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Ryan Spier

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Member Since: Jan, 2011

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Featured Book
Lord I'm Dancin' As Fast As I Can
by J. Joy Matthews Alford - Sistah Joy

This collection of poetry includes 6 cycles, including themes of socio-political commentary, relationships, spirituality, youth poetry, Haiku, and "general". The book's ..  
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Angel of Retribution
By Ryan Spier
Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Rated "PG13" by the Author.

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Recent stories by Ryan Spier
· Crisis of Faith
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The opening chapter to the ebook-Angel of Retribution, available for download form


When he awoke he found himself in total darkness. There was something covering his face so he pushed it off. Then he sat up. He immediately banged his head on something hard and fell back down. He was lying on some sort of metal surface. He tried to stretch out an arm, but could not. Then a foot, but it only touched something else metal.


His prison was some sort of metal box. He felt really tired and cold. The air was stifling. There had to be some way out. He began to panic. There seemed to be no way out and he had no recollection of his arrival here.


He began kicking the end of the box. There was movement as he attacked it. It was fairly soft thin metal.. He kept kicking He was getting frantic. The air was getting thinner and breathing was difficult. He felt sure the door was going to give. There was only enough room to lift his legs up about thirty centimetres to kick. It had to be enough to get out. He tried to shout but could not utter a sound. His throat felt as if it were closed up.

He had been kicking for several minutes when the door flew open. The man felt instant relief. He had begun to think he would never be able to escape this prison. Slowly he eased himself forward, when suddenly the metal surface he was lying on slid forward.

There was no sound coming from outside. The room was completely silent except for the sound of metal sliding on metal.

He was frozen, naked and scared. He threw the sheet that had been covering him to the floor and sat up.


Every part of his body seemed to be cramped. Every time he tried to move from his sitting position his body seemed to freeze. It had been painful to sit up but he thought that was due to being cold. It was a real effort to move at all now.

Wherever he was, was completely dark. The man felt as if he were in a daze, nothing seemed completely real to him. It was as if he were watching himself from a far.

The silence and darkness were eerie. He sat there for several minutes then found the willpower to move and swung his legs round, gripping the side of the metal surface as he did so. He slid forward until his feet reached the floor. He could not feel what his feet were touching but could sense they were touching something.

Standing upright he pushed himself forward and slowly began walking . Movement was a real effort due to the fact he could not feel anything. The cramp in his legs meant he was unable to bend his knees. He was lumbering forward slowly. He could barely raise his arms to feel what was in front of him. His surroundings were beginning to scare him.

But something scared him more than his immediate surroundings.

He had no memory and not just of how he got here. He could not remember any part of his life or even his name. This felt like day one. He felt as if instinct were guiding him. His memory was as empty as the box he had just escaped from.

His legs were dragging across the floor rather than walking. The cramp seemed to be easing a bit. His legs felt lighter and not so locked up. His arms were outstretched as he walked forward. He felt something in front of him. He pushed against it but the feelings did not seem to register. He punched what was in front of him but could feel no pain. He felt his way along what he assumed was a wall until he found what he had been looking for. A light switch. He pushed it and the room lit up. At that moment the hand he had punched the wall with began to throb. That made him smile. There was some feeling coming back to his numb body. When he turned round and looked at the room he was in the smile fell from his face.

The hole he had managed to crawl out from was one of many. There were rows and rows of small square doors in the wall behind him. The man walked back towards where he had escaped from. He stared into his temporary prison. It was just like a large drawer. He still felt drowsy and his cramp was being replaced by a feeling of thawing out. It was agony. The feeling of defrosting was all over his body. He lent against the wall of drawers almost crying. The man stayed there until the pain began to ease. It only took several minutes but if felt like hours to him. He looked down at the drawer directly in front of his naked torso. There was a label stuck on it with a name. Keith Mitchell. The man pulled the door open and looked in. There was a body in there under a white sheet. The man slammed the door shut. His vision was slightly blurry but he recognised a corpse when he saw one.

His sense of smell was starting to return. He could smell what he thought were chemicals of some kind. Bleach and something else.

His body began to tingle as the warmth and feeling returned. His hand was beginning to hurt from where he had punched the wall. His vision began to come back into focus and he could see more clearly now. He blinked several times and rubbed his eyes. His vision was now clear, but his eyes ached.

