nine

Shaun nodded, rubbing the brown stubble coating his chin. He thought for a moment, but still stared at the TV, even let out a small chuckle as the boss made stupid faces on the other side of the screen.

“That guy always cracked me up. Some people don’t like his acting, but I think he’s funny. Makes a perfect jackass.” Shaun said through his smirk.

He looked up at Kyle and let out a sigh, then placed his hands on his knees and stood. He always had a lot of tattoos on his arms. Seemed to perpetually find some up and coming tattoo artist, usually abnormally good, who had their own gun and let them use him as a good canvas.

But there was something wrong with the tattoos, one specifically, it wasn’t the neck tattoo, or the layers of fleshed out skulls on his left arm. It was the original.

He had a cartoon mushroom just at the inner curve or his elbow, smoking a joint, he always referred to it as his little smoking buddy. Said it was so he never smoked alone. This one wasn’t smoking. It had both hands held up as if it was gesturing, “I aint got s**t buddy.” It even had a sheepish smile on its face.

“So have you got any suggestions Shaun?” Kyle quietly asked, trying to not notice the cold sweat spiking his forehead or the way his palms were turning funny splotchy colors, hoping that nothing was wrong here.

“It sounds like they were right. This ‘theorem’ was right. You should have let them take you there, and if this were different you could have brought a lot down on me.”

“What do you mean different?”

“Well if I were Shaun, if this was your old town, and if we weren’t in total control.”

The voice of his friend slowly faded to the voice of the agent. The features remained the same, but the look in his friend’s eyes, was the look was that of a hungry animal; an animal that was tired of playing games with its food and was ready for its meal.

Kyle turned and ran for the bedroom door, but when it swung open it revealed the interior to his old apartment. The one he had fled hours ago. He ran to the balcony and found the woman in the dress standing there smoking her cigarette, then she flickered and became a man wearing a fine suit. Not the agent but too classy for these apartments. Just like the woman’s clothes.

He looked back into the apartment, shocked by the silence around him. There were no voices there was no yelling. There were no sounds from the world around him. He was left alone with his thoughts.

Somewhere in the distance Shaun said, “You have potential to destroy a lot of hard work, the work of patriots and politicians alike with your sheer presence. But here you can’t hurt anyone.”

 

 

The agent stood up from the folding chair placed with its back to the TV, the live action cop show had stopped and was replaced by an infomercial,  he pulled the business hat from his head and ran one leather gloved hand through his hair as he exhaled deeply. He was tired.

It was hard to go through these dreams day after day. At first it was easy being a dream eater. There was some suspense following these people through their delusions watching them spit out vital life secret after vital life secret trying to escape the inescapable. There is no getting away from your own mind.

One the machine decides it’s over. Everything was done before he even got here. Mr. Zygote was just a name crossed off a list before he set foot in the building. Back in the old days, when the agent had first started, he used to enjoy forcing his way in, traumatizing the blanks before they got ringed. It made the dream pursuit more challenging, most of the time. There was the occasional who gave up as soon as they met a cop, and he even had one who turned themselves in, just gave up as soon as they found him in the back room. But the ones that ran, they ran hard. Made the chase worthwhile, killed him in the oddest of ways before they ran too, then they really delved in. But the creativity always ran out eventually.

It got hard to find a hard chase, one he couldn’t predict, one he wasn’t one step ahead of every step of the way. Things pulled from movies, pulled from childhood escapes, pulled from some half baked unfinished scheme. He could read everything from the controller’s chair. He put his hat back on and felt the short electrical connection at the temples.  

He got tired of it; got tired of threatening these people and seeing this creative response wasted from each individual. They always had the same ideas. So he stopped trying to hurt them. He started trying to politely work his way into their home, made them feel like there was an escape.

He did it to feel human. These people never died once they were ringed. He got to take them to the warehouse. And that’s all it was. A warehouse filled with row after row of person, each one wearing a halo, each one trapped within the confines of their own mind.

The agent thought this one was going to be different somehow. He bent down and patted the head of the small Siamese cat that had wandered out of the bedroom. It was rubbing its face against the leg of the drooling nonperson in the chair. The one once referred to as Kyle or Mr. Zygote depending on who was asking.

The apartment was fine. There was no destruction, no running, no entrapment, and no threat left to bother anyone.

“I thought he was going to resist the initial synchronization. He should have seen more wrong with the construct realm. I’ve been telling them the lady in a red dress is too cliché.” He muttered as he walked out the door.

As he left the building he placed a call on his cell, saying, “Number 367 is ready for pickup and delivery. No issues to report.”

Author's Note

The end... Let me know if you have any questions, suggestions, or if you have a comment then, well, you know what to do.... Thanks for reading!

Reviews

[tremainiator]

I liked your approach to telling this story. Switching back and forth from the paranoid narrator with the letter and the agent, to the flight in the car and the policeman, and culminating at Shaun's creepy hideout where the transformative ending occurs, kept up a high pace. The plot springs from a great 'what if' premise and has a kind of Ray Bradbury twist that held my interest throughout.
I note in your profile that you do 'little or no editing' before you post your writing and I have to wonder why you are willing to let readers see your work before it is brought to the highest possible standard or style, grammar, and punctuation. These things matter. If they are weak the work suffers. This story could be greatly improved with effort in these departments. To ask readers, who are more often than not more deficient than you in these matters, to advise you on these points is expecting too much. You must do it first.
I did like this story - enough to now read 'Carnival Glass.'

[Mockingbird]

great ending. first off, thank god for the poor cat. it's cool how the whole thing happened happened inside his head. it's sad he was finally taken. it's weird how the agent wanted to be humanized. this chapter wrapped everything up for me and made me understand better all that happened. there's nothing left for me to say...it's genius. i had a really good time reading it. excellent story.

[.]

I'm just shocked and stunned out of my mind! This was completely unexpected. I could not have predicted this in a million light years. What is most remarkable for me is that this is very poetic. The concept of being trapped in one's own mind is one that everyone can relate to. The conformity imposed which you refer to as "synchronization" is also something that one can relate to. Last but by no means the least, you immortalized "Number 367" for me! Stupendous work!

[K.C. Zbryk]

I'm thrilled to hear that you enjoyed the ending to the piece and that it wasnt too predictable. I'm also glad that some of the poetic thought wasnt lost in the long form writing, thats what i was afriad was going to happen. Thank you so much for reading and for the valuable input. If you have any suggestions or tips let me know.

[.]

Well, you did a brilliant job! I'm really lucky that I know how talented you are and I get to read you. Those who don't know that...well the lesser said the better. I'll email you if I think of something. And, sorry for the delay in responding. I wasn't at my desk.

[K.C. Zbryk]

Its fine ms serah. I figured it was a power outage or something of the sort... And i look forward to your message.