Marcus 1

This is sort of a stepping-off point for a series of short stories I want to write for this universe.

The rain was cold.  The day started well enough.  The sun beamed on the land with its brilliant smile, warming the cool morning air and lifting the souls of men for the day's tasks.  As if by command, thick clouds rolled in from nowhere.  With the sun out of the way, the clouds were free to dampen everything, and they did so liberally.  Somehow, it was fitting that they came, for this day wasn't exactly the brightest in history.  Well, not in my history.

I walked down the street, same as I do every morning.  I like to watch people handle their tasks in the morning.  People are an interesting lot.  Some wake up chipper and excited, ready to tackle the world itself.  Others dread the dawning of the sun, seeking the bed they left much as a zombie seeks brains.  And there are the rest who just don't care, though they probably wouldn't mind a few more minutes of sleep as long as it could stave off a few minutes of work.  Mothers tend to their children.  Fathers tend to their work.  Sometimes the roles are switched, though that doesn't seem to be very common.  Sometimes the men and women do both at the same time.  Sometimes there will be someone out doing their yard work.  Some stop to chat, others prefer to keep to their own company.  The people who talk have a wide range of opinion and fact, yet there seems to be an underlying theme common to everybody's thought.  I haven't quite pieced everything together yet.  I'm still quite young, as the people I talk to and my superiors both say.

I've walked this street many times.  It's one of the busier streets, but being a Sunday morning, most people are either in church or at home avoiding it.  There's a convenience store down the road I like to go to.  Many clerks come and go, but the coke tastes the same.  Sometimes I find people there who want to talk.  It is good to hear the thoughts of others, for what is history if we cannot know the thoughts of those involved in it?  Across the street from this store is a small lake this particular town keeps.  Sometimes there are folk who fish the waters.  Other times, they come to feed the ducks.  Some people like to talk here, too.  I suppose some of the regulars I talk to would be considered friends, but I don't think that's the case.  It's a mutual understanding.  I talk to them, they talk to me, and when we part, we've done all we cared to do.

As I reached the store, something caught my attention.  Or, rather, someone.  She was in a simple blue dress.  Her long black hair flowed in the wind.  She was a beautiful woman.  Young, in her early twenties from all appearance.  Despite the light rain, it seemed as if it she repelled the falling drops.  The clouds darkened, almost as if it they were angered at her refusal to accept their "gift".  Her arm was lifted high in the air, her fist clenched around something.  What it was, I could not tell, not from where I was standing.  Then a faint glimmer from the object flashed brighter than anything around as I realized what she was holding, and what she planned to do with it.

I realized this too late.

I sprinted to her body, careless of any traffic that traveled the wet roads.  She lay there, the beautiful woman.  Nothing about her appearance spoke of any imperfection, save the knife in her chest.  Blood covered her dress in a swift military offensive, denying the blue its right to exist.  She shook from the shock of her own blow and the chill of the morning.  The rain poured harder, as if the clouds were sorry they were angry at her.  She gasped for breath, struggling to live.  Her time would soon be over.  I knelt before her, picked her up the best I could, and held on to her these last moments, hoping to be of some comfort to her.  She grabbed my arm tightly, looked at me with deep, tearful, emerald eyes, and mouthed a word to me before she succumbed to the cold chill of death.

I laid her back down, closed her eyes, and crossed her arms.  I looked back at the store.  There were a few people looking outside.  They saw what happened, but they were unsure what to do.  I took off my coat and covered her.  They bowed their heads in remorse, sad to see someone so young take her own life.

The police came.  There were many questions, but few answers.  They left, having cleaned up the mess she left behind.  The weather was oddly appropriate for whoever she left behind.  I stood there after the people left.  I've witnessed the death of many.  I watched as people killed each other in the name of national pride.  I watched as people shot each other in the name of power, glory, honor, money, territory, or just plain hatred.  But I've never seen someone die like that.  Not just because.  I looked at the ground where she once laid.  A ring laid on the ground.  The blood from her wound covered it.  I tried to wipe it off, but some of it congealed and stuck to the metal.  A single diamond rested securely on top of it.  What was this for?  I could only wonder.  What this hers?  I don't understand.

"What's the matter, Eldroch?" a voice said behind me.  I knew this voice.  It was the voice of my supervisor.  It was Murdoch.  I turned to face him.  He was a kindly old black man.  His hair was greying.  He didn't look terribly strong, though seeing him in some scuffles proved otherwise.  He stood taller than most men, but not so tall that he stood out from everybody else around him.  His voice had a bit of rasp to it, but was otherwise strong and confident.  He was kind and wise in the way that you could only find from kindly old black men.

Answers eluded me.  I looked at him, then down at the ring I picked up, then down at the ground where the woman died.  "I...I don't understand," was all I could muster.

"Does this woman mean something to you?"

"Well, no.  I've never met her before.  Wait."  I looked back at him.  "Did you see all of this?"

"Yes.  Yes, I did.  I haven't heard from you in a while, so I thought I'd check up on you, see how you were doing.  You've been playing it safe for the time being, which is more than I can say for many of your peers.  Still, I don't want you to get too comfortable in your post."  He nodded at the ring.  "That's a nice ring.  I believe it was on her finger."

"It was?  What was it for?"  I brought it closer to my eyes, squinting in an attempt to get a better look at it.

Murdoch shrugged.  "I have no clue.  Could be for an engagement.  Could be a gift from her best friend.  Could possibly even be a family heirloom."

"It has something engraved here."  Indeed, there were small letters inside the band that were nearly illegible becuase of blood and wear.  "E. Porter, I think."

"Why don't you go and find out?"  It was more of a statement than a question.

"Wouldn't that be spying?"

"That could be said of all we do.  Besides, history isn't just the big events you read in textbooks at school.  You can gain a lot of insight based on what the common people thought and felt."

"But..." I wasn't sure if I wanted to admit this.

"You're starting to get feelings for her?  I understand the code we must follow.  However, they're not as hard and fast you might think.  You can stand to take a risk every so often.  Even if you did fall in love with her, you know her end.  I think this will be good for you, Eldroch.  Just remember something for me, will you?"

I could only look at him.  Murdoch placed a hand on my shoulder, releasing a sigh that spoke of a thousand pains.  His eyes tell me that he's seen this sort of thing time and time again, and their weight threatens to pull him down in the depths of insanity.  Somehow, he manages to persevere.  I wish for his strength.  He said nothing for a minute, looking as though he were trying to read my possible intentions.  I wasn't sure what I would learn from Watching her life.  There had to be something I could gain from it if Murdoch thought so.  Perhaps something that could be fixed, even.  Murdoch smiled a weary smile, seeming to have detected that very thought.

"Remember that even small Acts can have dire consequences.  Should you try to Act on her life, consider those consequences, because there will be no turning back from them."  Murdoch patted my shoulder.  "Take care, my friend.  Keep me informed of your findings.  It wouldn't kill you to spend a few minutes writing the occasional letter."  He quickly phased into the stream of time.

"Right," I said to myself.  I looked at the ring once more, then placed it in a pocket.  I looked again at the ground where she died.  I'll not forget her death.  Nor her final word.

She said, "Why?"

"I'll figure out why," I said quietly as I phased into the stream of time, as Murdoch had done just moments before.

Author's Note

I intend for this to be one among a series of interconnected short stories. Still, I appreciate remarks for anything that doesn't make sense.