Long Time No See

I can’t believe how long it’s been between part three and four of the story Eyes of the Architects. I didn’t mean it to be so long, but I’m not happy with the ending. I kept on pushing it back and pushing it back, when I should have just uploaded it. I kept on wanting to go back, and change things. But I never came up with a better ending. Chapter Four was written before I uploaded the first part, oh so long ago. I’m still not happy with it, but I’ve gotten to a point where I need to be more active with my writing. I need to start taking it seriously. I know deep down that I’m probably never going to be happy with it, and maybe no one will like the ending. But at the same time I’m in no rush to go back to it, and if I leave everything in saved documents never to be opened again then I will achieve nothing.

I am a writer. Not an aspiring writer, even if no one reads this or anything else I’m going to ever write. I just need to write. Sometimes it’s difficult to actually put words on the screen. Days, weeks, even months go by with nothing. But it’s nagging away at me all the time. A dark feeling telling me I need to do more. Maybe I’m scared of rejection, and deep down knowing I’m not as good as I’d like to be. But at the same time, it’s now or never. That is the end of it. I’m a writer, whether you like it or not.

Yesterday was a turning point. I was at work, in the bright sunshine (A rare commodity) and it just hit me. A wave of nostalgia, and inspiration. Maybe it was the sunlight, or maybe a song sparked the memories. But all of a sudden I was five years in the past, just before university, reading A Midsummer Night’s Dream in my Dad’s living room. The mostly crappy experience of university was in front of me, and at the time I believed it was the beginning of great things. In some way I remembered that I actually like and enjoy reading. Something I’ve recently had to force myself to do. I enjoy writing, even though it’s a struggle most days.

It’s time to say no to whatever is holding me back. Maybe no one will ever read anything, or they will just laugh at me. But at least I’m going to do it. I have plans for this blog. Plans that have been a long time coming, but I’ve started taking steps towards them. They will start soon, but I will make another post outlining them soon.

I don’t expect people to read this, it’s me just putting thoughts into words. It’s more for my benefit than to be read by others I suppose, but if you have, thank you.


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Eyes of the Architects – Final Chapter

I can’t kill him, I just can’t. He’s my dad. I’ll just forget about it and it will go away. He’s dead, just in my head. So he can’t do anything to me. I know that for sure. I can’t kill him.

I walk back to my house and quickly move to my bedroom. Not sure if anyone else is up. I sit on my bed, sliding through news stories. Maybe I’d just heard about this, and I’m going insane, it’s all just one big freak out inside my mind. I wanted to get inside that draw so badly, and there was nothing inside so I just broke down, made up a story using things like the deaths that were locked away somewhere in the back of my mind. I could have heard about them anywhere. Family talking about it, a friend a school messing around, I could have even just made the whole thing up in my head. I could still be asleep, or maybe this screen is really blank and the words I’m reading aren’t there. That would make more sense, but somehow it just doesn’t feel right. I know I’m awake, and I’m pretty sure I’m in complete control of my mind and body. This is real, I just don’t want it to be.

I watch as the phone slips from my hand to the floor, slowly tumbling down towards the carpet, bouncing slightly with a thud, before resting. The pain comes quickly after, a sharp shooting pain pulsating through my arm and hand. I have no control over it, it’s numb but in agonising pain. Burning from the inside, focusing on my wrist. I grab my wrist, trying to squeeze the pain out, but it doesn’t work. It just grows, building up until I slide of the bed and fall to my knees, trying not to scream. Gritted teeth and tightly closed eyes. Head swirling mind going blank, like an emptying sink. Nothing. And then the pains over. I look down at my wrist, still tightly held. Pins and needles taking over. I can see my hand pulsing, red. I let go. On my wrist an eye. Completely black, with a small capital A in the middle of pupil. It looks like a tattoo, but that makes no sense at all. There’s no red mark, or any sign of pain. Just an eye looking up at me. I try rubbing it with my other hand, nothing. It’s just there. No reason why. Standing back up, I walk into the bathroom and try washing it off. I know it won’t work, but I have to try something. Zilch.

I can hear my dad walking around downstairs, probably just getting something to eat and fall in front of the TV with. What do I do now? Do I go down and talk to him. Kill him? I can’t do it. There is no denying there is something weird going on, but I can’t just kill him for no reason. My eyes drag themselves up from the sink and focus on the mirror. It’s not my bathroom being reflected, it’s that man’s bedroom. I can see him lying in bed, wife next to him. A black figure walks into the room, holding a knife. He stands over the man, and with one hand on his chest, drags the knife through his throat. It’s not a clean cut. It’s rough, and takes time. The body flails around, struggling to regain control. There’s nothing he can do. The woman wakes up, and tries to get the attacker of her husband. She succeeds to an extent but the work is already done. The body won’t flop around much longer, it’s already struggling. The woman lies back down and doesn’t move. The figure places the knife into the man’s hand an leaves. I can only imagine what he said to her. My face slowly melts through the reflection until my bathroom is visible again.

