Loud: Turmoil

Chapter 2

Leni shines brightest next to very very dim people. She's prone to naivety, and she's especially gullible, but she's very considerate and cordial. She remains her benevolent and sensitive self even after the many years she's been alive. Watching the news, she grappled with some pretty outrageous beliefs. Her relentless optimism has added to this issue, and when a lying public figure promises an impossible hope, she truly will believe it's there.

...

Judas, an apostle of Christ, had known where Jesus was and gave that information away for the payment of 30 pieces of silver. Later, stricken with grief, he returned the money he was given and then hanged himself. We, my people, are not Judas. We are the new hope. We can keep the secrets of God and his son. We need to conquer, and we need to overtake those who hold us back. The government tells us what we need to believe and don't be fooled, it is not the truth! Tonight, all of us, we head for Washington. Blessed be!

...

And so, watching with her captivated eyes, she took his words as gospel. Then, she ran out the door and took Vanzilla to Washington. Rita, who had already come in to be with her kids, rushed for the phone and called the police. The tires squealed as they burned against the road, and off the car went miles from home. Lori was pretty concerned about Leni. The two cared for each other, and it was a sweet sibling relationship. The two of them would be a shoulder to cry on, and they were always there for each other. Lori was ignorant of the situation until she heard her mom on the phone. "MY DAUGHTER - SHE'S SIXTEEN - SHE TOOK MY CAR AND IS DRIVING TO GOD-KNOWS-WHERE! SHE WENT DOWN ALABA STREET!" Lori's eyes were open but tired. Bags formed under them, and her hair was a bit messy. After all this, she hadn't thought once about how she looked.

Leni had been gone for at least a few hours. No one had heard a thing from her. Not a phone call, and not a message. The television was still on the channel she left it on, and Rita was desperate for some better energy, so she changed it. The channel flipped a few times before she stopped on the news. A hovering camera, probably from a helicopter, showed the horrific event that was a mess of cars, spewed across the road - some in flames. Looking closer, it was observable that a familiar vehicle was in the wreck. It was Vanzilla. The family slowly gathered around the screen, as they all realized that a new horror occurred. Myrtle was deeply hurt by it, and all she could mutter was "Oh my Lord..."

Leni, 16 y.o.
2000-2016

"The best thing about her was that she would smile even in bad news. She was the joy in this sad world. God gave us a beautiful child, and for a reason that he may only know, took her away into Heaven earlier than expected. We love you, Lori."

- The Loud Family

It was quite ironic how quiet the Loud family was. The sounds of cries and laments had died down into silence. Footsteps were muffled by the carpet. Water dripped from the faucet, and soon harmonized with the ticking, as the clock's hand shook every second. Ticking and dripping, amidst the silence of the rooms and hallways. Periodic clicks were the only thing heard throughout the house. Even the family's breaths were stifled in grief.

Lincoln sat on the floor. His head was in his hands, but he did not cry now, he simply felt empty. His head did not think, and he had nothing to say. A glistening shine pierced through his fingers, and he looked up to see a light that came from under the couch. He rested his ear on the floor and saw a silver watch, with its face pointed right at Lincoln. He could see his eyes reflected on its glass. It called to him. Despite the vacancy of Lincoln's mind, he now could hear the watch's words. "Time heals all wounds, my friend. Remember, after death, we may never come back. Close your eyes and dream." The soothing voice combined with its ticking face, hypnotized Lincoln into a deep sleep.

And so, he dreamed. There was a giant stone cross, the size of a skyscraper that loomed over him, with its shadow ranging miles. The sky was a dark blue, and the clouds a deep black. The ground was grey and made from coals and gravel, and the air was colder than ice. He did not shiver... he froze. Unable to move, he stood watching the cross as it began to fall. It slowly tipped, and hit the ground, crushing Lincoln into a void. He could not see, but he could hear Leni's voice. "I am a Martyr. I martyr for God." Then from the dark around him spawned thousands of gold eyes. Among them then was two giant red irises, that stared with hate. Words spiraled around him. "You will die for nothing." Then he awoke. He was dazed, and looking around, he saw everyone gone from the house. He searched for them all and found they were outside. They all stared up at the sky, which had now turned a mysterious burgundy. "Is it going to happen again? The beast, will it come back?" Lynn Jr. asked with a whimper. Lincoln thought back to his dream. He saw the two red eyes again, among the thousands of eyes that watched him with such burning animosity. "No," he said. "It's something bigger."

...

"Alright, anything else?"
"Nope, that'll be all."
"That will be three dollars and fifty-eight cents."
He placed the money on the counter, and the man gave him change back.
"Oh damn it, wait. Can I have a pack of Camel?"
"Yeah sure, do you want a receipt for both?"
"No, thank you."
"Alright, have a good one."

The bells hung on the door rang as he pushed outside. He looked up at the sky and saw what was like an embodiment of evil. The dark red firmament above emanated the perturbing feeling of foreboding. He felt something was coming, and he knew what it was. He dropped his bag of items and ran to his truck. He slammed the door and rustled through the mess in his glove compartment. Then he found it - his journal. He flipped through the pages eagerly like he was held at gunpoint. Soon he came to it. A poem he'd copied down from when he went to his last meeting with his group:

'For at the end, there will be judgment.
A being of red formed in ferment.
Pariahs volunteer to assist the hand.
Expect her to come; for blood, and for man.
The red sky is planned,
and will be the harbinger of the Damned.'

Then on the next page, there was a sketch that he'd made, of what the angel his group envisioned would appear as. A face of two eyes and a mouth, hair, and a chipped front tooth. He closed the journal and looked to the sky, reciting the poem a few more times in his head. "The red sky will be the harbinger of the Damned." The sky pulsed with power and stared back at everyone who looked back at it.