The Tragic Journey of Samuel Combs: An Excerpt

Here's a few excerpts of the 'novel' I'm attempting to write. Moving my focus from short stories to longer works... hopefully I have the dedication.

The Tragic Journey of Samuel Combs

It was only yesterday that it happened.

That one of the greatest men I have ever known had fallen to his death, up on that high-rise, with no one around him, with only Death beside him, and only him, alone with himself. I suppose all is right with the world when men die the tragic death they are destined to die; when heroes die like heroes should.

This is the beginning of our tragic journey, Samuel Combs and I. After much doubt and fear and anger, my sanity is still intact. As for Combs, who will ever know? I still wonder whether he ever found what he was looking for. I still wonder whether he knew what he was looking for.

***

"I needed to visit you," I managed to choke out. "I need to know."

"There is nothing to know." He stared at me, through me, with a piteous gaze, a gaze that pitied both him and me, that of one who has risen above us all only to find his ruin, that even above the clouds the sky was still dark.

Turning away from me, he faced his door, the grease-stained and battered wood staring back at him. The screams still echoed from outside, although lacking the ferocity and horrifying nature of before. These screams were reminiscent of those who have lost hope, souls in torment, in pain and suffering.

***

"You have come, you have questioned, you have asked. You want to know the truth, and you will find it before I am done with you." The strange man who had become stranger leaned down, to place his nose against the television glass. "The static of the television is chaos, is disturbance, is disorder. This is the essence of our natures, as humans. We live in chaos, breath it.”

He raised the dark remote. The channel changed to various shows, news reports, cartoons. “Is this real? No, it is merely a pre-planned schedule, a scripted performance.” He turned his dark eyes towards me. “Is life any different than this?”

***

So, what do you think? Dark and creepy enough to continue writing?