My hands clasped around the side of the sink, my body leaning forward, I edge away and fall onto the rim of the bathtub, one hand still on the sink. My head feels like a balloon, slowly inflating, eyes bulging out. I fall to my knees and puke into the toilet. For a second I think it’s all blood, but it’s not. I flush the chain and fall to the floor, the fidgeting feet etched into the inside of my eyelids. I curl up. It can’t be my dad. Not him, please not him. I couldn’t see him in the mirror, but I know it’s him. Who else can it be? It has to be him. I don’t want to kill him. I don’t want to hurt him. He’s a good man. A good man. This isn’t him. I’m just going insane. This is my fault. Everything is made up. In my head. I’m just crazy. Tears start flowing down my face. No control. I don’t know what to do. Am I really insane. I just lay there.

I don’t know how long I’ve been there for. A knock on the door.

“Hey, you alright?” my dad’s voice. “You sound ill.”

I don’t answer straight away, I instead just lay there. It’s the first time I’ve heard his voice since this started. It scares me. I know he won’t hurt me, that’s not what scares me. It’s how calm it makes me feel. Is he controlling me. Is it just that he’s my dad. I get up and open the door. He’s standing there, wrinkles on his forehead, non blinking eyes trained on me.

“You not feeling well?”

“No, feel sick.”

“It’s always on the weekend, go back to bed. I’ll get you something to drink. Maybe something to eat as well.”

In an instant I feel better. His caring voice, concerned eyes. It’s all there. Nothing about him says murderer. Nothing about him spells dangers. I walk passed him.

“What’s that on your arm?”

A flash on panic, I’d forgotten about the eye. Dad grabs my arm and brings it up to look at. His face changes in an instant, and I know it’s all true. He starts shaking.

“Where did you get this?”

I say nothing.

“Tell me. What is this?”

Nothing. I don’t know what to say.
“Tell me. Don’t just stand there, tell me.”

I can’t remember ever seeing him this angry. His eyes burning, his grip on my arm tightening. Face shaking. I didn’t know what to do. Not sure how to even start explaining. He couldn’t just be angry about a tattoo, he’s beyond that.

“I don’t know.”

“You must know something,” he threw my arm down. “What do you know about the Eyes?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t mumble, who got to you?”

“I don’t know, I found a piece of paper in a draw at school, and weird things started happening.”

He calmed down almost instantly.

“A piece of paper? In the science classroom? No. So this is my fault. Do you still have it?”

I nodded.

“Good, take me to it, we need to burn it now.”


“The things you’ve seen they might seem strange, but there’s more than meets the eye. There is a lot more at stake here than you’ll know. I’ll help you understand, but you have to tell me what you know. You have to tell me everything, but first take me to the paper. It needs burning.”

I look back at the mirror on the wall, and he’s standing there looking back at me. Not my dad, but the young man from the dreams. He looks angry, just like my dad, mouthing the words “kill him.” I try and ignore him. I have to make a choice trust him, or my dad. Even with everything I’ve seen the choice seems obvious. I can’t kill him.

I walk passed my dad and towards my bedroom. The whole time, trying to convince myself that I’m making the right decision. He killed people. I saw it happen. It’s all true. I saw it in his eyes, so I can’t just blindly follow him, but at the same time he’s my dad. He’s done nothing wrong to me, and there is more to this than I know. Maybe he had a reason. I hope I’m not just being blinded by family. I pull up my mattress and take the piece of paper. My dad instantly pulls out his lighter and burns it. As it catches alight he throws it in my bin. As I watch the paper crackle and curl, I suddenly go cold. What if he was just manipulating me, what if I don’t have a choice in following him, but that’s how it works. I just feel like I’ve made the decision. I look up at him, at his eyes. They’re fixed on the burning, almost reflecting out of his pupils. He then looks at me.

“Did you kill them?” I ask.

“Yes,” he drops his head, with closed eyes. “But it’s not how you think.”

“Then tell me.”

“I thought it was the only option at the time, maybe I was wrong, but I don’t regret it. Some things need to be done, and I will do them if I have to. They wanted to control the human race, based on some kind of false prophet. Some of us have heightened powers in this world. I’m one of them, it seems like you are too. Powers men and women weren’t supposed to have. For hundreds of years these people have tried to control the world, they haven’t always succeed, but they have tried. All in the name of The Architect. He never existed, or at least not in the way there think he did. He was a madman at best. Someone who just wanted control at worst, and someone who believed in what he was doing at best. This went down through generations, until no one questioned it anymore. The second you start showing some kind of power they grab you, brainwash you and then you do nothing but follow the teachings, most just choosing not to think about what they believe. It makes no sense, and yet it happens. They are a brainwashing cult, with the power to hide themselves.”

“But why kill them? Surely they’re not the bad guys if they were brainwashed themselves.”

“I’m not asking you to understand where I’m coming from, or why I did it. It was a long time ago. I was stupid, and didn’t know where else to turn. I tried telling people, tried causing uproar and that did nothing, they either didn’t believe me or The Eyes got to them. It’s impossible for a wide amount of people to find out about them, they can erase it in an instant. And, what? Based on some stupid idea from centuries ago?”

