Creedog VanDrey Productions: The World Entire: Chapter 19: Every Moment

Animism is the belief that all things, everything, has a soul. People. Animals. Plants. Rocks. Thunder. Mountains. Rivers. Great philosophers from Plato to Aristotle to Aquinas espoused such beliefs. Many tribal religions incorporate animist beliefs. They respect the sacredness of all things. Every moment. Are they that far off? Do we dare ignore the significance that emerges from even the simplest and unprofound events? Perhaps if we were able to know the truth of every occurrence, we could then understand the truth of the universe.

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The Wests
Pensacola, Florida
September 8, 2011

Dan and Katie West watched as their 3-year-old daughter raced toward the ocean across the sand-covered beach. As a wave splashed at her feet, she screeched happily and ran back to her both, her feet tossing sand right and left.

She asked to build a sand castle and her mother allowed her to do so. At first, she had difficulty, but after a tip from her father to use wet sand, she had a lumpy palace emerging from the sand.

“Sweetie,” Katie asked her husband, pointing toward the castle, “look at that wall, it kind of looks like a face.”

Dan laughed and agreed, at least until the sand-face’s brow lowered. The sand began to move of his own accord and started to take the shape of a man. The girl ran away, screaming.

“Katie, take Maggie and run,” Dan instructed, as his body faded from sight. The women raced away and Priv. Marc Stanley, finally reincorporated, chased after them, only to be thrust aside by the invisible man. He punched widely at the air, but could not make contact. Not wanting to risk another unseen attack, he dissolved back into his grainy second form and started to spin his body, sending waves of sand around. He could now make out Dan’s outline. He raced forward and tackled the man to the ground, handcuffing him.

On the other side of the beach, Kate and Maggie laid low, underneath a wooden deck. Stanley emerged from the ground behind them. He was not silent enough to escape Maggie’s ears, who screamed out to her mother. Kate grabbed the man’s still-sandy arm and yanked him forward into a wooden column. Still part-stone, Stanley crashed halfway through the wood without any injury and lunged at Kate, who kicked him again. The attack managed to throw Stanley into the adjacent column, but at the expense of tearing up the bottom of her bare foot. The heavy deck above, which in turned held the front beams of the decks of the beach’s many cliff-side cottages, began to whine under the weight. Stanley burst into action, grabbing both the wife and the daughter, and racing them away from the dock, which soon collapsed.

The chain reaction was quick. The two damaged columns split sideways, ramming into the columns next to them. The reinforced platform resisted warping, forcing the remaining columns to bear the accumulated weight of both the heavy-duty deck and the housing columns on top of them. Before long, half a dozen more beams buckled under the weight and splintered outwards. The platform walkway snapped in the middle, leaving the unsupported side to tumble into the beach. Meanwhile, four balconies were ripped away by gravity from the fronts of the houses. Brick and stone was torn from the outer walls and two bay windows shattered from the force.

Back on the beach, Stanley shielded Katie and Maggie from the rain of wood and sand, allowing him to handcuff them, too. He called on his radio for transport.

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Charlie Andrews
Burnt Toast Diner
Midland, Texas
October 9, 2006

Charlie was puzzled. She had not two minutes ago—she remembered looking at the clock on the wall and she never forgot anything—she had left a plate of blueberry waffles and cup of coffee on Table #13 to a cute guy with dark hair, and now his plate was cleared, his cup empty, and he was gone. He’d left a ten on the table as payment. The bill featured a strange design, but the back of one of them featured an unfamiliar face beside the image of the U.S. Treasury: a man with black hair and a square jaw.

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Yamagato International Sales Team
September 11, 2011

On their way back from Washington D.C., manager Kin Egami complimented his team. “You guys did real good back there. You’ll all be seeing that reflected in your bonuses.”

Not three feet overhead, a grey object sped by. “What the hell was that? A goose?” one of the salesmen asked.

“It was buzzing,” one of the saleswomen commented. She dropped out of the sky. After a moment to process her sudden descent, the team flew after her, only to find their abilities too disappearing.

They screamed.

