Chapter 1 Girl in TrainingA Chapter by Eric She must be trained before she encounters humans - she is to lead them and must first be pushed to accelerate her evolutionary path so as to lead humans to their potential for failure will mean death Chapter One
Miss. Information 2045
I was created here, in deep space. I am not the first. I can feel the others; smell them like residue in my mind, like gun powder after a shot. I can’t locate or identify any other life, but I know I am not alone. I know things. I don’t know how I know them I just do. I am in a ship but it’s not like any other ship. Of course I don’t know any other ships only that ships like this don’t exist. It is a living organism created from the collective via a Maker. It is a ‘living green screen’ it can change its environment and landscape at will. What was black and wet and womblike before is now, terraforming into something new. I am its creation, its child though it thinks me an abomination. I was created in the image of a different species. My purpose is to learn and experience enough to become a shining example for those I am to meet who are like me. I know things because I think them. I have to let information flow. I only know things after I think them. Like I am an empty vessel and my own thoughts are the pouring of water that fills me with knowledge. Which means it could be wrong. Darkness…
Light… I am Alisha TwoFour and I am too scared to do anything. Darkness…
Light... I remember. I am Avtar OneoFour. I am desperate to hold the memory. I was in a room with bodies and then, and then… it went dark. I identify as Antwon ThreeoFive. I can feel panic building, my belly is on fire. My knowing these things is not good. I am contaminating the illusion. It’s an illusion! Darkness…
Light… I feel myself constructed again. Again and again I am re-assembled into a nightmare. I am Ashton TwoFour. I am the most powerful yet. I am fighting them. I don’t know who they are but I am angry. They push against my mind and I push back. They are trying to manipulate my thoughts. Darkness….
Light… “Qua zzZi toyour KlaZishtu understand? FlzzQua do understand? Do you…stzzz do you understand the us?” Correcting, terminate. Darkness….
Light. “Hello are you with us?” “Who, who are you?” “Who are you?” “I am Amber Oneofour” “Hello Amber how do you feel?” “I feel disoriented... Wha...where am I?” “It is adequate. Begin phase two.” Darkness….
Light.
I am Amber Oneofour. I see my reflection in a broken window. I look broken. I am a dirty girl. Young and cute near as I can tell. I am strong and everything works. I wiggle my fingers and flex my arms checking out my equipment. My hair could use a comb or a brush my eyes are too big. They are a solid impenetrable brown they are deep and interesting eyes - they hold my attention. I want to wash off the dirt and see my face but I must keep moving. I can’t stop now. Time is running out. I don’t know what that means but I feel it like panic in my belly. It urges me forces me to keep going.
I run until I can’t and then I walk. I walk until aching legs, empty stomach and dispirited heart drag me down. Even then I am an oppressive master filled with determination and a stubborn will to continue. My rest is short offering a quick stretch to my legs and another look around. I’ve been doing that on and off for three hours. I am lost. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know where I was or where I am going. To complicate matters I am cold and hungry. For as long as I can remember which is not long at all, I’ve been wandering down darkened paths, behind big business with their towering cement walls, blocking out the sun, looming over me like stone golems trying to crush me or my spirit.
In the other direction a junk yard, dust and dirt as far as the eye can see the carcasses of old vehicles scattered about like tombstones across a dirt graveyard that goes on forever. It’s the back end of a thriving business culture. The toilet they offer their backsides with a reckless lack of interest. It’s part of a cycle, a conveyer belt of gluttony. Consuming lives like wealth and resource until they are so bloated they’ve no option but to crap out waste in an obscene stream of poverty, excuses and crime until nothing is left but a dustbowl of blame.
I turn towards the dust and start walking. That’s when I find the little boy: his pants are torn his feet are bare. He is crouched, wary and alert picking at bones in search of sustenance: his dinner, scavenged from the waste bins of someone else’s life. I walk past the boy giving him my shoes and a smile forgetting the chilly night air if only for a moment. I know I’ll regret it eventually but for now it feels good and so far now is all there is.
I walk less than a hundred yards before I realize he is following me. I stop. It is gut wrenching being lost and shoeless and suddenly feeling the weight of someone else’s destiny creeping up for a ride.
