him first. You know he’s a sucker for students’ plays and really wants to be in one. I can ask him to play the part.”

The expression on Lekima’s face read fear at this point. He had told her before and her reaction was like this. Much similar.

Harurot looked at his watch.

“It’s 11:30, Lekima. I’d suggest you go back to your room now.”

“I’d rather do that myself.” Lekima’s voice was soft.

She walked out of his room. “Good night.” He shut the door behind him.