If you haven't read the Previous Chapter, please do so before starting this new installment. If you'd like to read this installment on your favorite e-reader or would like to print it out, in order to save your eyes from strain, see the directions under "Read First" for an offline copy of this installment (and others). Happy reading! —G. Michael Rapp
Note. 1.1.8 will be a five-part installment, featured over the span of two or three weeks, depending on what comes up on my end. Those installments will be featured on RoyalRoad, on Substack, on Wattpad, and on this Website.
Obadiah prayed between the rattlings-on of his less perfect self. He prayed for strength, for guidance, during his darkest of hours.
You ready to get outta here, pal?
Obadiah ignored the battered and badly beaten lesser self. He closed his eyes, thought, prayed, and sought answers from his righteous self.
Prisons don’t just let ya waltz outta them, pal. What are we gonna do?
Obadiah felt a warmth entering his nearly naked body. He stood, hands hand together, and turned around and punched the wall with all his might. He punched until his hands turned bloody and smelled fleshy. He kept going, stopped for a few moments, and then he began again. He punched again (and again) until he saw a white light, piercing through the jail cell’s darkness.
I’ll be damned, kid. That’s a pretty cool trick. We’ll have to use that again sometime.
Obadiah began kicking the wall, breaking down the barrier to his freedom with each volley forward. He felt a cool breeze splash up against his face. The Elders, who’d spoken to him during his darkest hour, were right. Their special serum, the elixir given to them by God himself, was working. He felt his metachines breaking through the prison’s illusions. He felt a fever taking over his body, as he broke down the barriers. The heathens who’d imprisoned him within his own mind would pay, and they would feel, they would really feel, the righteous wrath he had inside him.
Today was a new beginning.