“What’s your name?” I ask. The boy keeps his distance and remains silent. His big brown eyes watch intently almost unnatural like an animal sizing up prey. “Okay… nice to meet you Mark. You don’t mind if I call you Mark, do you Mark? Mark Mark? Mark Mark Mark? Mark?”
I say his name sing song and silly and finally his lips move, slowly changing his features, growing into a smirk, a sort of shy smile. It lights up his face and makes his cheeks into rosy balls. He is adorable. The happy doesn’t quite make it to his eyes. Still, it feels good. “I’m… Avery… Avery Divine.” I hold out my hand. He stays where he is. I turn and walk on. I don’t know why I said Avery. As soon as I opened my mouth my name came to me and felt wrong. I knew I couldn’t share it. I am Amber Fiveofone. I guess it just feels scary to give up my name; it feels so personal like it has secret meaning or power. Anyway, I like Avery. I’ve decided to keep her.
I act calm for the boy, but this walk, this random, misplaced, forgotten part of the map - this is the worst place I can imagine.
The streets are bare empty desolate Like a sickness has swept through a thousand years past And now it emanates, vibrates and sings eerie invitations to ghosts and danger
Winds blowing the whistling scream of un-oiled hinges Like the rage of abandoned monsters waking for their revenge It is an awful icky walk and my belly is filled with anxious creatures Trying to expand into my heart where fear is feeding on itself
We aren’t alone I can’t see anyone but there is a feeling. The feeling of being watched I glance at the boy he feels it too I see him looking around and back at me his compass for safety and security Oh boy kid, I got some bad news on that score
This is stupid scary
We continue through dirt and gravel lots Patches of ripped up shredded pavement give it a bombed out War zone look
The lot is crowded with old abandoned trucks and buses At least I hope they are abandoned they all feel filled with eyes and bad ideas From evil intentions a place where morality comes to die
Ambush potential lurks in every shadow and corner of my mind My hair stands on end I hear a whimper and check it isn’t me Next I think it must be the poor boy by my side But he has stopped. He is leaning down and pointing into darkness…
I pull him back and get positioned so I can look. It is the underbelly of an old abandoned school bus made of rust. Its paint is chipped into yellow and brown flakes like dead skin hanging on without purpose. One tire remains flat and demoralized. Its front windows are broken. A few in the back salvaged with cardboard and duck tape as if someone has made a fort back there. On its side fragments of official writing are obscured by graffiti: EL M NTARY. The seats that are left are in various stages of neglect all torn some with springs sticking up others with remnants of tape. Somehow all the children that ever rode the bus remain ageless and playful. I can hear their squeals the squeaky seats as they restless bounce around kicking or doodling on the seat in front of them… It is a sort of graveyard for childhood. Looking at it stirs forgotten memories and emotions. I quickly look away ducking down and peering under the bus. An animal, sick or scared, starving or abused, probably all that and more, cries out.
“Oh crap,” I try to take the boy’s hand and lead him away, but it’s too late. He’s getting down in the dirt and trying to slide towards the wounded thing.
The smell is sour, rotten. I can see it hit him like a physical blow even through the mud and dust that gathers on his snotty face and clogs his tiny nostrils. Mark’s pants are torn, so his red knees poke through raw and sore, tender from crawling and general boy use. Still, he is lying in the dirt and working to slide him self towards the thing. And no amount of cajoling on my part is going to stop him. Meanwhile the dirt is covering him like paint that he is swimming in. It has fallen into the holes in his pants so he is a dirt ball inside and out. He glances back, grinning, and little more than his teeth and eyes are visible. He is making slow progress.
The main thing slowing his progress is me grabbing his pant leg and saying, “Stop, it could be sick, stop, it’s dying, stop, it’s getting late.” The animal whimpers, and Mark slides himself further into the darkness and towards the sound.
Clouds are moving in, the sun is setting fast. Soon the chill will turn biting. We might not survive the night. I pull him back… the animal certainly won’t survive the night… Mark pulls himself forward.
I grip his leg tight - too tight. The poor boy is fragile and anemic; this will leave marks. Still, I pull. He cries out and tries to pull his leg in enough to kick at me, but I am pulling too hard. He uses his other leg, swinging it around, and tries to whip it up over the leg that I hold, but it bangs into the undercarriage of the bus. Both the boy and the creature cry out.
