Dome: Episode One

A heartbreaking portrayal of ambition, betrayal, and intrigue, Dome is a serialized Science-Fiction Thriller that tells the story of a small group of people who try to figure out the reason behind the construction of this dome-city in the center of the world’s harshest continent.

Prologue

For a man who knows that our worst nightmares are about to come true, Jack Riddell has no trouble sleeping at night. “It is said that Caesar wept when he found out about Pompey’s death.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” the host of the show, a woman in her mid-thirties, asks. For the last hour or so, the richest man in the world has avoided giving her a straight answer.

Jack laughs. “A man’s character is determined by how he reacts in the face of adversity. By how strong his enemies are.” Ignoring the dumbfounded expression of the host, he adds, “I believe people should realize Dome is a simple reminder that we can fight against insurmountable odds and win.” Continue reading

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The Labyrinth

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The labyrinth is a web of corridors going nowhere. A structure so elaborate it inspires fear and chaos in the minds of those trapped.

The labyrinth is, also, indifferent. It exists. What happens inside is ruled by different forces.

There must be a way out. A secret passage. A shortcut.

Those who ask why will get only one answer.

What if there isn’t one? What if the light at the end of the tunnel is an illusion?

This labyrinth has no sense of humor, even though many of its captives will laugh through clenched teeth, trying to free themselves from rage.

From desolation. From fear. From anger. From the dark silence that surrounds them.

It’s so quiet inside this maze that the only noise is created by your mind, by your eager heartbeats, by your footsteps.

You are alone.

Utterly and inconsolably so.

The rules that were used to build this maze cannot be used against it.

In a way, there are no rules. Continue reading

Mornings with Her

“There’s an ancient saying in Japan, that life is like walking from one side of infinite darkness to another, on a bridge of dreams. They say that we’re all crossing the bridge of dreams together. That there’s nothing more than that. Just us, on the bridge of dreams.”M.T. Anderson

Some nights I can’t fall asleep. So I drive around, stare at people on the sidewalks. Closed shops. Beggars. Thieves. Whores. Nighthawks. The damned and beautiful. When I do fall asleep, I always dream about her. Each and every night. We talk. We just talk. I tell her everything I never had the chance to tell her. She listens. I ask her all the questions that I need answered in order to let her go, but then I wake up. She smiles and the dream drops dead, dissipating in the shivering morning.

I miss her. A lot more than I ever loved her. A lot more than I ever thought possible. I think about her every day, I dream about her every night. The moment I open my eyes in the morning, for a second it feels as if she’s lying there beside me. For a second. Then I know she’s not. She’s gone. Forever.

They say it takes some time. To get over. To forget. To move on with your live. To replace. To realize that life is just the same without her.

They’re wrong. Life will never be the same. It never is. Only those who never truly loved can replace. Can forget. The rest of us? We spend whatever is left of our lives aimlessly wandering between love and hate. Between blaming ourselves or them. Between wanting to forget them and wanting to find them again.

It’s a terrible thing to go through. It’s out of your control, out of your reach.

I met her when I was twenty three years old. Just a kid. Whatever it was I thought about love, well… she changed all that.

[…]

Some mornings I don’t want to wake up. I just want to stay in bed, talking to her in my dream. Telling her all that I need to tell her, all that I want to tell her. I know it’s just a dream, but couldn’t it last until I get to see her again? I know it’s not real, but what is?

It’s just me and her. On a bridge of dreams. The rest is darkness. Infinite and cruel.

Saudade

All you can picture inside your head, over and over again, is you closing the door behind you. It felt… irremediable. Your own version of passing the Rubicon. That was the moment when the nostalgia of all that could no longer be began.

It is said that when two people break up, one feels relieved, free. It is over. It is time to move on. And the other one is left with the broken pieces of their heart, not knowing what to do.

Saudade. The love that remains, the love that no amount of poison could ever kill. The love that will eventually alter itself to become what is left when nothing can be done anymore.

It was beautiful… Continue reading

Paradise

Johnny Cash was once asked for his definition of paradise. He used six simple words to answer what often proves to be a difficult question to most people.

“This morning, with her, having coffee.”

Who is her? I have often asked myself. Where does one find her? How? When?

Of course, I have found her. And lost her. And found her again. And again. And every time my heart broke, it would heal itself through some sort of long forgotten magic, but it would no longer be the same. It would beat less and less for her…

In a perfect world, we could give our heart to someone, and they’d cherish this gift enough to keep it safe. But this is a wicked, wicked world, and people always leave, and soulmates fall out of love, and nothing lasts forever, because forever is just a made-up word. And people always, and I mean always, will drop your heart to the ground. They’ll always drop it.

I became afraid that I’d never find my way to a paradise that would last for the rest of my life. My happily ever after. The ending that I have always felt the story of my life deserved.

When there was no her to wake up next to, it felt like hell. A strange hell, one that was so quiet, so desolate, so destitute, that it felt like being blind, numb, and deaf.

Sartre was wrong. Hell is never other people. Hell is loneliness. Hell is dreaming of her all night long, only to wake up all alone in the morning…

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Lucky You

The odds of being born on any given day are about 0,27%. Of course, certain days are different than others, due to religious, cultural, or practical reasons. That’s why the odds of being born on Christmas Day are 0.0022%.

I was born on Christmas Day.

***

You ever hear the expression: “Karma’s a bitch?”

I know, I know. Such a terrible cliche. But it’s kind of true. I never met her, but I can tell you that “bitch” is the best possible definition of karma.

Fate. Destiny.

Fate fortunes the bold, the Romans would say.

It does. But she also screws them over, in ways no one could ever possibly imagine.

Like the ancient gods of Greece.

Like the way Zeus screwed mortal men and especially women for centuries.

You know, in that witty and cruel manner that makes you wonder if gods were ever on our side. Continue reading

Love at first sight

He enters the waiting room, sees all the other patients eagerly waiting to be called into the doctor’s office. They all nod in that peculiar manner; they are here because of necessity, rather than choice. He sits on the only available chair and takes out his cell phone. It’s so warm inside that he has to struggle not to yawn.

But then he looks up and sees her.

It’s always such a shock to see someone beautiful in places you wouldn’t expect to see anything of importance. Continue reading

Pure, perfect sex

The moon is shining hard and cold against the marbled floor of the living room. Few guests tonight, the two waitresses are sitting at the bar, talking to the bartender. Next to them, Alice is sipping lazily from a champagne glass.

She turns around in her stool and notices a woman. She is wearing a silk white dress, her hand holding onto a champagne glass, her black eyes, the eyes of a rebel, contemptuously glancing around at the other guests. Her slim body, her black hair covering her naked shoulders, she is more than perfection itself, she is more than…

She notices Alice looking at her and she gently nods her head and smiles.  For the briefest of moments.

Alice walks closer. Somehow. Without her realizing. She has to. Continue reading