“What if he did exist, that he really had a plan? You killed them based on nothing.”

“No, He couldn’t have existed. Not in the way they want him to have. It makes no sense. Ideas have to change, theirs don’t. A lot of major incidents could have been avoided. They have no base for their idea that the human race couldn’t survive on it’s own. Look at the world now, it’s no different from a hundred years ago. Poverty, war and death. No cult started that, or ended it. They were delusional.”

“So you killed them? How many did you kill.”

My dad looked down, I could see he was ashamed to tell me this. I didn’t want to know the answer, but I had too. He was my dad, and I knew nothing about him.

“I don’t know. A few. Not all of them. The whole cult fell apart, people started living normal lives. I suppose there are more out there, maybe I didn’t make the slightest dent, but I killed more than I should. There must have been another way. But people with that kind of power shouldn’t be left in charge, you have to understand that. Life is only worth living with no restrictions. You have to understand, and promise me that you won’t use your power to get further than those around you. I really hoped you wouldn’t have to live like this, it’s not easy. But it’s the only way. You can’t use other people to get yourself further.”

I hadn’t even thought about having the power myself, I must have it, but I was so focused on my dad, that I didn’t even think about using it myself. For a small flash I think about what I can do with it, but he’s right. I can’t use it to better myself. It’s unfair. But life’s unfair, why shouldn’t I use it.

“I wasn’t going to use it. I just need to understand why you killed them.”

“Because they were bad people. They wanted to control the world.”

“To make it better. Wasn’t that their plan, to make sure we survived.”

“At what cost? Is it really survival if they make all of our decisions? How can they prove they are doing things for the good of us all. It isn’t that simple.”


“They have manipulated you into anger towards me, from beyond death they have control over you. Just because you can tap into the power. Imagine what they could do on a larger scale. The one who taught me, he was pure evil. All he wanted was an easy life with more money he could use in a lifetime. Even his wife didn’t love him, she just believed she did. He killed others, claiming it was for the greater good.”

“Are they all like that?”

“No, some are just stupid.”

I look him in the eye, trying to figure out whether he is right or not. There is no way to know, so how is he so sure. How were they so sure. There is so much to think about.

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Eyes of the Architect – Chapter Three

I woke up in the morning, almost in a panic. I scramble around the bed to get my phone. What was that guys name? I can’t remember. The dream is so clear, yet so distant. I sit here holding the phone in one hand, fingers hovering over. Frozen. What was his name? Brad something. Something. S. Starting with S. Stanton. Brad Stanton. That’s it. I type it in quickly, and hit search.

It’s true, all of it. His death, ruled a suicide. It doesn’t look like a suicide. Can someone really cut their own neck, lying down in bed, and not wake up the person next to them. There’s a picture of the bed, without the body. The blood was everywhere. Almost outlining his body, oozing off the sheets and onto the floor. Not one thing I read mentions it could be suspicious. If someone could influence people, then they could make every one believe that. I don’t know what to think. My dad isn’t a killer, but there is something in this. It wasn’t my dad, but this is starting to get weird. It can’t be my dad. He isn’t a bad person. And he definitely wouldn’t kill someone because they tried to teach them. He works for the good of the world. He is a good person. He gives to charity, always polite. I can’t imagine him being evil, especially killing someone.

I get out of bed, dressed and that’s when I realise what time it is. It’s not even seven. I can’t remember the last time I’ve woken this early on a Saturday. Normally it’s closer to twelve, at the earliest, and then I go out to meet Erin. She won’t be up yet. No one in the house will be up yet. What do I do now. Won’t be able to sleep, or focus on a game. It’s all crap. I don’t want to just sit here and read about my possible murderer dad.

I step out onto the cold, empty street. Everything was frozen still. Cars lined up, unmoving. No one walking around. Not a sound. I turn left and walk to the end of the road. Turning onto another street of nothingness. My thoughts are my only companion. I couldn’t stay inside, but outside offers no distraction. I try to focus on the music coming from my headphones, but that doesn’t work. It just blurs into the background, allowing my mind to picture my dad slicing that man’s neck open. Was it true? Was there more victims? Does he still kill people?

It’s all insane. None of it can be true. I keep on telling myself that he’s a good man, a good dad. I can’t keep myself convinced. It’s all insane, none of it makes sense. I think back to yesterday, around this moment I would have been walking to school, none of this would seem believable. I don’t know what’s harder to understand, the magic, or the idea of my dad killing someone for no reason. Why would he do it. Because he didn’t want the responsibility. That’s stupid. There has to be more. Has to be. No one would kill someone to get out of doing good for the world, only a real monster. And my dad’s not a monster. I can say that with absolute certainty.

I turn another street, my feet taking me without thought. I’m heading to the park. The small one, with a couple of swings, a slide and a small climbing frame. Just something small in the neighbourhood. A patch of grass, that brings back so many memories of childhood picnics, a first kiss, fighting, football, growing up. And today it’s empty, but what else would be expected, it’s early, not exactly the warmest day. I walk towards the closest tree and lean against it, the street is distant from here, I can’t hear the single car driving past. I skip to the next song, hoping that will become the centre of my mind. Closing my eyes, I listen to the guitars come in, joined by the drums. I love this song, tapping my foot to the start.