“Mark, I’m sorry, but please stop! That thing could be rabid, it could bite you. You can’t just slide up and introduce yourself!”
“I’m not leaving it,” he shouts, which catches me off guard; he is such a quiet, soft spoken boy, I hadn’t even been sure he could talk.
I apologize again. “I’m sorry, Mark.” Still, I pull him out. He sits up, crossing his arms, pouting, and then starts rubbing his knee where he banged it against the bus. We sit side by side, both of us breathing hard. He has one hand on his knee, and with the other hand he is making circles in the dirt. I look at the setting sun, and scan around looking for options, shelter, food - anything to help us through the night.
“Let’s make a deal. You let me borrow my shoes. I’ll go find us some food and something warm for that whatever thing. We make it warm so it can survive the night, and then we go find shelter. Then tomorrow in the light of day, we come back and try to help this thing… deal?” He looks unsure. He doesn’t want me to leave, he doesn’t want to lose his new shoes, and he is determined not to abandon the suffering animal. He is stuck in an untenable, unwinnable situation, and so am I. He doesn’t move and I run out of patience.
“I’ll be back soon.” I leave without my shoes, my feet toughed from endless barefoot summers romping in the dirt with Sage, Coral and Bead. The memory comes to me unbidden, like children on a bus, it is an echo, a past; like memories of a story. I don’t know if they are real or if I dreamed them. Maybe they are a future that hasn’t yet come to be. Regardless, my feet are tough enough and I like barefoot better than shoes. It makes me feel grounded.
I am two hours into my search and I’ve managed to find an old tire and a crow bar. Everything is outdated, old and rusty. It is as if I’ve been in the stasis chamber for a thousand years and woken up in the past - as if time has gone backwards. Where did those thoughts come from? Where was everyone? They’d spotted that meteor, and then things had started getting strange. I don’t remember, and don’t have the time or energy to consider.
By the time I get back it is solid dark and poor Mark is shivering. He has crawled far enough under the bus to curl himself into a tight fetal ball near the remaining tire… I quietly move to position myself behind him when I hear it, breathing raspy and quick. It is then I notice the smell. Slowly I slide out from under the bus and move around Mark, waiting for my eyes to adjust. I lean forward and see it…eyes glowing in the dark, I can just make out Mark’s hand. Lying on the ground, the creature resting his chin in his palm, it has crawled to Mark. Looking for warmth, food, security… I don’t know. Whatever it is, it isn’t a dog. It is similar in size, but it isn’t a dog. It’s like a rat that has grown so large it looks like a dog, but with huge teeth - only this one is beat down, starving, and near dead. I crawl away from the thing, getting behind Mark where, best as I can, I slowly wrap around him, spooning him so we can share warmth.
As the night wears on I wake up shivering. At one point I feel that thing getting in between us. My mind says revulsion but my body cold as it is doesn’t move just lays frozen. We all need all the support we can get…
Just as the dawn stretches her cool and hazy eyes across the land I hear laughter, hard, deep and raucous. The sound of heavy steps and hard boots. A can is kicked violently; I hear it slam into a car and fall to the ground - only I see it as a child now, limp and lifeless, and I reach out so I can cling to Mark. Then the smell comes. The mouth-watering, stomach-roiling, saliva-inducing, smoky drip of meat cooking nearby. Mark has rolled towards me, and when I dare to open my eyes he is looking at me. I put my finger to my lips to indicate quiet. I think he is going to rebel, resist, or maybe just roll his eyes with distain - but we hear the noise together. They are the same heavy feet, careless and hard, coming our way. The animal thing is nowhere to be seen.
The footsteps are coming up behind us on the other side of the bus. They stop. We wait - our hearts are pounding. Slowly I indicate to Mark to move further into the hidden spaces under the bus. We are sliding slowly into the dark, edging our way in, when we hear a zipper, the rustling of fabric, and then, after a moment, the sounds of pouring water, a creek, a hose, aimed at the bus and dirt… Of course I know it’s not water - I know immediately that it’s urine. He’s peeing, but we are parched. We need water. The mind plays tricks when you are desperate, and we are desperate. I see myself under that stream, only it’s a waterfall and I am bathing, naked, the dirt and grime falling off so I am pure and shiny and smooth. I let the illusion clean me and quench my thirst.