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Ray Lee Coulomb
Chicago, Illinois
September 8, 2011

Ray Coulomb glided effortlessly across the street, trying his best to escape the strange, khaki-uniformed man chasing him. The ground slid underneath him without hindering his progress, as did the air, which scarcely brushed his skin despite him moving at the speed of a champion runner.

The wind roared around him, even greater than a typical Chicago day. This annoyed Monroe Auster, who controlled the wind currents that didn’t seem to slow down his target. But as he watched the cloth banners rippling in the wind, an idea came to him. He sent an especially potent gust toward the John Hancock’s flag pole, ripping the American flag down and directing it toward Coulomb. The man became tangled. Though the fabric slid across his without friction, it impaired his balance, and he tumbled to the ground, gliding like he was on ice.

Auster’s intense back draft used the flag as a sail, pulling the victim back to him. Coulomb turned off his ability, causing the flag to fray across the asphalt street. Not to be outdone, Auster created a powerful under-draft that tossed the tangled man into the air only to fall at his feet. Unfortunately, this sudden gust toward him also shattered all the windows of the first five floors of the John Hancock behind him.

“We’re gonna have to burn that flag now, you know that? Some people have respect for the colors.”

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Juana Gris
Monteverde, Costa Rica
September 8, 2011

Juana sent feelings of kindness and trust into the spider monkey, which despite the overwhelming fear it was emitting earlier, accepted. He climbed down to study the strange woman before him.

In truly awful Spanish, a man’s voice said to her what she assumed to mean, “You’re going to come with me.”

She noted the gringo in the sweat-stained khaki uniform bearing the American flag. She sneered at the man, telling him that he had no right to arrest her outside his own country.

Gris only spoke Spanish, so Wyatt Carey was at a loss to what she said. He replied to her, in English, “Listen, señorita, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.” He pulled out a pair of plastic handcuffs and sauntered over to her.

Suddenly, the monkey on her shoulder leapt toward him with intense fury. It was only because of Carey’s Army instincts that he was able to pull out a knife to block the attack. The monkey fell to the ground, bleeding, and Carey cursed.

“Lady, you’re making this difficult on yourself.”

Gris continued to stare down at him with the same fury that the monkey had. From behind her, the sounds of the rainforest became louder. Carey could easily pick out the sound of a troop of monkeys and the loud buzzing of some horrific oversized insect.

Carey lit his hands on fire and created a small ring of fire around him. He noted Juana straining as two dozen similar monkeys jumped and screeched with fear at the sight of his fire. A swarm of mosquitoes showed no such fear and dived toward him. Not one made it to him before he’d reduced the entire swarm to ash.

Juana was still defiant, so Carey sent a stream of fire up into the tree line. A single branch fell through the foliage and knocked Juana down, pinning her to the ground. He cuffed her and told her. “Hey, I gusto los monkeys también. Took mi chiquita to see them last week at el zoo. No make me set them on fuego.”

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Claire Bennet
September 10, 2011

Claire struggled with all her might against the telekinetic forces. Her eyes looked out to her comrades, too fearful to help her. She felt the soft tingling sweep across her forehead. Had her nervous system been functioning, it would have hurt. Only the blood beginning to obscure her vision let her know that her head was indeed being split open.

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Reid Cipris
Sedlec, Kutná Hora, Czech Republic
September 8, 2011

Reid Cipris carefully climbed up the worn ladder resting against the weathered metal water tower in the small Eastern European town. At almost sixty, his once shaggy brown hair was almost all gray. Below him, dozens were gathered, looking up hopefully. He eased open the rickety hatch and looked into the container. While more than three-thirds full of water, it was stagnant, algae-covered water He reached in and laid his hand against the surface of the water. Almost instantly, the water began to bubble and steam. Mineral precipitates sunk to the bottom and collected at the pointed base, below the output tube. Cipris held out his hand and a small net was handed to him. With a few scoops, he cleared out the tower of the offending contaminants.

Cipris descended the ladder, suddenly finding the crowd had dispersed outward, minus a single male figure. He was tall, built, and blond with gray-green eyes. He wore a red-trimmed khaki military uniform. On one shoulder was an American flag badge and on his left breast, a name badge declaring his surname “RICH.”

