So I am working on a story that's kinda like a cross between Pulse and Portal. I dunno either, but this is just a prologue of the thingamajigger. Someone might be able to recognize a name.
"Wake up!" a familiar, feminine voice shrieked.
I almost jumped out of bed from the shock. After getting my bearings, I sighed in relief, as it was only my twin sister, Terry, trying to wake me and Mitch, the older and ganglier version of me, up from our slumber. Mitch always slept like the dead, so Terry had to scream a few more times to finally make him stir. He rose from bed groggily, the complete antithesis of my startled leap, and attempted to make sense of the situation. While I waited for Mitch to awaken from the miniature coma he considers sleep, I learned forward, getting a better look at my sister. Her face gleamed in the bright light that filtered through the room's lone window, and she looked pained. Her hair, which should be a matted and frazzled disaster at this hour, was instead her usual hairdo, spiky with two long, thin tendrils of hair emerging from her temples, which was odd.
"Uhh," Mitch moaned suddenly, which startled the both of us, before he finally found his voice. "Gah... whozzit? Oh. Terry, what's the matter?"
Terry murmured something, her voice barely louder than a whisper, and it seemed distorted. "Mitch! Vince! I have s-some really, really horri-" Her voice abruptly cut off as she scurried out of the bedroom we all shared, and then out of sight. Mitch exchanged looks with me, trying to wonder how the very same girl who tended to us when we were down turned into this crying mess of a person. Mitch was the first to speak, asking in his low-pitched, almost mature voice, "What's up with Terry?"
"I have no clue," I mumbled, feeling my heartbeat speed up. "Terry has one of the most resilient minds in the family; something mortifying must have happened for her to act out that way."
Mitch nodded solemnly, and then we heard the sound of a person huffing towards us. We watched Terry bolt in through the open door, carrying a flat, white thing called a VMD (Video Mail Device), a tablet that sends and receives video mail, often truncated to vidmail. She tapped a specific message in her cluttered inbox with a quivering finger, and Will, one of our dearest friends, winked into view. Will was dressed in an overcoat, and had a fresh haircut, which was a little odd. Even stranger was how he persistently cringed, as if he didn't want to say anything. Terry held the screen closer to us so we can get a better view, and, as she did so, turned away, in an attempt to ignore what the recorded clip was playing.
"Daria, Garry, Wilma, Vince... whoever got this vidmail," he began, his voice shaky. The both of us shuddered, in anticipation of what horrible news he may bring. Normally he would call us by ridiculous nicknames, such as "Day" or "Vee," but the fact that he said our real names made his message a little scarier. "I don't want to tell you this. I just need to get this off my chest, to vent this out in front of the guys and girls who can offer a shoulder to cry on in this time of grief."
I held my breath, and Mitch stared at the screen with a face that seemed to scream, 'Don't say what I think you're going to say.'
"Our greatest friend, and brother to me, Gibson, passed away yesterday."
That phase seemed to have been etched into my brain, and I, try as I might, could not get the horrid implication out of my mind that Gibson, one of the only people that kept me sane on this planet we call a home, would never be seen again.
"So, uh, my parents are going to let you and your parents attend the funeral. You're not that late."
I felt a little faint, and Mitch must have reacted the same way, too. Our favorite, bespectacled, and fellow überdork is gone for good. At the time, I thought it was the worst possible day of my life, but there were much, much worse days that came afterwards. I reached for the VMD with trembling hands, and Terry passed the thin tablet to me. I tapped the "Send" button next to Will's vidmail, and the screen switched to a large, red "RECORD" button. I tapped the button, and began recording my vidmail:
"I-I'll be there, Will... just give us a fe-few minutes, okay? Terry's not feeling well."
The short message was then sent instantaneously to Will, and we sat up in our beds, wondering what to do next. The feeling of faintness suddenly returned with a vengeance, probably from the implications that I was going to attend my dead friend's funeral, and I slumped back into bed.