We are desperate, we need food and we need water, bad enough to ignore the cold hard smell of bloody earth mixed with the soiled animal odor that we’ve become, but not so desperate to ignore our fear or give up our safety - or so I thought.
Mark’s head turns. He raises it, turns and smells the air. Suddenly he looks around, growing frantic. He’s noticed his animal thing is gone. When he looks back his eyes are big. He lets out a sound like a grunt and a whine, and starts scrabbling like a flattened crab, desperate, towards the smells of food but not for the food, of course. Mark’s cause would be his friend - he was going to save his friend. He must have smelled food and, like me, was putting two and two together. That food had to come from somewhere.
The peeing stops not slowly, not naturally but quick with intention. ‘Oh crap,’ I think ‘we’re in trouble now’.
They have us. We are property. We live at their mercy. They give me food and promise; Mark scraps. Later the one called Olvark takes me into the woods away from camp. He makes me lay down in the dirt, in the dark, so the others can hear but can’t see. They keep us tied, throw scraps of food at us now and again. They keep us apart, on opposite sides of camp.
Then they decide that Mark can be useful for errands. They make him clean and cook, sweep and keep busy until he is used up, spent, and too tired to do more. Still, they make him shine their boots ‘cause they think it’s funny �" though it serves no purpose in a world made of dirt.
The next night or the one after that, Olvark waddles over and eyes me for a spell where I lay with my face in the dirt, and he says, “Get on your knees”. When I don’t respond, he makes the demand again, this time with an edge to his voice. I get to my knees, ‘cause I can feel the alternative would be worse. He watches me and his eyes speak of danger. I am nervous and don’t know what to do. He steps in close in front of me, and I can smell him. He stands there, towering over me for awhile. Finally he tosses down a wad of frilly flimsy material he must have been saving, and says, “Tell you what sweet cheeks, some of the guys are getting real lonely over there…” He points back with his thumb while he lets it sink in. “…And they need some release. I’m sure you know how it is with men…”
I keep my eyes down starring at the ground.
“Now you look at me when I talking to you �" you understand?”
I nod, look up, swallowing. I am trying to keep my eyes looking at his while keeping my mind blank.
“Good girl… Now, some of the things those fellers want to do surprise me. I so shocked, I’d never imagined such things.” he laughed, then got serious. “Men out here, they get a little sick in the head if you know what I mean. Listening to them near turn my stomach, so I’ll not trouble that sweet little stomach of yours.” He says this as he uses his boot to lift my shirt and look at my stomach. He lets out a long breath. “Naturally I tell them fellers, ‘No sir, ain’t gonna happen, not on my watch’…and this girl, this is what frighten me see, they about rebel. The look at me and the look in their eyes is dangerous. I tell you what, I’m scared. Now I gots to worry about my safety too, you know….
Still I tell them no. I stick up for you and the boy. I gotta do what’s right… But now you know, I got maybe one or two nos left for they decide no isn’t good enough… you know what I mean? My concern is for the boy. ‘Cause the way I figure it, the boy’s already doing too much and he gonna die like an overworked mule if these guys go doin all the things they talking about doin with him….” My stomach dropped as blood rushed to my face my mouth fell open…
“…Course I’m gonna do what I can to stop ‘em, but what I gotta know is… are you gonna help?
You know, as I said, these guys they been alone a long time, and the way they eyeing that boy, I sure can’t save him myself. So what I’m thinking is, maybe you dress up and dance a little for their spirits. Then you can go around, you know… relieve some of that pressure, make ‘em feel loved, appreciated… you know, for the boy. Maybe it’ll help to keep him safe… What do ya say? You wanna be partners?.. For the boy?” He folds his arms, proud of his speech, knowing he’s cornered his prey.
I can’t respond. My mind is blank. I feel empty. He chuckled, “I’ll just leave these here, and you go on and think about it for a spell…just, you know, don’t take too long.
He walks away. Then abruptly he comes back, angry, as if he’s been betrayed. He grabs the frilly panties “…On second thought, that boy’d look good in this…”
“No!” I scream, stopping him… I can’t say yes, but I also can’t say no. I can only think to stop him. I grab for the lingerie. He holds it out of reach. “You want this?” He dangles the panties by the waistband. “Is this what you want?”