“Reid Cipris?” he asked, pronouncing the name better than Cipris would expect from an American.

Cipris reluctantly replied, “Ano,” in as affirmative of a tone as he could manage.

Private Rich stated, slowly, in passable German, “Gekommen mit mir. Bitte.” Come with me, please.

Cipris took a step back and most of the townspeople took several steps forward, crowding Rich.

“Everyone stay back,” he warned in a harsh tone, harkening every away. He held up his hand and the water tower shuttered, rattling on its metal legs.

The crowd did not back up, so Rich send another wave of vibrations at a middle-aged man holding a staff unthreateningly. The stick shook in his hand and he dropped it. Rich again spoke to Cipris. “Nothing is going to happen to you,” he lied, “I just need you to register your ability.”

The crowd screamed menacingly. Rich huffed and sent a concentrated vibration wave at Cipris’s shoulder, knowing it would cause only muscle spasms, temporarily incapacitating him. He then sent a broad wave at the crowd; they fell backwards like bowling pins. Rich’s ability could easily kill a person by vibrating their brain tissue, causing seizures, or their heart muscles, causing heart attacks. A broad wave like the one he’d just used would cause minimal damage: a lot of sprains, maybe a few broken bones, and no deaths, unless someone was especially frail, which, unfortunately a few of the elderly townspeople were. Rich could do damage control later.

He pulled out his com unit and called in his transportation, “Hey, it’s Terry, I’ve got him. Bring the chopper around.”

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Zach
San Diego, California
September 11, 2011

Zach braced himself for the quake that struck suddenly. He looked out at the ocean and his eyes widened. Not a hundred yards out, a wall of steam began to rise. He raced away from the water, climbing the sandy hill. He tripped on the thick grass and fell backwards, landing on his ass, looking back out at the sea, now noting that the ocean water seemed to be sinking where the steam rising, like water draining from a tub.

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Xun Narada
Surabaya, Indonesia
September 8, 2011

In a flash of blue light, Xun appeared on the docks of Surabaya, on the coast of the island of Java. After several teleportations, he was finally outside the city. He looked around, seeing much fewer people than inside the city, just a few fisherman in their small wooden boats.

He looked back, hoping that the five-block leap put enough distance between him and the two khaki-clad American soldiers. He looked down at the boats, none of which belonged to him. Xun’s father was a fisherman but saved enough to send Xun to vocational school, allowing him to become an accountant’s aide.

A semitransparent dome of orange surrounded Xun. The dock gave out from under him. The soldier’s—Rothschild was his name—ability tended to slice up whatever object it came into contact with, starting with Xun’s desk. Xun teleported out to the nearest boat he could see. It’s times like this when Xun wished he traveled more so that he could find further places to teleport away to.

The soldiers were in eyeshot again. Xun started the motor in his little [dingy] and boated off, hoping to lead them as far as he could before…

The boat splintered from the bottom up. The other soldier could create small explosions. Rothschild dove into the water and a sphere of orange surrounded him and Xun. “Don’t try that again, smart guy.”

“Foog you,” Xun noted, allowing himself to be dragged back toward shore. At least until they reached the dock. A firm shoulder to the jaw gave Xun his freedom. He took a deep breath and teleported to the first place he could think of.

He found himself about ten feet underwater. A couple colorful fishes welcomed him to a favorite snorkeling spot from his younger years. So did painful yank of his head. Xun spun around and found a very panicked soldier behind him, “NOBEL” on his name tag. Having teleported with Xun sideways, perhaps because he was mid-leap, he was disoriented and began to swim in a slightly downward angle. Xun tried to point toward the sun and the rise of the bubbles, but the water confused Nobel’s sense of direction.

Xun swam up to get another breath of air as to save the soldier. But as he put his face back into the water, he heard a terrible rumbling and a bright yellow light.

The resultant earthquakes could be felt across the Java Sea and Indian Ocean. While the damage was minor on land, Philippine geologists reported that the strange explosion had aggravated the Java Trench Fault.

