The Humanity Project: Chapter 1

When a teen is assaulted at the local orphanage by a crazed man, nothing will ever be the same for him.

“When you’re born into this world, you shut up, learn as much as you can, and kill the bloody idiot who dares to step foot on your path. Now be a good little boy, and look away.”

The interviewer thought for a moment, as if to ponder why a mother would tell a young boy, at the time, such a peculiar thing.

James’s adoptive mother told him that o-so-helpful bit of advice, more of a parting gift than anything else. Because then she died...two feet in front of him and by her own hand; James never knew why. But, James had made amends, he had pushed all those memories to the back of his mind, clothing them in shadows. That may sound clique, but it was what James had to do to survive and live relatively well.

James did keep some of those memories though; the smell of the fresh bread they baked in the spring, the wind on his face as he sledded down hill in the winter, and the stingy hair of his mother as she read him bedtime stories when he was younger.

And yet, there were still things he could not remember, they had already evanesce into nothingness; foggy memories of someone else in their winter cabin, someone he knew well sharing that spring-baked bread with them. Focus, thought James. Stay in the present.

The room James was in was cool, business like, and very scarce in furnishings, save for a bookshelf and the table and two chairs that are currently occupied. James shifted uncomfortably in the folding chair he sat in, trying to prepare himself for the interviewer’s torrent of questions needed for adoption.

James had little time to prepare for this interview; he had been notified early this morning. His dirty blonde hair a mess, strands sticking up in rebellion to the task before him.

The interviewer didn’t look much better. Bags under his eyes advertised his lack of sleep or something more, and the cup of lukewarm coffee indicating his attempt at remedying the problem. He stared across the table at James, as uncomfortable as James was.

“So, James, what are your interests?”, the man asked, board out of his mind.

James thought for a moment; he never really did anything worthwhile, he usually just did chores at the orphanage and read in his spare time. Then, it happened once again. Tell him about your interest in space and adventure and computers.

There was a voice in his head. He would freak out when he first heard it, but it had given him pretty good advice so far, so he trusted it. A little disconcerting at first, but he got used to it.  

James cleared his throat, building confidence with each second. “I like to read, I like to stargaze on clear nights, and I enjoy working with computers.” James had rehearsed that line many times over. The voice had told him to do so, so it appeared that it had know that the interview would happen eventually.

The interviewer jotted down some notes on his clipboard, making noises such as “Mhm” and “Uh hum”, showing his audience of one just how much he disliked being here, and how he would much rather be anywhere else but there.

The man let out a sigh, his glasses catching the natural light coming from the window. “Is that all? That sounds a little boring for a kid like you.” Something’s off, James thought. Why would he ask that? His interests were a little bit more than what kids usually do in this day and age.

“What do you mean?” James asked, not knowing what the man was looking for.

The man reviewed his notes, reading them aloud. “James Smith, age 15, orphaned at birth, adopted at age 3 by Allison Brandt,” James cringed when he heard that name; it simply brought up to many bad memories. The man kept reading, listing off his traits, his personality, and his background. He finished with an unexpected phrase. “And, to top it all off, genetically engineered from birth…” The man smiled, as if what he said was somehow funny.

James couldn’t concentrate. What, James thought, did he just say? I was what!? The almost omnipresent voice, mentally, came crashing through the window in his mind, yelling at the top of it’s lungs. RUN JAMES THEY HAVE FOUND YOU RUN RUN RUN. James ignored the voice this time, too stunned by the man to do anything.

The man sitting in the stiff chair across the table was not the well dressed, board interviewer that was asking questions just a minute ago. The new man sat up confidently in his chair, legs crossed and finger interlaced maniacally. The other guy’s smile was a mask to feign friendliness, but this man wore it on his sleeve proudly, displaying his white teeth , which were like shark’s. “Now, James, I asked you, what are your interests? That's not a hard question, for a boy of your caliber?” He got up and paced around the table. His notepad fell to the floor, exposing his “notes”. It was all just scribbles, random drawings and the name James in the middle of the inky chaos, circled in red ink.

RUN, the voice was still screaming. James understood now, he had to get out of here. He tried to get up and out of his chair, but was stopped by a feeling of cool metal on the back of his neck. He heard a click, like a hungry insect snapping his mandibles before a feast.