The image of blood snaps my eyes open. The world around me has changed. It’s night, the park empty. No swings. No slide. Nothing. Someone steps out of the shadows. My dad. He’s shaking. Wearing his school uniform. Fists clenched. Shirt un-tucked, mud staining one side.

“Well,” he shouts. “Where are you?”

The young man steps out of the shadow of a nearby tree, lighting a cigarette. I notice something on his wrist. The one holding the lighter he’s using. A small tattoo. An eye.

“You’re late,” he states. “To this as well. I thought you would have learnt by now. Don’t be late to my lessons. You need to learn discipline. You need self-control if you’re going to join us.”

My dad says nothing, he stands there, trying to make himself seem bigger as the young man steps towards him.

“You can’t use your powers to make yourself look better. Telling someone to lose a fight to you, it’s childish.”

“I was just messing around.”

“You were trying to impress a girl. It’s pathetic. Grow up. You don’t have time for girls, not right now. You will join us, and help make the world a better place, and then you will have as much time as you want for girls. But for now you need to grow up.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know you didn’t, but how would over people see it. Everyone at school is talking about how you beat up Will Irving. Do you hear how stupid that sounds. He’s older than you and wins boxing competitions nearly every week. Yet you managed to beat him up.”

“He started it.”

“No. You did. With your cocky attitude. Knowing he couldn’t hurt you. You started it, knowing you could win. You made him look like a fool. What a big man. Well done. But what happens when he wants to regain face.”

“I’ll beat him again.”

“Sure, by cheating. And then someone else wants to fight you. You’re making a name for yourself as trouble. Why? To impress girls. Don’t look down, look at me. I’m your trainer, and you’ve disobeyed a lesson. Don’t use your powers to make a name for yourself. It’s only a matter of time before people realise what you’re capable off.”

“No they won’t ever figure it out. How would they? People are stupid. They would never figure out that people like us are everywhere.”

“No they won’t. Because we keep ourselves secret. It’s only a matter of time before Irving can’t stand not knowing why he couldn’t beat you. Why he lost to a child.”

“I’m not a child.”

“You are.”

My dad started breathing heavily, his chest rising and lowering, faster and faster. His fists clenched tighter than ever, he took a step towards the young man. He pulled back a fist, and swung it forward. With a smirk on his face, the man moved to one side and grabbed my dad’s fist with his cigarette holding hand. With his free hand he punched my dad’s elbow. I squirm. Knowing I can’t do anything but watch. The pain on my dad’s face is real. This happened, years ago, but it happened. I can’t do anything to help, but I want to. The man twists my dad’s arm, pushing him to kneel. He takes the cigarette with his free hand and takes a long slow drag. After blowing a cloud of smoke into my dad’s face, he pushes the lit end into dad’s shoulder. Just under the collar of the shirt. The screams echo throughout the park, as my dad tries to squirm away. The man throws him to the floor, and then flicks the cigarette at him. My dad retreats, clambering backwards trying to escape his attacker.

“I didn’t want to do that.”

“Yes you did,” dad cried. “You enjoy it.”

“No I don’t. I just don’t want you to make mistakes. You need to learn. To join the Eyes you need to be the best you can be.”

“I’m not joining the Eyes. You’re monsters.”

“It’s your fate. You will understand one day.”

“No I won’t. You control peoples’ lives.”

“It’s so much more than that. We stop people from making the same mistakes. If it wasn’t for our people, following The Architect’s plan, then the human race would have died out generations ago.”

“You’re still controlling peoples’ lives.”

“We control a select few, for a good cause. We don’t abuse the powers. We tap in and save the human race from itself. We don’t interfere unless we have too. No one stopped the wars, or caused them. We stood back and watched, some of us even fought and died. There is nothing more honourable than that.”

My vision fades to black, with blood rushing to my head. I wait with gritted teeth for the moment to pass. It will. Blinking a couple of times I see that I’m back in the park. I don’t know how to react. It seems like he had been abusing his powers from being a child, but that means nothing. He was a child. I’m sure he wasn’t the only one to do that. Most people would, especially at that age. And being a boy means you need to be tough. Most would take a shortcut. I don’t see why that is supposed to convince me. He was a rebellious teenager. Isn’t that the stereotype. I don’t see the point in being shown that. He didn’t do anything bad.

I start to walk away from the park, hoping the music will drown my thoughts, but slowly they begin to struggle against the tide and rise to the surface. Turning street after street. My dad is not a killer. A kid runs past me, my head follows him, the panic on his face as he turns back. Still running. Not looking at me, behind me. I turn, nothing. Back to the kid, panting, tears welling up. What’s scared him so much. Not really my place to ask.

“Get away from me,” he screams.

I look around, nothing. Is he talking to me. I stop and let him run further away. He screams again, and someone walks past me.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he calmly calls out to the child.

“You hurt dad, leave me alone.”

“I’m going to keep you safe.”


“Hey,” I shout. “Calm down, leave him alone.”