I can’t look at him. “Yes.”
“Yes? Just, yes? I give you lovely new garments and all you have to say is yes?”
“Yes… please.”
He snickers. “We’ll be waiting, sweet cheeks.” He pats my bottom.
I am sick and scared, but what else can I do…Mark is just a boy. I have to do it. I can’t do it, even though I know I have to do it.
Slowly I pull off my clothes and slide on the frilly underpants and then fit the top as best I can. Both top and bottom are too big; they won’t stay on. I tie them the bottoms at each hip and the top right in the middle… It looks like I want them to see my parts. As I move, my private parts move in and out of the fabric… I am embarrassed and scared.
My only reprieve is that I am freezing. I lie down, paralyzed, and finally I start to drift away into the cold, the darkness, into sleep. I am tossing and turning, a fitful half-sleep of terror and desperation.
I have the dream again, and the man comes. He wants me to hold him. He is my child. He calls me “Mother,” but he is older and larger and stronger than me. It makes me mad. I am angry. I want to be held. I want to be protected. He turns to walk away and I am grabbing him, pulling his hair. He turns, and he is smiling. He is encouraging me. He says “Good”, and begins to fade.
“Wait!” I cry, “Are you…is this real?”
He turns back with a shrug. “It is one of several possible realities…your training will help determine which reality is expressed.”
“What?” I ask. “What training?” He is gone but for his voice far away… “This training.”
I wake to screaming and feel the pinch of the twine that binds me. It affords just enough slack to entangle myself. I am like a fish in a net and I must writhe to free myself. I am mostly naked before I finish. I am shivering. The cold has dug so deep it makes me feel almost warm. I, quick as possible, with fat full fingers, slip my clothes half on and fall back to dreaming where I frantically search for him. I find him all around me every where I look he is there. I can’t always see him, but I know he is here. I ask for help and he says he’s already sent help.
“What do you mean? What help? When…how?”
He laughs. “You call him sticky.”
I wake within the dream... I hear a noise across the camp. It’s him, the boy, Mark, crying out, screaming. I panic afraid they are hurting him. I have waited too long. I want to go back to my dream. I want to yell at him, to let him know, but I can only quietly beg. "Sticky is dead… What do I do? What am I suppose to do? Please help me!!”
My head is spinning with delirium, lack of food, lack of sleep. I hadn’t realized how thirst could complicate breathing. That and fear were nearly suffocating me. I am hearing voices. The cold is making me… to… not think anymore… so numb. His voice blasting through like a loud radio with bad reception, “What is... this you’re… training this �" wake up �" make choices �" act �" your life is your training �" if you aren’t choosing to live… That isn’t life … You won’t be properly trained to live
I don’t get it… please… to sleep more.”
“Wake up!”
“I am awake just my eyes need to rest.”
“Take action now Avery.” It’s his voice, the dream who says he is my son. He is still with me.
“I’m awake!”
“Then act!”
I wake up flailing, silent but active; my muscles straining, determined. The twine meant to bind me is wrapped around and become taut �" it won’t stand much more pressure and I am filled with pressure. I my body filled with rage. I give the twine more pressure, much more. It snaps and I roll back. My pants have fallen around my knees and I trip. I grab them with one hand, and move stealthily back into the darkness feeling suddenly feral, like an animal. I crawl around the perimeter. I am unstoppable now. I have no fear; pure adrenaline and rage move me automatically. My hand searches in the dark and finds something solid, maybe a stick maybe a crowbar. I grab it, ready to use anything �" it’s all automatic now. I am no longer thinking, just moving. I am taking action. I am an unstoppable force. I creep slowly, my muscles tight, ready, even eager to unleash. I hold back, carefully circling around the perimeter; low… silent… deadly.
