Excerpt from Truth & Dissent
Draft Version 1.6
Written by: Mike Lambson
All rights reserved.



The thundering noise shook him.  “What was that?” the boy said, under his breath.

He looked up at the ancient relic of a clock in his room. The moonlight reflected off the swinging pendulum, and the big hand showed it was a little after three in the morning.

 “That must have been thunder…I love thunderstorms.” He thought excitedly.  His next thoughts went to a time when he was really little, how he used to sit with his mother and count the seconds between flash and sound. He remembered her loving arms wrapped around him in comfort. His eyes watered at the bitter-sweet reminder. In spite of the pain, he still loved thunderstorms; they were the only thing she left him after she died. Sometimes he felt like he could almost reach up and touch the lightning. For him it was one of the few things he had left of her. Anticipation grew as he waited for the next flash to illuminate the room.

 The windows shook with the noise. It was the distinct sound of thunder very close this time, but no lighting.  There was no rain, no wind, just the loud crack of thunder.  “Wait, why is there moonlight?”  He reached over and drew the curtains aside to peer up into the sky. The moon was full, and the sky was clear as far as he could tell.  “What’s going on here?” He questioned silently. The next explosion was deafening as it ripped the window from its frame, shattered it into a thousand pieces, sent flying across the room. His arms came up in response and he dropped down, curling himself to the floor.  Amazingly, the glass seemed to have done little harm to his face, although his left arm had a small gash.

 The sound of shoes crunching on the ground came through the now open window, then silence. The boy gathered his courage to peer over the sill. Looking out the window, he saw a man dressed in a long black trench coat, his back to the window, standing over a broken body lying in the clearing.  Blood spread from the body in a most gruesome way.

 “Did we get him Croft?” A disturbing voice pierced the quiet.

 “Unless this body is fake…yes Benjamin”, the man in the clearing said in a calm, smooth, unsettling voice. “But why would he be so careless?”  The man, Croft, turned to look over his left shoulder, “Clean this place up and make it look like a typical psi gang attack.”  He paused, a horse trotted to the clearing. “NOW!” shouted, Croft.

 “Yes master” the man from the shadows said in a distasteful voice.

 General Croft mounted a black speed bike with deftness; something like a sword glinted at his waist. “And kill any witnesses”, he said as he drove off into the night.

 His mind was racing. “I’ve got to hide…but where?”   He was the only one home at the moment, but he had to get away.  As he crouched under the window, a thousand ideas came in a second. In the forest behind the house stood a certain hollow tree, it was his hidden spot to go when he wanted alone time. Yes that’s where he would hide, but now was the matter of getting there. Slowly, carefully, he crawled toward the back of the house. It was difficult to avoid all the clutter from the earlier impact. It seemed as if a tornado had taken lodge in the house that night. He silently wondered if that wasn’t the case. He moved carefully out of the bedroom and slipped around corner. He thought about his father, who worked late at night, and became very scared.

 The back door of the house stood slightly ajar. As he reached for the door it flew open, there appeared Benjamin, dressed in a black hooded jacket, standing in the doorway.  Benjamin smirked as he took a careful step inside.

 “Well, now what do we have here?” said the scary-looking man; his grizzled face, scarred on one side with claw marks.“Ha, ha, ha!” a mocking laugh erupted from his throat. The boy whimpered.

 “Poor little boy, this was the wrong place at the wrong time…” Benjamin lifted his hand, “but I guess you’ll do.”

 “I haven’t done anything!” the boy screamed in his mind. The look on Benjamin’s face turned dark, as he stretched his hand toward the boy.

 “P-please don’t…” the boy started to say, when the jolt hit him. Excruciating pain erupted in his chest, completely blinding him, and flinging him backward, against the wall. If he screamed, he couldn’t tell.

 He felt a trickle running down his back as he slumped to the floor.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.

 The world around him grew hazy.  Suddenly, he heard a distinct voice; it was the voice of a woman singing.  He understood the words; he knew the song from his youth. “Mother…” His thoughts died off as the world grew black. His eyes glazed over…

Learn about Colony V

6 thoughts on “Nightmare

    • That is a great critique, thank you! When I finaly get around to the editing process I will rewrite this section with much more detail. I’ve found that this little prologue has a much more powerful tie to the rest of the story, therefore it deserves a much more detailed and descriptive approach.

      Part of the problem is that I haven’t quite decided on the exact method of the prospective killer. I have two or three ideas spelled out, but they are not quite the scene I am looking for. This killer needs a special – futuristic – way of dealing out his victims demise; something that stands out, yet can be explained away by media lapdogs… Oooh, I had better be careful there, as I’m liable to give too much away! 😉

      Thanks for the comment,

  1. Looks promising! And not nearly as scary as you led me to believe. *takes helmet off and puts shield on the floor* I quite like these dystopian stories – I doubt I’d have the imagination to create worlds like this but you’ve done a good job. 🙂

  2. This is really awesome, Mike. I am so impressed. Keep up the great work ~ I can’t wait to find out what happens next. Thanks for sharing.

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