Neither of them react to me.

“Stop running, I’m the good guy. I won’t hurt you.”

I put an arm out to stop the man, but my hand falls through him with no resistance. I stumble. Swearing, I regain my balance. What’s going on. Another vision. I’m in front of the man now, my dad. Again. But this time, a little older than before.

“That’s not my son,” the teacher states. “I never got to have kids. I wanted them, but he took that away from me.”

My dad and the child are frozen, a horrific snapshot of the past.

“Look at the child’s face,” the teacher says, walking over to the child. “Look at the panic, the fear. Tears, pain. This is what your dad caused.”

I wince.

“Come closer and look at him, he’s scared of your dad.”

“I know. What did he do?”

“Weren’t you listening. He hurt his Dad. Killed him, while his son watched.”

“No, I don’t believe you. No. Who was his Dad?”

“Another one of us, he had been investigating my death. He knew that I wouldn’t kill myself, so he started looking into it. He found out about my student, and put two and two together. He confronted him, Your Father didn’t like that. But he didn’t strike then. They both left knowing things were going to escalate, and that’s exactly what happened. Your Father killed him.”

I don’t know what to say. It can’t be true, but somehow I know it is. He killed these people, for no reason. To cover his tracks, a stupid mistake as a child, and then a lifetime of lies and covering it up. It’s too much to take in. I want to throw up, fall over and just cry. It makes sense, I don’t want it too.

“No, please,” the child shouts, sprinting back into life.

“Stop running and come back here.”

Slowly the child pulls to a stop, sniffs a couple of times and turns back. The fear is still in his face, growing with every second. He takes a step towards my Dad, who is completely still. The child wants to scream, you can see it in his eyes. He walks through me and stands directly in front of Dad.

“Good boy, now you’re going to be a brave boy, aren’t you?”

The child nods.

“I didn’t kill your Dad, you know that deep down. You’re not going to tell anyone I did. You’re going to say it was an accident, and that neither of you saw it coming. That he was happy just before, but it happened ever so fast. Not a word about me, you understand? Not a word.”

“It was an accident, that’s all.”

“Good, now go back and find the police, I bet your Mum is worried sick about you. And we can’t have that now, can we?”

“No, I don’t want Mum to worry about me.”

The child walks around my Dad and runs back down the street. My dad walks through me, and has disappeared by the time I spin around to see him. There is something so chilling about watching him control people, I’m not sure how he does it, but can I do that? Is that what tapping into the power is. Just talking to people. It seems like manipulation and intimidation, but it’s not. It’s more than that. Is that what I can do to people. I don’t want to control people.

“You see that’s the problem your Dad had,” the teacher has reappeared. “He didn’t want the responsibility. But you have to understand there are so few Eyes left. We can’t just let people with the power live their life. They have been chosen. You wouldn’t believe the amount of times I’ve saved millions of people by just a couple of words to the right person. It’s not something we take lightly, but through The Architect’s teachings you can learn it. You can join us and tap into power to keep the world on the right choice. It’s no different from God. People believe that everything is part of his plan, and it’s all part of the Architect’s. It’s probably where the idea of God came from. This power, we can’t see guiding us towards the light as we stray through darkness. Humans are evil, but through his teachings, his plan, we can help steer us towards the light. No body would have a problem if he was called God, would they.”

I could see the point he was trying to make, but I don’t want too. Why me. I’m not the type of person to have any responsibility. I’m just a child. Nothing more. Not special, or unique. Just me, and that’s all I want. I don’t think I could control people, I don’t think I could do any of what he’s telling me. It just can’t be true, but somehow I know it is. The dying echo from that note, the visions, the news story. It’s all too convincing and I have to just give in. I can’t kill people like my Dad. I don’t want to do that, but he’s not a bad person. I don’t know why he would have done that, but he isn’t a bad person.

“I know you’re scared. We all were at first. You’re raised to believe nothing special can ever happen, that if you work hard enough you can achieve things like wealth and a good family. That’s just another way of making you believe what they want you to believe. That we want people to believe, so they don’t destroy themselves. We just want to keep the human race happy and moving in the right direction, so everyone can live a happier life. You can help. I know it’s not something you want to do, but you will learn through the teachings. Trust me.”

“What do I have to do.”

I don’t want to join them, but I have no choice. If what he’s saying is true I can’t let my fear stop me from helping them, from helping people all around. I’m don’t want to be a bad person. My dad’s a good one, but he has messed up. Maybe I help him, if he really has the power, maybe.

“Good. Now, you just need to do one thing for me, to prove that you’re alliance is with us. Kill your father.”

With that he disappears, and I’m back on the empty street, silent and alone.

“Wait,” I shout, but he couldn’t have heard me.

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Eyes of the Architect – Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Smoke swirls around me, covering the world. I can’t move. Nothing. Just smoke. Silence. The lit end of a cigarette, shines through. Shaking. No control. Pain. Starts in head, moves down body to toes. Panic. Can’t move. Want to move. Need to move.

Calm. The smoke dissolves. I’m back in the classroom. The young man is flicking the cigarette in the ashtray. There is no boy in classroom. I’m the boy. The man stares at me.