His mind then returned to the contents of the drawer. The corpse. Most of the other drawers probably had corpses in them. But he was not going to check to see how many. He guessed someone had drugged him and put him in there and left him to die. But he could remember nothing. Even his name was a mystery to him.

The man looked round the room and saw a door. He had to get out of this place. A morgue was not somewhere he wanted to socialise.

He walked towards the door and felt something under his right foot. He looked down, still blinking. His eyes were becoming really sensitive. There was a piece of paper under his foot. The man bent down to pick it up and discovered it was tied to his big toe. He undid it and read it. Richard Webb deceased. Deceased meant dead he knew that. So his name was Richard Webb.

Well, that was nice to know he thought. But he was not dead. How could he be when he was walking and thinking? He tried to say something but his throat felt like it was still closed up. Richard

s chest begin to tingle and he rubbed it. As he rubbed it he looked down at it and blinked several times. He could not believe what he saw. His chest and stomach were covered in what looked like stabs wounds. Richard began to count them and stopped when he got to twenty. He put his left hand on a big wound that was near to his heart and was horrified to discover that he could get two fingers into the hole. It must have been a big knife because all of the holes in him looked the same size. His mind was blank and he began to tremble. Who had done this to him, and why? Then something else occurred to him. He could feel no heartbeat. Come to think of it, how could someone with wounds like these possibly survive?

Richard put his first and second finger on his neck to check his pulse and found nothing. No heartbeat and no pulse. He had woken up in and undertakers filing cabinet. That could mean only one thing. He had been murdered, died and somehow come back. But that was impossible. Or was it?

Things like that simply did not happen. But it was happening now. The stab wounds had punctured every major organ except his brain and he must have died and then bled out.

Richard looked round the room and saw a small mirror on a wall above a metal sink. He slowly walked over to it and looked at his reflection. His face was also bruised and bloodied. His left eye was black and his nose appeared to be broken. His long blonde hair was dirty and caked in blood. He smiled to himself. He was quite a good looking guy really and these wounds would heal. Best of all. He was alive after all this. But he was not really alive.

That was when he stopped smiling.

He was undead. Like a Vampire. But he had no bloodlust and he had no craving for human flesh, so he was not a zombie either. But all that was just fantasy horror and this was no fantasy. He was here, living this nightmare. None of this seemed to worry him, yet. He had no real memory to make him worry.

Richard was starting to feel warmer now. His feelings were starting to return as his body warmed up but he felt no pain from any of his wounds. His hand had stopped aching. He looked down at the stab marks on his torso and felt only anger. Who had done this to him? And why?

An attack like the one he had suffered was hateful. Stabbed and beaten to death. Had he upset someone or seen something he should not? All these questions would have to wait. Concentrate on the now, he thought.

His vision was now in complete focus and he could see everything clearly and his eyes did not irritate him anymore. Everything he saw seemed familiar but he could not remember anything about his own life. He walked past a large metal table and a trolley covered with tools of the trade. He felt glad he had not been embalmed and then woken up. He walked towards the door in the corner of the room and tried to open it. It was locked of course. Richard pulled on the handle and ripped the door open, pulling the lock out of the door. Richard looked down at what he had done and was amazed. The door was made of metal, it was some sort of security door and he had pulled it apart.

Richard decided he must find some clothes from somewhere. He walked out of the room and along the corridor. The corridor was well lit. The smell of disinfectant filled his nostrils. The walls were painted white and the floor was linoleum. It felt cold and polished beneath his feet. He came to a door marked staff and pushed it open.

The door stayed open and the light from the hall lit up the room enough for Richard to see what he needed. There was a large table with six chairs round it and some lockers behind the table. Hopefully there would be some clothes in there. Richard walked round the table and pulled the first locker open. It was empty. He pulled the next one open and saw a black suit hanging there. He put the suit on. Black trousers, white shirt and a black jacket. The suit was several sizes too big but it would do for now.

Richard walked out of the room and back along the corridor in the opposite direction he had just come. He came to another door and pushed it open. He saw a sign that said fire exit and walked towards it. He pushed the doors open and as he did an alarm started to ring. He was now out in a driveway. It was dark outside. He looked both ways. He could see street lights to his right and to his left an alleyway that led to what looked like a car park. Richard decided to head towards the streetlights. He ran in that direction and came out onto a pavement that looked as if it were part of some sort of industrial estate. So this was where mortuaries were. Richard had never given the matter any thought. He began to run. Security would be here any minute now. He did not want to be seen. Time to find out what the hell has happened to me he thought.

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