Illusive Eden - He Pretends He's the Hero

The zooming, roaring sound of the helicopter reverberates, the blades slicing through—a whirlwind.

The dark blue chopper, standing rampant, prepared for a flight in the vacant field, obscured within the slender woods, the debris of grasses blistering round the air.

Ishmael gets off the car, opening the door to the passenger's seat, he unbuckles her seatbelt. He carries the limp form of Neva out the car, shutting the door with his shoulder.

He walks towards the sonorous helicopter, his cold eyes riveted at the chopper, the lights cutting through the darkness from the rising, dim moonlit sky.

The more he nears his close salvation, the darkened gaze dulls—lightening up slow. He glances down at Neva, her beautiful features mellows sudden the heart. Tightening his hold on her, he looks ahead; she's finally his; always has been; always will be.

As the pilot swings wide the locked door. Ishmael climbs on, embracing the soar of freedom.

He sees the chopper buzzing, roaring with those drowning eyes. The soul buried deep within the depths of the graves—rearing burning mountains.

He steps on the accelerator, grumbling away the car; a loser chasing nightmare in the mirthless, sickening reality.

It dims and dims... The lights of the aircraft—mocking the light in his eyes.

And just like a beautiful dream; it vanishes.

Neva strays away... so far away.

His body shudders, the steering wheel clenching in his tight grip, the veins roping his neck and arms bugling out his flesh, a harrowing growl leaves his scorched throat.

The muscles in his face snarls in anguish; a torture of impotence.

A drop of living tear with colours, rolling down his eyes.

The cars storming behind for him, the race to Life; doesn't end here. He has to live; to secure her once more. As long as Neva lives; Rhett cannot die.

So Rhett thunders out, with the doom hounding behind, as if to exhaust him, until his bones rot away.

The clouded moon high in the sky, bare of streetlights on the sides of the pavement, between looming shadows of trees. The bright headlights from the rumbling cars, skintillating in the dark, with no spare lives to reassure in the gloomy surround.

As the gang closens, unmercilessly they thunder bullets on his car riving the street. The race distant from steady, he shifts and alters the wheels. Whirling the steering wheel sharply, blaring screeching sounds of protest from the collision between the rough tire and the flattened route.

He speeds violently, and once again, he surpasses the SUV's of the assailants. The gleaming headlights gives way to the rugged, raw paths. Abruptly, the fate defying him, the car stops.

"Damn it!!" Rhett slams the steering wheel, the car has run out of gas.

He has ran out of ammo, and his gun had barely any bullets left. He gets off the car, and his conscious shifts on Rhean.

His eyes softens; the child would be afraid, tremble and cry when the violence unfolds overwhelming.

Rhett wipes off the drizzled, still undried tears off his son's cheek. The air calm, the little one had quelled himself down. He couldn't hear anymore, only the ringing in the ears remains.

The big dewy eyes of the baby, clenching his heart, his reddened face—eroding his soul.

He apologizes to Neva; for not being a better father to him.

The coldness of the night, affecting him not even slight, he runs fast.

"We'll be fine. It'll all be fine." Rhett mumbles, caressing the baby's head. The newborn eyes had unveiled more than a tragedy, a tragedy anyone does not deserve to be through.

Rhett sees ahead, a tiny and lone, abandoned lodge cabin. The clouds swirling by the wind, the bright moonlight shines down the terrain, divulging mountains, lake, and woods around.

He hears the abrading noise, the cars storming after him. He clenches his teeth, hastening faster towards the eerie lodge cabin.

The side of baby Rhean's head lay attached to his father's chest. Rhett shields his exposed ear, wrapping an arm around his head, his palm adhered to the sensitive ear of his son.

The child shudders, the thunders of gunshots, grumbling down on them. He's awaken again, but this time, he doesn't cry; for the boy had inured to the continuous ferocity today. He nuzzles his head, deeper into Rhett's chest, warming his little heart.

The moon on their side, it hides between the gooming clouds, darkening the earth, and the gang, fails to successfully shoot the vanishing frame of Agent Czar.

Rhett climbs, running the stairs to the lodge. The weary stairs, creaking with each heavy step on the uncared cabin—that has started rotting away.

The troop sprints out the car, darting on their feet to hold him down. As they near ahead, steady, pointing the firearms at the cabin; Rhett on the higher ground, he aims the gun through the broken window, a declaration of a burning, unceasing war.

The bare, muzzle light from the moon, the vision of their silhouette enough for him.

"I'm sorry Rhean. Bear with me for once more." Rhett whispers to his son.

And Rhett, with his redundant bullets left in the machine gun—rumbles out searing fire on them.

The savages, fall down dead. Slaughtered brutally, drowning in their own, sinful, scarlet blood.

The remaining, living of the troop, they lay down flat on the ground, evading the grave of hell. Then they hid, behind the SUV's.

They curse the fate, their comrades dead; in the war for a mere woman.

They hesitate nearing the wretched cabin. The broken, blackened windows, akin to the eyes of a haunting monster. Smiling creepy; salivating to devour them up.

"That fucking man is insane!!" A man grumbles out, crouched down behind the armored SUV.

"Why does he not give up?! Fuck!!" The man beside him grits his teeth, his face scrunched up in agony, clutching his injured, bleeding arm from the shot he just took.

They could only wait for an instruction from Raka, or his right hand man.

"Chief, what should we do?" One of them inquires.

Zev glances at the man beside him, obscured behind the SUV, looking fatigued.

"How many of the men remained?"

The man looks around, "Including the injured, probably around fifteen Boss. Most of them have taken hit."

Lowering his head—Zev sighs in annoyance.

"Should we retreat?" The man asks, hoping a positive reply.

"No." Zev responds sternly.

The man sighs defeated. Silently preparing to embrace hell.

"Burn down the cabin." Zev commands the guys through the ear piece. His fierce gaze, glaring at the lodge cabin.

They have fuel cans in the trunk for emergency purpose. Hopefully, it was enough to rile up fire. The order been received, the guys retrieve the remaining cans.

They get in the cars, approaching the cabin, expecting gunshots.

But, the eerie silence from Rhett. It threatens them greater. They surround the cabin, and pour and splash the fuel around the venerable, rotten wood.

They sneer, for the minds are clouded in evil, and they were blinded by false andrenaline rush.

Agent Czar, Raka's sworn nemesis, he had no chance to live. If he comes out, they could easily shoot him down.

But it was better; for if he's caged inside the flaming cabin, the dead from burns would be like no other agony derived from gunshots.

With a click, and gripping hearts of the gang, Zev ignites his lighter. Holding it up for a moment, he throws it down. The wood, soaked in fuel, catching fire, raging fast alike a storming tsunami, burning down the cabin to ruins.

Jubilant laughs echoes, hovering the grim, living the moment of victory; of watching the father and his little boy burn to ashes.

The bright orange blue fire roars, attempting to devour everything succumbing, and around the lodge cabin.

They hold up their phones, filming a tragedy so amusing to them. A victorious smile, carved on their face, the head held high, the chest elevated winning a losing war.

They peer and snicker at the rumbling fire, the devil coming for their life, now writhing in fire.

They don't mourn the pure little soul; so loved and adored by his mother and father. But ceased away his life, bounding him in hatred and fury of inferno.

The living beasts and birds, plants and trees, they spare the tragedy a glimpse. And they have compassion in their hearts, but they dare not come close to the humans.

They shall mourn hushed in the woods, for they lack courage to near the sinful humans.

The wicked mortal; blinded by the Illusive Eden; they ridicule in abhorrence of their own kind.

Grottier than the fallen angels; for even they shed tears in remorse.