I woke up again, not to Terry's classic shout that could better suit someone half her age, but to something pushing against the small of my back. Opening my eyes groggily, it was an even taller version of Mitch: my father.
"Vincent, we are invited to go to the funeral William's dad is hosting. Come on, get dressed," he asked, pushing my shoulder. He didn't sound the least bit enthusiastic that he had to drive his children to their friend's funeral.
I could examine Dad's outfit a little more when I sat up in bed. He was wearing a tweed jacket, and dress pants, which meant that we apparently had to wear our Sunday best at the funeral. Looking around, I noticed everyone else was preparing for the drive themselves. I decided to freshen up, heading to the washroom to take a brief shower, and then going to the styleroom to make my hair neat and orderly, rather than the gravity-defying spiky I usually set it to. It was a serious occasion; looking like that would be insanely disrespectful. I then returned to my room to sift through my closet, pulling out a tux that must have been in there for years, but miraculously was still my size. I quickly put it on, not wasting any time at all, and slipped on the matching pants and shoes. Mitch slapped on a turtleneck, and wore a blazer over it. Terry took an outfit that was similar to Mom's, but small enough for it to fit her well.
We all drove to the funeral, in silence. Dad stared out of the window, his eyes focused on the road ahead of him, while Mom and the rest of us stared out the nearest window sullenly. A hard lump had formed in my throat, and I couldn't seem to get any words past my Adam's apple. The silence continued to hang over us as we walked out of the car, and entered the church where the funeral was held. The building was packed and noisy, which I didn't expect. There were about twenty conversations going on at once. I walked among the pews, Dad finding an empty seat next to Will's family. When they noticed our presence, Mr. and Mrs. Cline stood from their seat, and rushed past Will to hug our parents, talking to each other about what happened today. I could tell that the both of them were crying, tears beginning to soak their faces. The muteness eventually subsided, and words poured out of their mouths.
"Giuseppe, I'm so glad you've managed to come here..." "Selena, I am extremely sorry for the loss..." "Yes, we hope we can make the best out of what has happened, and try to find a way to make things better..." "Theresa is horrified..."
While the adults had their reunion, my siblings and I began our own reunion with Will, as well as our other friends. Johan Jatte. Daria and Wilma Wadla. Garry Ditamita. All of our comrades, old and new, were here to support Will's enormous loss.
"Hello, Vincent," Wilma said as she approached me. "There's still a few hours of time, in the meanwhile we can-"
"Vee!"
Will hugged me tightly from behind, and I smiled, surprised to hear Will calling me by my nickname. That must have meant he was really glad to see me, just as glad as I .
"Hey there, Will," I said, leaning into the hug a little more. "Glad to see you, friend." Will sighed, and patted me on the shoulder. "I miss Gibson already... he was the best nerd ever, and now he's gone," Will muttered. "I hope to Christ that you won't be taken as well, Vee."
I couldn't care less how ridiculously stupid the nickname was. I was just glad to help my ailing friend out.
We stayed at the funeral house for what seemed like three hours. All too soon, the funeral was over, and I got up to leave with a frown. As I walked out, another person's arms wrapped around me. I turned to see that they belonged to Terry, and she seemed to be telling me something. "Vince..." she began, her eyes having ran out of tears. "If only there was a way to make good out of this h-horrible situation." I hated seeing my friends upset. I really did. "Calm down, Terry, everything will be better in the morning." We were now outside of the church, and Mitch was just beginning to get into the car when all of a sudden, he along with Terry, Will, and I collapsed. There was no blood. There were no bruises. Something just came from the sky, miraculously passed through the protective dome above our heads, and struck the area around the four of us. I couldn't feel my body hit the hard ground, and could only see the mob of people looking down at our bodies for a few seconds before we all blacked out.
When my eyes opened, I awoke to a world far different from the one I had lived in up to that point.
