Dead Awakened/Episode 3 (old)

This is a preview of the third episode of Dead Awakened, set to be released soon.

Episode 3 (Preview)
Place: Pruit Avenue Park Time: 3:04 PM

Four hours later, Kenberg found himself in the same place, staring at the same scene, no matter how much it changed since time passed. He only left this place to get his lunch, and even that wasn’t too far; a food truck vendor passed by the park not too long ago.

He’d switch constantly from sitting on the bench, to standing on his feet. He’d never stay in one position, since there was really no fun in that. And it was his thoughts. It just kept him moving, made him seek something different to look at.

He never got tired of the curved landscape of the park, its green grass with certain spots of soil here and there switching in between, all from the footprints of the joggers that passed by this place. He never got tired of the spots with the trees, or the benches where families, dog walkers or salarymen sat, busy with their phones, unable to let go of work. If that got old, he had the actual city scene outside of the park to look at. There was always something different to rest his eyes on, keep the flow of his thoughts continuous.

What thoughts exactly, he never wanted to get into. His past, the old days when waking up was as challenging as putting a bullet in an enemy’s head. The causes of those days, his anguish… it was best that he left it in his past. For good, if that was even possible.

His attention switches from the man playing with a frisbee to the dark, shadowy figure chasing the tails of his other brethren. Striker, Black Knight of the Fold. A ridiculous name, but a name he deserved. Striker had been one of the closest friends he’s ever had, not long after the days of his crisis. He had Striker ever since he could hold him with just his two hands. Now, he doesn’t even want to be carried anymore.

Kenberg was sitting on a bench at this time, one leg resting on top of his other knee. He was relaxed, yet there was the look of deep thought in his face. A mix of happiness and reminiscence, combining into this semi-unsure, yet concentrated look. His eyes followed Striker wherever he went.

And Striker soon sensed it. He stops chasing this white collie’s tail, and just looks at Kenberg eye-to-eye. It forces him to straighten up, stop his trip to the past.

Striker, all the way to the other side, trots at a steady pace toward Kenberg, past the Frisbee man, past the kite-flying kids, past the two joggers. Striker approaches Kenberg and looks up at him, wagging his tail at an unpredictable, unsure rhythm. As if he knows what’s on his mind.

“What?” Kenberg asks, unable to hold back his chuckle; the way Striker was able to read him just from his look alone was not only a testament to how he trained him, but how… smart the little dude was. Striker slightly tilts his head in response to Kenberg. The two stare at each other for a few seconds.

Kenberg leans forward and sets both his elbows on his lap. He pets Striker’s head, brushing it a few times until Striker sways away. He doesn’t really like being petted anymore.

Striker stares at Kenberg for one more second and starts trotting away, back toward the direction of the free-roam dogs he had just left behind a while ago. It was a bummer that he wasn’t the obedient type anymore, but at least his senses were still in line with Kenberg’s. It was a product of his independence. He’s taught him way too well.

Kenberg maintains his position, now back to watching the people instead of the animals. His eyes trail the same joggers from earlier, then the family of three, thinking about the day he lived all alone in his house, which was once bustling with activity—

“Kenny boy.”

Kenberg slightly straightens up to the familiar voice, which he heard from beside him, but he doesn’t bother to look.

“Heh. Figured you’d still be here.”

Sullivan seats himself right beside Kenberg, forcing him to scoot. Sullivan right away shows comfort in his seat by leaning back against it, stretching, and exhaling silently. Kenberg’s familiar with his uncle’s tendencies to relax anywhere, so he keeps his stern look, but it did light up a bit after a few more seconds.

“What’s up amigo?” Sullivan asks. Same, buddy-pitched tone. He accompanies it with a pat to the back.

Kenberg, realizing that he might look too much like an emotional wreck, relaxes his posture and smirks. He stuffs both his hands on the pockets of his brown leather jacket.

“Just… the usual uncle,” he says to him. Sullivan, practically lying down on the bench, glances up at Kenberg for a few seconds then straightens up himself. He assumes a slightly leaning position as Kenberg does, though he fashions it in a more… “cowboy,” old man kind of way.

“Kenny boy. It’ll—it’ll get better.” And he comes up with the same response. Again, he pats Kenberg’s back, though a little bit firmer this time.

They both go silent as they watch the park scene unfold. Really, it was bothering Sullivan that his nephew was able to find the time to just sit at the park for hours on end, doing nothing. He can’t blame him, really, but after ten years, he should’ve been over it by now.

But… he was young. What happened back then was too much for the kid.

“Kenny… w-whatever’s botherin’ ya, you gotta let me know. I’m here for ya. Always will be. Since day one, man.”

The uncle and nephew looked like two cowboys watching horses getting wrangled. Only that horse was… a pony. And the wrangler was at the first day of his job.

“I know uncle,” Kenberg simply replies. They both know it. They’ve talked about this before, so Kenberg won’t be bringing anything new to the table.

And so Kenberg successfully brings his uncle along to the silence, the deep thought-ridden, reminiscing silence they both used to like to do. They had plenty of time to kill, so why the hell not?

Place: Widower Creek Middle School Time: 3:13 PM

Coming soon.