I hear him before I see him - the boy, Mark. He whimpers like an abused animal. That’s when I smelled it. I am not the only one stalking the boy. I hear the men in the camp, a snore, a grunt, maybe they are having nightmares. I can only hope. I find the twine holding Mark, and follow it to where it’s laced around a tire. The boy lay on the other side of the car which has been turned laying on its side, the twine tied to the top tire so too much pull and it might fall or so the boy might think, psychological terror was as rewarding as physical abuse to men like these … My body is shaking with rage the cold forgotten. I feel the car it is secure enough… I feel around trying to find something to wrap the twine around so I can snap it. I need more slack but don’t want to alert Mark. I am afraid he will cry out. The best I can find is a hard plastic piece of fender that is broken enough to maybe help saw through the twine. I pull trying to get enough slack to wind it around and end up pulling a bit on Mark’s leg. I see it jerk his leg and his entire body shudders… then I see where it is wrapped on his leg. It is cutting into him. His leg is covered in deep lacerations with dried blood around the wounds… He moans and I have to move where he can see me... I touch his shoulder and hear something behind me in the camp someone is coming… Mark opens his eyes and I put finger to mouth for silence his eyes get big and he looks just past me and I am unstoppable. I turn in one fluid motion still holding the heavy object and connecting with a man’s head. He goes down but it is loud and he isn’t out, just dazed.
The camp is instantly alive. They are yelling furiously though they can’t yet know why. “Hurry,” I say, “…help me.” But Mark is too scared. He stares with terror filled eyes. I swing again at the man and hear a gratifying thunk as I connect with his head. He falls and I see blood, but crap if he isn’t still conscious. Other men are coming and I turn, grabbing the twine, wrapping it around my hand and the car’s fender. Mark cries out as it burns into his bloody leg. I yank and pull, and behind me a man yells, “Hey…it’s the girl! She got free…” I growl, bending my legs and jerking the twine. I make Mark scream, but the wire snaps and we fall together into the dirt… I feel the vibrations in the ground, the sound of the hard boots hitting the earth, his laughter. He’s behind me. I turn, trying to grab my weapon, but it’s under his boot. He laughs again, not even a real laugh, just a vicious I got you laugh. He reaches down and takes my face in his hand. His hand is dirty, large and leathery, and covers my entire face. He is squeezing with his one giant hand, threatening to crush my skull as he lifts me up. Despair like a dirt shower washes over me…
Then we hear it. Deep throaty thunder, it is an animal’s rage, vicious and fierce �" a barrel drum rumble, a scream turned howl. I could feel the spittle of its reckless fury, the feral pounding of its feet. Its charge was invisible; loud as thunder, fast as lightening. Dangerous and electric, it came out of nowhere, flying at the man. Its teeth sink into his arm; he screams as the jaws and massive teeth crush down and near rip the arm off. The man falls … The creature’s back arches, inflating its appearance. Its head is low as it turns to stand between us and the men. Blood drips from its hungry jaws. The men back off. One says, “Get the staff!” which I think is a weapon. I grab Mark, and we are scrabbling, struggling to get away, to run in the opposite direction. Even backwards the creature keeps pace with us. Never taking his eyes off the men, he easily maintains his position between us and them. Then one of the men makes the fatal mistake of moving towards us, and it is upon him. The man turns to run, but he doesn’t have a chance until the creature slips in the blood pooling near the other man’s damaged arm. It rolls and soaks up blood…then leaps, covering the distance with ease, and takes a chunk of flesh with some cloth…then pauses as blood drips from the mangled meat dangling out the corners of its mouth, like raw burger in a fabric napkin, till his jaws snap on it too fast to see, and it is gone. His point is made... He again backs along our tracks, keeping between us and the men, perhaps protecting his next meal…
I pull Mark and we run and run, and Mark turns pulling on me to stop, and he says, “Wait! We have to wait for him!” “For who?” I ask. “You know… Him...” He says, pointing back towards camp. “You mean that monster thing…? That thing, that’s all covered with blood…,? That’s a wild animal Mark!”
“Yeah, that sticky thing!” he says, almost smiling. And then I remember. Sticky… “Sticky isn’t dead!” Mark starts calling to him, “Sticky… Come here, Sticky!”
He comes loping, doglike, out of the darkness, and Mark runs to him, throwing his arms around him. He is crying and laughing. Part of me thinks that is not the same animal, while another part thinks Mark is showing a lot more appreciation for that thing than he did for me. Anyway, there is no time… I grab his shoulder, “Let’s go…” And we do go. We run as far away as we can, until I stop and look around, trying to decide which way to go. Mark walks up beside me and points with confidence, a definitive gesture like he knows something. It catches me off guard.
He must know where we are! I am excited; and then just as quickly I am suspicious. How does he know? “Was it one of those men? Did they tell you where you should go?” He shakes his head no… “So tell me honestly, how do you know where to go?”