“You know what he did to me?”

I do nothing.

The man takes a drag, flicks and with his other hand extends his thumb. He slowly pulls it across his neck. It slices through his skin, blood draining out. Eyes staring, fading. Turning to black. The blood running down as his head leans back. I squirm, close my eyes. But they snap open. Locked in place. His head flicks back and the cut closes. The blood carries on running down until it’s all behind the table, leaving no stain. As if it never happened.

“That’s what he did to me,” another flick. “In my sleep as well. Wife next to me. He left her though. She found my body in the morning, soaked in a pool of my own piss and blood. Scared the life out of her. They called it a suicide. What kind of person kills themselves like that. Lying next to a loved one. I did love her. And he even left the knife in my hand. Don’t believe me look it up. Brad Stanton. Look it up. You’ll find it. What that monster did to me. I can still feel it.”

This was too real to be a dream. I could taste the smoke in the air, feel the breeze from the open window. The slight clapping of the blinds.

“I thought he was the next chosen one. I was wrong. Maybe it was me, and I trained him badly, but I’ve had long enough to think about that. I did nothing wrong. It was him. He never believed from the first part. He wasn’t a true Eye of the Architect. Somehow he could tap into it, but it wasn’t for him. I’ve had long enough to think about it. I didn’t expect you to come here though. His son. Are you next. I wonder. It doesn’t normally pass down through generations.”

I try to move.

“Don’t struggle. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s a dream for God sake. I can’t do anything to you. All I can do is talk. I’m not even here. I just have something to tell you. You found that letter. Yes The Eyes knew about it. It called to you, and that shows you can tap into the Architect’s power. We’re not a cult. We are above that. Your life, with us, will mean more than most. We help shape the world. Keep it free. Stop the idiots destroying what has taken generations to create.”

“The Architect, who is he?” I ask.

“He’s everything. And nothing. He doesn’t exist. Not in the physical world. His teachings has been crafted and bent to represent the whole. It might make no sense now, but it will. After your training.”


“You can sense things. You were pulled to that letter, the one your father wrote, and through that it shows you can tap into the higher energies of the world.”

“Like magic.”

“Not that fancy. You can’t fly, or destroy things. You can do simple things. These simple things will change the world.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Eyes of The Architect is a group of people who can tap into the higher energies. We operate all over the world and direct the leaders of the world.”

“The illuminati,” I chuckle.

“Not far off it. We have stopped wars, caused wars. Destruction to save lives. Everything is to help the human race survive. To make sure it survives for the next generation of Eyes.”

“What about my dad. He killed you.”

“He did. He wanted to take power. Killed me in my sleep. The coward. Wouldn’t fight me, no. He’s a coward in a man’s body. For some reason he can tap into the power, but he doesn’t use it for good. For greed, and only that.”

“He’s not a bad man.”

“How can you say that. He killed me in cold blood. Look up my name. When you wake, make that the first thing you do. This will prove everything. You aren’t making this up in your head. You have never heard of me before. I died before you were born. You do not know your father. No one really does. I don’t. I trusted him, and he betrayed me.”

“He’s a good man.”

“Maybe to his son, but to the rest of the world he is evil. They may not see it, but he is. The way he has manipulated those around him.”

“He’s an IT consultant. There isn’t anything special about that.”

“Sure. You’re right, but he just wants a low profile. All of the rewards, without the work. To keep his life, he has to make sure there is someone else taking the power and the responsibility. He doesn’t care about ruling, he just wants to make sure he’s safe. Money, power, security. It’s all there for him, and he’s done it without the help of the Eyes. He killed me because I wanted to train him. Make his power of use for the world. There are so few of us every Generation. If one of us finds new blood, then we take them in, train them. Make them of use. It’s not a good life, but it is a worthy sacrifice. We have families who depend on us. My wife didn’t know anything about my actual life. She thought I worked as a security guard at the shopping centre. I never did. I took enough money from the richest, to keep me alive. And the rest of the time I spent aiming for the Architects plan. He killed me because I wouldn’t stop trying to teach him. I wanted him to use his gifts to help the world. Instead he wanted an easy life, and killed me.”

“It doesn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t he just ignore you.”

“I wasn’t the first he killed. He killed many before me, and probably some after me.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because, it’s important. You have the gift. And you have a choice to make. I can only speak to you briefly. But I will be back at some point. Until then you have to think about what I’ve told you.”

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The Eyes of the Architects – Chapter One

The tables have been in that room since before I was born. Bolted to the floor in the same fixed positions. My parents would have sat at them, and they were probably old and warn then as well. Massive tables, to sit ten people around them. You could see how old the wood was now, but they hadn’t been replaced, and will probably stand until the building falls around them. Six of them in total, sitting evenly spread out in the classroom. Everything about this room looked old. The floor stank of the 1970s, and the windows let just enough light in to make it feel like the dark ages. All we have is one phone to light everything up. We have to be careful. In this science room, where countless pointless experiments have been repeated and repeated, with no real reason. I can barely remember any of them, and I still go to school here. The countless people who have sat in this room, leant on these desks, burnt things with a Bunsen, dropped a test tube, shattering it on the floor, not mixing the right amount of one thing with another. All of those mistakes, turned into funny memories. Nothing more. You could feel it in every creak of the floorboards. The room is old, and everything screams it.