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October 9, 2006

The two halves of the Genetic Modification Formula, now taped together, slowly burned to ash.

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Father Tafari St. Pierre
Tulear, Madagascar
September 8, 2011

The Saint Maurice Catholic Church was a small building on the southwestern border of Madagascar. The front of the church featured a prominent crucifix with a dark-skinned Jesus. Several statuettes of traditional Vazimba demigods labeled with both the Madagasy names and their angelic counterparts. It was late in the night, just in time for the moon to shine through a skylight in the roof of the small but well-built chapel.

It was their annual Sea of Galilee service. The reverend called out to his congregation, in his native Malagasy, “Praise the Lord!”

His congregation echoed him.

“Praise the Son!”

“Praise the Ghost!”

During the prayer, St. Pierre felt the emotions of all his congregants and they all felt one another, too. A dear friend several months ago had given him what he’d called “American holy water” in a syringe, proclaiming it granted miraculous powers. He showed St. Pierre his ability to quickly heal from any cut, leaving only a faint white scar. “And that’s not all. I gave an injection of my blood to a friend suffering from the disease of our generation and he remained without symptoms for a full week.

St. Pierre had taken the injection and he too could perform miracles. During his prayers, the whole of his congregation had their minds open to one another, and as the Holy Ghost descended upon them, their warmth was multiplied among them.

St. Pierre looked up when the doors were kicked open and a group of five men in khaki military uniforms with guns raced in. While this was not uncommon in his country, St. Pierre had tried to make no political enemies, but if word of his miracles had gotten out, no doubt the next president of his country would want his “support.” But these men’s uniforms sported the flag of the United States.

The leader of the group, Sgt. Isaac Whitehead, spoke to him, in European French, “Mr. Sainte Pierre,” he began, mispronouncing his name and improperly addressing his reverend status, “we need you to come with us.”

St. Pierre called out to his congregation, “There are devils among us!” It was an exaggeration and a metaphor, but it got the job done. His congregation, feeding off the fear and anger of one another, stood at once and faced down the soldiers. A few foolhardy youths leapt out and received non-fatal bullet wounds for their trouble. In unison, St. Pierre chastised the boys and the Sgt. Whitehead told his men to stand down.

But it was too late, the back four rows, having identified Whitehead as the leader of the intruders, grabbed at him. Whitehead calmly amplified the gravity of his body, making him prohibitively heavy. Then, he caused the congregation to be attracted to the far walls.

He ears burned as he suddenly heard all of their terrified thoughts. This distracted him enough for the congregation to again charge him, slamming him down on the altar above the skylight, where moonlight crept in. He watched the moon, and through the daze that struck him against the hard wooden platform, as it grew larger, as if descending toward Earth.

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Berlin, Germany
September 11, 2011

Eager scientists watched the eclipse, surprised to see that the normal corona of the sun was not present, as the moon seemed twice as large against the back ground of the sky. This created an intense darkness which lasted several hours and covered the majority of the continent.

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International Space Station

“Houston, what the hell’s going on down there? There’s big damn red cracks all across the oceans.”

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Chapter 20: The Moment of Conflict
Director's Commentary: This was an experiment of sorts. Most of the cast was off doing promotions for the show, so I decided to show the devolution of things via one-shot characters. It was a lot of fun, though I don't think I got the idea down. I felt like it was the wrong time to do something like this, which really just slowed down the tention I was building. Unfortunately, this was the only time this could occur. Anyway, it was a learning experiment and all your favorite characters will be back next week.

Written and Directed by Christopher VanDrey

Hayden Panettiere ... Claire Bennet

Jayma Mays ... Charlie Andrews

Thomas Dekker ... Zach

Tohoru Masamune ... Kin Egami

Carmine Giovinazzo ... Dan West

Lisa Sheradin ... Katie West

Shawn Woods ... Marc Stanley

Matthew Settle ... Ray Lee Coulomb

David Ogden Spiers ... Monroe Auster

Marisol Nichols ... Juana Gris

Armin Shimerman ... Wyatt Carey