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Prologue

The sky over the San Francisco Bay was dark and imposing, with less than a few lone stars twinkling above. Frank Roberts blankly stared up at it, his teeth chattering from the cold breeze that swept in from the dark waters beyond, and tried to remember why he was here- sitting on a bench near Pier 35 at 3 in the freakin’ morning. The night was bitter cold, windy and carried the smell of rank harbor water. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, his fingers and toes felt numb, and his cheeks were stinging with a rosy red glow. All in all, he was having a terrible night.

The lights in the far distance flickered and glowed. The sound of passing cars mumbled quietly under the soft sound of the incoming breeze. He suddenly remembered why he was here.

His girlfriend had just dumped him after finding him with another girl at the bar. She locked him out of her house and threw his stuff out on the front patio.

He seethed a little and huffed out a cold cloud of breath.

“What a b*tch,” He grumbled, convincing himself that she was going to pay for all his broken sh*t and he’d make sure of it. The anger that boiled within him was red hot and chaotic and he could hardly control it. He’d had the problem since he was a kid, though he wouldn’t exactly call it a problem. The fury had helped get through a lot of crap before… even helped him beat the sh”t out of a few people who messed with him. Course, there were times when he couldn’t manage it so well. The bruise he’d left across Carrie’s face the other night was proof of that. Maybe that was another reason why she’d dumped him. He, honestly, wasn’t sure.

He’d come here to think, or at least give it a try, but he didn’t think it’d get so cold all of a sudden. His rage flared. He was never one for thinking, anyway, so why the f*ck was he here?

His phone suddenly beeped and he reached into his pocket with shivering, cold hands to pull it out. One new message, from Carrie. He opened it and read it with a serious glare:

GO F*CK URSELF. ITS OVER AND IM GOIN TO THE COPS. SEE U IN COURT.

That was it. He slammed his phone shut and chucked it angrily into the shadowy waters of the harbor beyond. It fell into the bay with a soft ‘plop’ in the distance and Frank found himself standing, breathing erratically with the fury that had overcome him.

He turned around to find an old Asian man relaxing on the bench he had been sitting on seconds before, looking at him with an intrusive glare and a strange smile. He was extremely thin, looked about 70, and wore the typical clothes you’d expect an old man to wear. Brown khakis, a plaid sweater and some old brown shoes.

The man continued to stare at him and Frank squinted his eyes angrily.

“What are you lookin’ at, Mr. Miyagi?” He spat.

The elderly man continued his stare and his strange smile slowly turned into a pleasant grin.

“I said… what are you lookin’ at?” Frank repeated heavily.

The elderly man shook his head and stared into Frank’s dark eyes.

“No respect…you should have more respect, you hot-head.” He said with a pointed finger.

“F*ck you, you don’t know me.” Frank snapped back.

“I know enough.”

“Yeah, whatever, you old fart. I’m gone.”

He shoved his hands back into his pockets and began to walk towards his cheap car parked nearby when the old man called out from behind him.

"You need to cool down, Frank."

Frank stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around. "You with Carrie? Huh? You her Grandpa or something?"

The old man looked over his shoulder from the bench to eye Frank with his eerie grin. "I'm something... and I'm telling you to chill out."

Frank spit a gob of saliva forward and gave him the finger. As he continued to walk away, he said, "And tell Carrie she needs to pay for my sh*t, assh*le."

The old man shook his head disdainfully and turned back to the darkness of the harbor beyond with a chuckle. "Have it your way."

Frank was halfway to his car, walking through the recreational area that stood between the sidewalk and the scenic view when suddenly his entire body was struck with an intense, bone-chilling cold. His hands shook violently in his pockets, his teeth chattered with a noise that sounded like an extremely busy typewriter rushing to make a deadline, and the muscles on his legs began to ache. He shook his head and rubbed his hands together in an effort to warm up and continued on his way.

He soon found himself lurching forward, however. The cold made his legs feel heavy for some reason. His teeth were snapping as violently as his hands were shaking and he growled in pain when suddenly he bit his tongue, flooding his mouth with the warmth of his blood. But soon even that was consumed by the icy chill that flowed through him. He looked at his hands and saw that they were now turning a sickly, pale blue color. Needless to say, he couldn't feel them anymore and the same went for his feet. His eyes widened in horror and he looked up at his car, parked only a few feet away. He lifted his shaking foot and staggered forward with difficulty.

Then, in an instant, there was a succession of sharp cracking noise and he felt his feet rise from the ground as he was devoured by a pillar of glistening ice.












october57rain
october57rain
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