It isn’t the floor, or the cupboards that won’t stay completely shut, lined up against one wall. Or the poster with the water cycle drawn all over it, that interests us both though. It’s the tables. Massive wooden tables, with chunks missing out all over the top of them. Compass marks, during bored lessons. The recent scribbles of pencil that will fade before whoever sits there rereads it. The tables are deep, with four drawers, two on each of their lengths. That’s what we are interested in. The two of us. What is in those drawers. They are locked. A little keyhole just above the handle, keeping everything out. If you pulled the handle hard enough, you could feel the pressure building, but it wouldn’t budge. I think the handle would snap off before the drawer moved anywhere. I need to know what’s in them. Or at least the one that is in front of me when I’m in class. I have sat in the same spot for two years, the back right of the room, with the left hand drawer in front of me, facing the front of the classroom. I’ve often tried to open it, just somehow feeling, knowing that there is something inside of it. I can’t explain it, but something is calling me to it.

There was one lesson where I got to move to the adjacent table, to work with the person I’m standing next to now. The drawer near him opened with ease. Inside was a still growing mound of ancient chewing gum, and little odds of paper and lost items the gum was absorbing. The smell alone, made me shut it, instantly. The odd mix of the stale half chewed mess, and the recent additions make me shudder now. But at least that one was open. What was kept in these locked ones, though. I wish I could explain why I was so desperate to know. It makes no sense, but I’m drawn to it. At first it was just a niggling feeling as my mind drifted away from whatever Mr. Tennar was saying. But as time went on, I found myself staring into space thinking about, when at home, walking to and from school, trying to sleep. It followed me around without hesitation, stalking my life until I couldn’t think about anything else. There was something in the drawer, the one I’d sat in front of three times a week for near enough two years. I knew there was, and whatever it was, it had clawed it’s way into my mind, begging me to find it. To bring it back into the light of the room.

After I found out that the drawer in front of Erin’s seat, I waited until after class. Not one other drawer opened. They all were locked. Why was that one open. Did all the others have secrets. If they did the whole class and then some would be here, right now, trying to break into the room. They’re not though, it’s just me and Erin. Who didn’t really care either way. She thought at most there would be old text or work books in there, nothing more. Perhaps dust, even more gum. I knew it had to be more. She was fed up with me, fed up with it being all I ever talked about. This obsession.

It started out, as most bad ideas in school, as a dare. She dared me to open it, I knew I couldn’t. She offered to bring in her dad’s drill, fully charged, and I’ll use it to break the lock.

“I don’t know how to drill a lock.”

“You just put the drill into it and tear it apart.”

“That’s not a good idea, it would make too much noise.”

“What about a hammer, you could pull the the drawer out, and snap the lock. It’s got to be old and can’t be a sturdy as the wood itself.”

I accepted, thinking she wouldn’t do it. That’s not something light to carry round, and it’s not something I’d want to be caught with in school. This morning though, she met me in the usual spot, with a smile on her face. The hammer was the last thing on my mind, the drawer was in there somewhere, but the drill wasn’t.

“What’s up with you?” I asked.

“You’re going into that drawer today. I’ve got the drill, and you’re doing it. We’ll go at break, after IT.”

“You didn’t seriously bring that in, did you?”

She nodded.

“What if someone sees it, or catches us?”

“Nobody has checked my bag before, why would they today.”

She had a point, but I didn’t feel comfortable. How could I. Something was bound to go wrong, but somehow it didn’t. The first two lessons went as normal, and then we dawdled along the corridor towards the science block. The faint scream of the playground just beyond the windows, as we walked passed. The only two people left in this part of the building.

And now I’m shoving the claw of the hammer into the gap above the drawer. There isn’t enough room for a good grip, but I don’t want to turn back now. I brace myself and pull the hammer. At first nothing. And then it breaks. Not the lock, but the front part of the drawer. The wood creaks and I fall forwards, nearly smacking my face into the table. I can hear Erin gasping behind me, half swearing, half laughing.

“Zach, I think you broke it.”

“You think?”

I couldn’t laugh with Erin, instead I froze. My heart beat violently, trying to push me out of the room. Maybe no one would know it was us. My legs started shaking, heat boiled up in my head, the faint sound of the playground disappeared. Not long left until someone will be in this room, trying to teach a class. Maybe they wouldn’t notice. Yeah maybe, but I really doubt it. It’s the first table in the room. Of course someone is going to notice it. Straight away. I hadn’t pulled the front of the drawer off, but I had pulled a chunk of it out, hanging off one side. It wasn’t that noticeable. Maybe I could just slot it back in, and it would be blamed on someone in the next class. I’m not going to be in here again for a couple of days so maybe that would work.

“Let me know if you find anything, I need to get to class,” Erin said, smoothly, while walking backwards to the door.

“No, you caused this.”