“Now now, Mr.Smith, or do you prefer James?” James didn’t risk opening his mouth. The man sarcastically cupped his hand to his ear.“What was that? You know, it’s considered rude to not answer someone who’s holding a gun to your head. Oh, well, James it is.” James started to shudder involuntarily, from rage...or was it something else? Either way, the maniac seemed to only care about messing with him at present.

“James, are you cold? Would you care for a blanket?” The man’s eyes flashed red, blood lust almost clouding over his entire judgment. He likes messing with me, before he kills me? This guy's sick. James tried to look defiant, but he couldn’t muster up the will to do so. The man gestured around the room. “Take a look James, what do you see?” James almost spoke up, but even if he did, he was cut off by the gun wielding psychopath. “Yes, James, that's right. Absolutely,” He kicked the wall. Hard. “...Nothing. Nix. Or, as the Greeks so gracefully put it, pa gen anyen.”

“So,” the man said, with a twinge in his eye, “why would you want to stay in a place like this? With such...well, nothingness. Death should be a,merciful, parting gift, yes?” The man walked a few paces, his gleaming pistol still trained in my head. He then gestured around the room frantically. “Come on James, this is the best you can do? No argument, no counter, not even a bit of difference.” He looked at me for a split second, then started to walk over to the doorway, where he proceed start yelling. “Come on James, there's nothing here in this God forsaken place.” He opened the door with speed, and revealed two sisters waiting to investigate the very loud man, but they stopped short when they noticed the small, silver handgun that he introduced to them.

“Well, there is these nosy nuns, right James?” He looked back at silent fifthteen year old. “Hm?” he said, not really looking for an answer. He turned his attention back to the sisters. “Oh well, what can you do?” Two loud thumps filled the room’s heavy silence, then all was questioned again.

The man looked mad for a second, his nostrils flaring, then he was back to his calm, crazy self. “My mother always said that it's bad to spoil your dinner with dessert. So, James, hurry up and talk some so I can go to the main course.” He licked his lips in anticipation.

This guy's crazy. I have to get out of here, thought James.

The man looked as if he was going to ask another question, thoughtfulness shown in his eye as he imagined the response James would give. James moved slowly, backpacking toward the window, hoping for an escape.

Click…

The madman’s pistol was only a couple of inches from his face, as hungry as it’s master for a worthy kill.

“Come on James, you really think that would’ve worked? The window isn’t even open.” He let out a deep sigh, with a hint of remorse…or was it regret. “I’m sorry James, I thought I could get through to you. I thought I could save you.” He put the gun down, taking a book from a bookshelf that lay within his arm’s reach. He flipped to the last page, skipping all the nitty-gritty actions and dialogue of the characters; skipping out on why James had read the book.

“James, why are there happy endings? Why,” He said, gesturing to all the books on the shelf, his tone crescendoing into an angry timbre, “does every single one of these books have a happy ending?” He kicked over the bookshelf, and it came crashing down with a loud thud.

James had had enough of this man’s madness. He got up, his legs still shaking, and spoke out definitely. “It’s because I've never had a happy ending in my life. Everything I do ends up getting someone killed!”. The madman looked up from the pile of dreams and looked at James instead, his eyes flashing red. A faint smile crept its way onto his face. But then James finished.

“ But, if it’s one thing these books have taught me, it’s that there is something called hope. And that is what keeps me going, keeps me from destroying things like madmen like you.”

The man’s smile quickly faded from existence. His hand went straight  for his gun, like it had a mind of it’s own. “Tsk tsk, James.” He said without pity. “We could’ve been great friends. Now, i’ll skip the rest of my clique villain monologue and just kill you right here.

No, James thought. No.

The man's finger squeezed the trigger.

No no no

The hammer hit the bullet that lay inside the gun’s chamber, igniting the deadly harold of death.

NO NO NO

The bullet spun out fast, and like lighting tends to do, wanted to find it’s spot to make a mark on the world.

NONONONONO

Something snapped inside James. The voice was there, at that moment, asking him something.

How bad do you want to live, James?

Very, very badly, was his reply.

The bullet stopped mere inches from James’s nose, but as James observed it he realized it was just....

...Slow…,thought James. Everything is so... slow.

The man’s evil smile was now slowly devouring his expression; he was giving into his blood lust. Sicko, James silently thought. James noticed the bullet slowly moving forward, ever closer to where James once was standing. Then, the voice spoke.

