V
And then the omnibus had departed. One could not had imagined how one's situation would be like in the United Kingdom, especially for a teen like Micael. He looked upon the sides of the road, where streetlamps and passers-by were seen. The looks from the pedestrians were stuck unto their omnibuses, of which seemed like an army of ants who gathered food for their colony. They were very carefully aligned, as if confined to just that part of the pavements. Micael incessantly pondered on one's think-abouts, however good they might had be. "Look at the people, mother. What do you see?" he asked softly.
"I see eyes of freedom and cautious farewell, my dear. What's the matter?" His mother replied. He quite looked again and showed some unnecessary doubts unto the passers-by, and replied: "Nothing, mother. It just seems like they know who we are or some sort." His mother never really had the chance to reply as she was busy reading the news' articles with her dearest monocle that she got from Micael's grandmother. Micael got a good glimpse of the dingy newspaper and noticed the very date of its.
"Should you read that newspaper, mother, do look at the date," he said and smirked right after. "I know, dear. It was the news yesterday, and yes, I just want to read the news from last day!" his mother uttered, which felt like she was embarrassed and sarcastic at the very same time. Sooner, Micael felt the quite swift right turn of the omnibus they were occupying, which rendered him curious of what was outside, only to find out that there was none at all, and just a quick turn from their chauffeur.
Upon looking, he noticed something very out of the ordinary. As the street they were currently traversing was just beside the bay, he saw seagulls resting on the side of their omnibuses. As far as Micael would describe them accurately, they were white, some were dingy, the color of their beaks was the truly remarkable one, and the way they communicated upon one another amazed him most, but not his mother. His mother was afraid of birds or anything that flies, which forced her to stop reading and went on to fully close the omnibus windows, at least at her side, and continued reading and though the fright from her face is clearly read by Micael, he continued to be mesmerized by the fact seagulls might not be present on British bays. After a while, the chauffeur shouted:
"Are you guys okay 'round there?"
"We are more than fine, Mr. Jackson. Just focus on the road or we may not reach our destination, I presume."
After a quite talk from the chauffeur, the seagulls had departed their omnibus, which gave a very relief to Micael's mother. Micael followed the flight of the seagulls, wondering where they were going. Micael soon found out that they might be going to their respective routes, as some were traversing the bays south-wise. "You excited?" his mother uttered while he was looking at the seagulls from afar, from which he was seemed so comfortable enough to be dazzled and stunned.
"It is more than just that, mother," he replied, "but one will not ever forget his very land, I must say." "Oh, dear. Here," her mother replied while she was grabbing for the teapot inside the omnibus, and poured some on their respective cups and asked her very son to have quite of a tea party, perhaps.
Micael grabbed the tea being handed to him by his mother, and sipped a little bit, checking if it was too hot to drink, but it turned out to be quite lukewarm as it was heated an hour ago, if one's math would be correct. "This tea tastes great, mother, but do you mind if I sleep after this cup? I feel like kind of sleepy because of last night," he said. His mother incessantly agreed upon his dearest request, and went back on reading yesterday's newspaper, as if some kind of article had really caught her attention. Micael relaxed his body, wanting to be sprawled on the seats, moved the boxes and find himself a very comfortable spot to start on taking a quite nap.
"Talk to you later, mother," he said. His mother wasn't really eager to utter a reply as she was really hooked unto the newspaper. His eyelids went drooping down, like poles holding a circus master's tightrope while traversing his distance, eased his very mind, and peacefully asleep he quickly went.
VI
After quite some time which Micael could not tell, he went awoke. He quickly got up unto his mind where he realized that it was just his eyelid which had moved, and his eyes were moving across the entirety of the omnibus. It seemed like he had entered another realm of his inter-dimensional being. It was dark; very dark. All Micael could see was himself and the quite silhouette approaching his whereabouts.
The shadow was miles, as far as Micael's vision was concerned, though near-sightedness was his thing, but it was approaching toward his at an immense speed. It gave him a prick amount of sweat on his forehead, racing down to his cheeks, of which he himself could not even wipe off. It was fast; really fast. It seems like a sort of power faster and stronger than ten horses could pull off. Every blink, though Micael was not really capable of doing so, gave the silhouette a much faster pace.
"Faster. Faster." A silly voice whispered about Micael's left ear which sent shivers on the bottom of his spine. He was scared, more than the seagulls had scared his dear mother. He saw the universe, of something he could not even expound, between him and the silhouette but the shadow was moving as the speed of light. No, faster than the speed of light, and even faster than that. The crippled voice had spoken once more, and this time, he had read Micael's mind.
"He is more than just a silhouette, Micael, for he is someone whom you have haunted from your 13th. His name is so much better than just a shadow."
"His name is Jack. Spring-heeled Jack. And you might want to wait before him."
Micael was sweating badly and uncontrollably. 'twas dripping from his very face up to his very feet, perhaps because of fright.
"Let there be light, my child, and forth you go."