“Don’t blame me. I didn’t do it.”

“You told me too, you brought the hammer in.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it. You chose to.”

“I swear to God, you are not leaving this room without me.”

Erin stops moving and just stands still, static. I start towards the drawer and touch the hanging chunk. It’s barely hanging on. Through the hole I’d created I could see nothing.

“Pass me your phone,” I hold out my hand to Erin.

“Use your own.”

“You know I have a crap one, yours has a torch on it.”

“Yeah, get your parents to buy you a decent one.”


I hold up Erin’s phone to the hole and let the torch shine through. The hole isn’t big enough for me to see all around the drawer, but I can see something sitting in the middle. A piece of paper. Something is written on it. My hand jumps into touch it, and everything goes weird. A dream delirium.

Sitting at the teachers table, a young man. Buttoned up suit. Behind him the white board has been replaced by a black board, the ink by chalk. An ash tray in front of the young man. Cigarette in hand. One flick and the ash it at the bottom of the tray. Another drag and the room lights up. Puffs of smoke permeating towards the lone boy. Crying, cuts all over his hands. His shadow not moving in rhythm, doing its own thing.

“You can’t mess up again,” The man states.

Another flick and another drag.

“I’m sorry Sir. I can’t.”

“You’re going to be here forever. You need to stick to it. Practice and make things happen.”

“I’m trying.”

“Not hard enough.” He shouts, and the room darkens.

I try moving my hand away from the paper in the drawer, but I can’t. I have no control. I’m not in the room anymore. Somehow outside. This isn’t the same room. It’s a completely different place. As if I’m looking at the room through a different tint. The boy is looking at the floor, almost in tears.

“You’re a dying breed,” The young man states. “We all are. And you can’t mess this up. If others find out about this they will not be happy. Bad things will happen to you.”

“I know, sir.”

“I hope you do. Smarten up, don’t let it happen again. And get out of here. Go to your next lesson. If I hear about anything like this again, I’ll deal with you myself.”

The boy turns to leave, and that’s when I see it. His face, completely aimed at me for the first time. I’ve seen it countless times before. Not in my house, but at my grandparents. It’s my Dad’s face. It looks identical to the picture they have in their living room. On their shelf with every child’s face in the family. He walks through me and out of the classroom.

Erin has disappeared. I’m still holing the paper, but I can move more freely. I pull it towards the hole and force it through the gap. It scrunches without resistance and then I can fully see it.

“What is it?” Erin asks.

The room is back to normal. No smoke in the air. The young man, gone. Everything back to how it normally is. My eyes are focused on Erin, but I’m not actually looking at her.

“What’s going on, you alright?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I nod. “I’m alright.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t know. There’s something written on it.”

I hope this reaches someone.

If you are reading it, this letter has called you out.

The Eyes of the Architects are coming for you, if I haven’t succeeded.

I was called upon, but rejected their teachings. I hope I find you first.

Please seek me out before you make a decision. After they call to you, find me.

Before you make any decision. Find me


The paper was old, yellowing slightly. The writing scruffy, and rushed. It was definitely written by a child. My dad’s name is Nathan, did he write this. It definitely fits in with everything else. Erin came and stood next to me, she looked over my shoulder.

“There’s nothing there,” she said.

An icy sting shot through my body, coming from her hand on my back. I didn’t say anything, I didn’t want to sound crazy. I Just stared at the paper, at the words only I could see. Unless Erin was lying to me, maybe she could see something. I turn to face her, the hand on my back falling. There was a smile trying to hide on her face.

“Well that was worth it. Just an old piece of paper, someone probably left it there years ago, before they locked the drawer. Did you want to break the others now, or leave it?”

I shakily slotted the wood back into place, hoping no one would notice it, at least for a couple of hours. Then it could just be someone else’s problem. Another thing broken in this school, that only rumours take credit for.

“I’m going to head off now, but this was fun. Maybe next time we find something worth breaking in for,” Erin said as she backed out of the room.

I just ignored her. My best friend, but I couldn’t speak to her. I no longer felt stupid. Something happened then. Can’t explain it, but something happened. The writing, the vision.

I blank out the rest of the day, my mind fixated on that break time. I don’t think I spoke to another person for the rest of the day. I just wanted to go home and reread that message. Should I ask my dad about it. He could answer everything, but I could also just be insane. None of it makes any sense.

When he comes back from work he shouts hello and then slumps into the settee, where he will remain until dinner. I pretend to get a drink to walk through to the kitchen. Staring at him with every step. Wondering if he could help me. Did he write this letter. Should I just ignore it and move on. It was just a stupid day dream. Nothing important. Just me wanting to make something out of nothing.

Just before bed, I pull the letter out from under my mattress and unfold it. Flatten in on my desk, and start reading. Eyes of The Architects. That sounds like some kind of cult or gang. What are they. The internet tells me nothing. Well nothing that fits. If this letter is aimed at me, then they’re after me for something. What are they. Who is N. How would I seek him out. I yawn. Where has the evening gone? This is stupid. It makes no sense. Putting the letter back under the mattress I roll into bed, and let sleep take hold.

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