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- Herausgeber: J. S. Volpe
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Sprache: Englisch
Tweedle is the word. Tweedle is the truth. Those who embrace it are blessed and good. Those who don’t are bad and must be expunged.
“Tweedle” is a series of horrific vignettes that show the progress of this strange memetic virus as it spreads throughout the city, turning loved ones against each other, turning streets into abattoirs, turning civilization into ruins.
“Tweedle” is a World Gone Weird tale.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
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Tweedle
By J. S. Volpe
Copyright 2023 by J. S. Volpe
All rights reserved.
The bus driver, in a hurry to get back to the depot before his break ended, was striding north up Main Street in the heart of downtown when everything around him began to waver and shimmer like a road on the horizon on a hot summer day. Alarmed, afraid he was having a stroke, he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and looked around. As his gaze swept across the plate-glass window of the deli to his right, he glimpsed a strange figure in place of his reflection, a tall black form with wiry limbs and an overlarge head whose only visible feature was a single red eye at its center.
Then it was gone, and he saw himself in the window, and the waver and the shimmer had ceased. But in their wake, something had been left behind, something that hadn’t been there before.
It was a word. Just one single word, two mere syllables, seven simple letters. But it was everything. It was the secret meaning of the universe finally made clear. It was the answer to every question that had ever plagued him and made him lie awake at night with open eyes and an aching heart. It was pure truth. And it was glorious. A grin like none he had ever grinned stretched across his face. Tears of joy welled up in his eyes.
A passing bookstore clerk bumped into him.
“Watch it, buddy,” the clerk snapped. “This isn’t a—”
The bus driver spun toward him, his happy grin twisting with rage at hearing words that were not the one, true word.
“Tweedle!” he screamed in a spray of spittle.
“Whoa, hey!” The bookstore clerk held up his palms in a placating gesture. “Hey, back off. I’m not—”
His fury increasing with every wrong word he heard, the bus driver punched the clerk in the face. The clerk’s nose crunched inward, and blood squirted down his lips and chin. Screaming, the clerk started to stagger backward, but the bus driver, refusing to let this profaner escape, grabbed his shirt and punched him again. Then again. And again. And with every blow, he shouted, “Tweedle!”
Yelping, screaming, passersby scrambled away from the fracas. Some fled across the street, or ducked into nearby stores or alleys. Others stopped to watch from a safe distance, leaving a wide ring of pavement around the two men. Many had their phones out to record the altercation.
A financial advisor and a gym manager rushed from the growing crowd and seized the bus driver’s arms. The clerk had sunk to his knees and hung by his bunched shirt from the bus driver’s fist. Blood drizzled from his face. One of his upper front incisors gritted on the sidewalk under the bus driver’s boot.
“Get off him!” the financial advisor commanded the bus driver. “Let him go! He’s no threat anymore!”
“Somebody call 911!” the gym manager shouted at the bystanders.
“Tweedle!” the bus driver shrieked, sick with rage at all these iniquitous words.