And there was light which made the omnibus and its surroundings temporarily alight. He was shocked, as if he was being electrocuted on a death penalty chair, a dingy and a seat very covered with prickly spikes, puncturing his very buttocks and letting them bleed to death, and so did he. It was a fiery flash of light, and Micael was rendered helpless but to just look at the very emphasized silhouette of the spring-heeled Jack, and the voice on his left whispered again, but angrier this time.
"Go forth still, my child, and let there be light!"
And there was light, much illuminating than the first. It was intensifying which made Micael's eyes shed water. It was gruesome, and yet Micael could not bugger an inch. As far as he could see not clearly, the silhouette was much closer. A mile? A yard? No one knows, and no one ever woudl. HE was crying, desperate enough that the light was so blinding that it was just a dream, a mere hallucination of the fact that he was, indeed, dreaming. Might this could be his past? His future on British soil? His very whereabouts beside his deathbed? No one really knew, and no one would be so kind to let it be known. And the light vanished.
"Micael. I came a very long way. One would have lost the name of yours but not your deeds."
A very familiar, yet deceiving voice uttered before his very eyes, and it was the spring-heeled Jack. Bent upon towards him. He was wearing a black, torn cape. A holster on his belt, where his guns and blades were resting gracefully. There was his pet crow on his behind, flying towards his left shoulder guard: his only shoulder guard. And he was wearing a mask, a mask Micael would not forget for its heavy smirk that he would not want to see on his dearest nightmares, however good they may be, and with the mask, it had emphasized the very purple glow of his eyes, which looked like flames slowly fading and turning into blue. Stunned, Micael was not really able to utter any reply, as his eyeballs were the only part of his body which had achieved freedom inside the omnibus.
"You're not answering. Well, I will call you by your name, then. Your PREVIOUS name. I am your inside demon, Aleck. Aleck Millner. How could you leave me alone in the open gates?"
And yet, Micael was not able to utter a single reply, it seemed like he was completely paralyzed and the only antidote was carefully administered unto his eyes, rendering him useless at all. The spring-heeled jack smirked, winced, and found himself another momentum.
"Oh, Aleck. One would have been so regretful on forgetting someone who has SAVED his very life a million of times. No, unvigintillion times, I must say, and I may not be able to come back, again. You are truly the home of my justice and the chalice of my blood. And we, together, shall seek black happiness on your journey, as well. How funny that Mr. Louis actually got rid of me, but he forgot to get rid of myself, instead he kept it as his very son and called it MICAEL PRATT;"
"Within the rest of my existence in the Cosmos lonely and helpless. I've dreamt of you a thousand times!"
The spring-heeled Jack faced his back, away from the very helpless Micael, called his crow which quickly shapeshifted into a boy. Micael was really, badly eager to just look upon the crow enlarging, with popping jaws and shoulders, and became a child.
"Let there be light," said the child, and before Micael's weeping eyes, there again was light. This time, the light was not just blinding. It was piercing. Micael could feel every wave of light hitting him like very thin and sharp needles all over his body. It was very excruciating, like one medieval elite would had punished him, that all he could do is weep very incessantly.
It was very painful, but still, no blood was shed. He could feel the pain even on both of his feet, and he became none the wiser. He still could not budge an inch, like a kingfisher who does not have a sharp beak and a very functional, discrete wings.
He stared at Jack's crooked back, impaled with spikes even he was not really aware of, or did he? The child dropped a pinch of a sort of powder, which worked like a god-damned spell, unto his mouth. Micael had tasted the magic of the child. It was bitter. Very bitter. But it made one sort of magic. It made his mouth again able to move, and then he had spoken:
"Why are you haunting me? Aren't we true?"
The spring-heeled Jack laughed hysterically, which gave Micael a good pinch of a fright, and then he remarked:
"You see, Aleck, one's worst enemy was never really someone else's enemy, or one's fright. It was you, and your own load of pride which enveloped you."
Micael was shocked, more than the piercing lights would have shocked himself, and Jack followed: "You will see it, someday, Aleck. It is EIGHTEEN. Be wary of the symbol. EIGHTEEN. It will yield you the best outcome but never the worst consequences. Remember, EIGHTEEN. It will give you the enlightenment you will ever need. See you on the other side, then?" and the spring-heeled Jack followed the very disgusting of laugh, which made Micael incapable of speech once more, as if the spell was just a mere placebo.
"Let there be light," said Jack, but there was no light. There were bullets. Bullets that were racing towards Micael's whereabouts. It was as fast as Jack, and Micael was again rendered helpless. The sound of bullets were like roars of herds of animals running away from their predators. With Micael's wet eyes, he could see blurred lines entailing the path of the bullets. The sound-breaking winds had never utter a scream to Micael's ears; they had never shrieked as well and also whispers. Micael's wouldn't bother for his body was stuck closely to the omnibus' cushioned seat, but then his eyelids closed, accepting his very fate, and the bullets hit his very body.
...