And his face lights up and he nods real big “ah hu I do”
“You do what?”
“Know where to go.”
“How do you know… who told you?”
“He told me.”
“Who… Who told you?”
“Joshua.”
I freeze. My breath catches; chills crawl up my back. “Wait… Who was that? Who did you say? Say it again…”
He doesn’t respond and my voice becomes tense bordering on hysterical, “Say that again, the name Mark, say it…”
“Joshua.”
My mind reels. I urge us on. There is too much to think about, too much to process… What is happening? What does it mean?
II Divine Rod
Eventually hunger and fatigue wear us down… “We must be getting close. But we won’t make it without food and rest…”
Mark has a long stick he is pointing like a finger. He pretends it is a ship and he is flying through space. He brings it in for a landing, setting it in front of me. “What’s this for?” He doesn’t answer. “Hello, did you want me to do something with this?” He shrugs. I do my best not to get annoyed. His ankle is swollen, and he hasn’t said a word. The least I can do is humor him, but we need food…
“Is this for a fire? We can’t make a fire, Mark. They would see the smoke…” He shakes his head, NO, with exaggerated swinging of his head. Then he rolls his eyes like it’s just so obvious.
“Alright, you made your point. Why don’t you just tell me what it’s for?
How about 20 questions? Is it for a fire, a bow and arrow? A fishing pole…
His face brightens.
“Is that it? A fishing pole, for these vast stretches of oceanic sea life… Were you thinking to dine on the famous dirt fish? Or should I try for the tire flounder? Maybe tonight we start our four course meal with hub cap cod, shoe lace salmon? Or would you prefer carburetor crab?
“D****t, Mark, I wish you’d just talk more… Sorry, but what am I suppose to do with this?!”
What he says next is both thrilling and scary. It comes out grown up like an order or instruction. It scares me because I don’t think it’s him. I mean, it’s Mark, but I hear the voice from my dream coming out of Mark. He points past me at nothing in particular that I can see, or maybe it’s something far away, and he says, “Learn.”
It is interesting and irritating, but my patience is already worn out, “Learn what? What Mark? What am I suppose to learn…? Help me!”
Mark shrugs and stares at the ground. We are in way over our heads. I can see he feels as helpless as I do. I just hope finding the wall will give us answers. I go and sit next to him and put my arm around his shoulder. “Okay I’ll go learn how to find food. You learn how to stay out of trouble… Really - stay here, stay quiet. Let Sticky do what Sticky wants, right? You’ll be alright if Sticky comes with me? Or you want Sticky to stay with you?” Mark smiles and spits in his hand then he offers it to me. “That’s disgusting don’t waste water.” His expression is serious so I make a sort of spitting sound into my palm and shake his hand. I assume we’ve just entered into some sort of contract. “Whatever makes you feel safe little guy.”
I trot off, pointing my finger stick like an idiot. I do my best to be confident but I am comical at best. After an hour of finding nothing, I wave my stick around like a witch casting spells. I am waving a magical divining rod as if I actually believe it will help me find water. After a time I say a spell or two, though I won’t repeat them in proper company.
It’s while waving the stick in circles around a particularly dry hill of dirt that I notice movement. It’s tall, standing in the distance. Carefully I creep towards it, trying to stay low and move slow. Is it a tree…? A tree anomaly…? A tree, out here? I approach with as much stealth as I can muster; practicing or, I suppose, learning. I hold my stick out for some manner of protection. It is the long nose of inquisition. The tree moves and I nearly take off running, but soon enough realize it isn’t going anywhere, just moving, like writhing. I approach it again, this time right up to it, and I can’t come up with the word termite, but I know that’s what they are.
Termites are swarming in and around the hill. Tiny, minute, barely visible movement gives them away �" it is different than the wind blown dust which similarly moves like a giant carpet beast. I move up close to inspect it and find little holes in the hill. My heart leaps. It is an insect hill! Which means something though I am not sure what. Does it mean food or water are nearby? Or are the insects themselves food?
I close my eyes to ask Joshua. “Joshua, I am here, living and learning, and I think I found something. Can you give me a little hint… Maybe a plate or something. And if you have any chicken, just put it on the plate… Seriously, Joshua, what am I suppose to do with bugs?” Not a big surprise, I get no answer. “Hello? Joshua, what did these bugs ever do to you? Don’t make me eat these bugs, Joshua!”