James, you don’t have much time, this state of your mind is only temporary, and once that cruel man notices you, he will take drastic measures. James didn’t know what to think about his current situation, but he did absent minded comment on things. What. The actual. Heck is going on!

Something then began to produce a low and menacing noise, like a wolf growling from behind the brush before it’s kill. The smile on the man’s face evanesced, replaced by a scowl of pure hatred. He began to convulse, like an possession was underway, but that would only be half right. His head twitched fast, which was like lightning outside of this slowed reality. His head stopped suddenly, and moved around seemingly on its own, but to James it was moving at a normal speed. Then, the rest of the wretched man abruptly stopped and moved around in the distortion, only to be commanded once again by the ugly conscience of the interviewer.

“That's some trick James.” He gave James a sarcastic slow clap. “Usually it takes our kind years of training to pull this kind of stunt, but you did it all without training in in the heat of the moment. Bravo, James. Now, it’s a shame I have to put you do-”. He flicked his wrist up, holding the gun, and fired. Thump. The bullet went straight through James’s chest.

Time sped up again, or rather, James’s mind slowed down. The bullet was lodged in his chest, percussion close to his heart. Before the distortion fully ended,  the sicko walked over to James’s weak body, barely able to stand on it’s own. He whispered in James’s ear.

“It was nice to meet you Challenger, it was a pleasure.” He turned to the door, only to look over shoulder at James one last time. “Oh, and spoiler alert, your story doesn't have a happy ending, oh well. Bye.” He then stridded out of the room, which was slowly returning to normal speed, which would be James’s saving grace. The first bullet finally hit the window, shattering it into pieces. Then, James fell back, unable to support himself any longer, straight through the newly destroyed window...and down three stories.

Thud

James’s limp body, much like a corpse, hit the cold concrete of the alley way that lay next to the orphanage. James moaned loudly, unable to say or do much else. Darkness enveloped his vision, like an old friend, and James gladly welcomed it. The pain was almost unbearable. James, you have to focus. You have to get up. James could barely hear the voice in his head, it was like a distant memory, foggy and hard to make out. But, fate has a funny way of giving people a happy ending to situations; it just takes a little patience and some pain to see it.

Light footsteps filled James’s broken sense of hearing. “Pl-Plea-se”, he gasped. “Somebody help me…”. A feminine shadow then loomed over his limp body. “Please...you have...to help me. Get… an...ambulance....”

The girl just stood there, her features clothed by the darkness of the alley he had fallen into. The only thing he could make out was a shiny object in her hand. A knife. Is she here for me too?, thought James. She walked over to him. “Please...do something…”. He was gasping for air, wanting anything for the pain. But not death. Heaven forbid death. There is something he still needed to do here on this earth.

She walked into the light...right toward his limp, non-responding body. “No”, he said weakly, “Please...don’t…”. She was right above his chest, her face completely expressionless. She seemed unfazed by his injuries, only looking him in the eyes.

“How badly do you want to live, James?” James could barely breath, much less reply. But, somehow, he was able to say his last words. “Very, very, badly.”

She nodded in understatement. She leaned over his chest, sitting on her legs, bringing the knife up. A flash of remembrance was upon her face. She smiled warmly, and all James could do was try to smile back. He was reminded of all the good memories he had before the orphanage. Mrs. Allison, the winter cabin...that girl….

Shock lit up James’s face, just as the angel of death brought the tip of the blade down, plunging it down all the way to the hilt of the blade. The girl’s smile was the last he thing he saw before the departed. But a word became clear before he shut his eyes for good. Blackness laid him into a deep, painless slumber, a single name lay on his tongue.

Columbia...

Author's Note

If you enjoyed it, why? If you hate my guts and this chapter, why and I'm sorry.
Also, I enjoy criticism, so go ahead.
Thanks

Reviews

[Leadfoot Callahan]

i really enjoyed this. Keep up the good work.

[Spaceboy]

Thank you for your constructive review, sir.

[Spaceboy]

Updated and revised version of chapter 1. No.2 on the way.

[Warrior]

This had a beautiful message!

[Spaceboy]

Thank you! I write a little each day, or try to at least, so check back every so often for an update. This is the first chapter, and I need to do a little more development, so thank you very, very much.