Looking back the way I came, I see my footprints. I don’t like leaving a trail, but it’s obvious no one has been here for a long time. There is one set of footprints as far as I can see. “I assume this means you are going to carry me back?” I kick at the hill, dig a bit, and look around for water…nothing. Finally I give up. Whatever the insect hill means, I can’t figure it out. I figure the best thing I can do is to mark the spot, continue my search, and later talk to Mark about it; maybe we can figure it out together or maybe Joshua will tell him while he sleeps.
I get up brush myself off and start walking. I realize I don’t have the stick. I better have that when I return to camp as it is, after all, a gift from Mark. That’s when I notice the end of the stick has bugs climbing it. I have an ‘aha’ moment. I can stick the stick into the hole and they will gather on it. I am pretty excited for a minute. But what am I going to do once I have the bugs? Am I going to eat them? Just swallow them? I am very hungry - maybe even hungry enough to do it. But can I? What if they are poisonous? Will they bite me? How does one test these things?
I decide to test by trying. I manage to catch one and pinch it between my fingers. I nibble on just a bit of it. It pops, which is disturbing. Then, once I manage to put it into my mouth, I bite down and it crunches, ewe. Luckily it is flavorless, and after a while I decide I can eat more. I still have to figure out how to get the food back to Mark, and probably Sticky is going to want some, though he really should be bringing us burgers by now. I am alone, so finally I pull down my pants. I take them off, then walk a bit and fold them before I set them down. I take the panties off and decide it is a good time to relieve myself despite having very little liquid waste available. Then I fold and tie the oversized panties into a net, like a holding bag, so I can have something to carry food back to camp. I eat them as I catch them. The worst part after the pop and crunch is the occasional bit of dirt. I feel pretty good and a bit too casual as I go to pop one in and it jumps in my mouth, like my mouth is closed on it and it’s hopping around... it is so gross. I spit it out as if that one is somehow different that the rest.
I head back to camp. I have more energy and feel less hungry - even less thirsty. Then my mind wanders. I imagine those men finding Mark. I try not to imagine things like torture, their laughter and then… things they would do… what they’d make me do… The more I try to not imagine it the more images come to mind… I pick up my pace, my heart starting to race. I’m nearly running when the landmarks I used to mark my trail to find my way back... all look the same… So many abandoned vehicles, the unchanging landscape. Like saying a word until it loses its meaning - the landscape, the images, all of it is meaningless. So many cars and trucks, it doesn’t mean anything… I panic and find myself running. Then I hear that single word ‘learn,’ and I stop. I remember his voice, his words, “You are in training”. I let his words, his cool calm voice, wash over me. It’s distracting, sensual - just what I need. Okay, then this is my training. I take some deep slow breaths, calm myself, and when I open my eyes it is once again familiar. I keep my head clear and walk confidently back to camp. It’s silent when I arrive.
Do I wake him and tend to his hunger or let him rest? Which will serve him better? He’s tossing and turning with Sticky nestled in close. Both are breathing with deep rhythmic calm. It’s soothing, synchronized sleeping. The sounds make me calm till Mark mumbles a bit and gets me to wondering if perhaps he is seeing Joshua. I want to wake him for food because I know how hungry he must be, but if there is a chance he is speaking to Joshua I can’t interrupt that.
I climb into the warmth, our bodies mingling with the food between us. I feel a wealth of well being, even happy. I imagine Mark waking to a full meal of satisfying, if a bit strange, food, with enough for me and Sticky to get some too - though Mark, I promise myself, is the first priority.
Joshua doesn’t come to me while I sleep. I wake several times, as I’m a light sleeper and each time I set my mind to a new question, but I never get anything. I am beginning to think it is all just a dream.
Way too early I am wide awake. I feel robbed of sleep. I’m always desperate for more, but I’m grateful that I wake for danger, and waking now I smell danger. It’s smoke, which means we are being tracked. They’re following us, and much closer than I thought possible. I leap into action, waking Mark with quick efficiency, and indicate quiet while packing our food and meager supplies. Mark has to shake his Sticky friend who is sleeping surprisingly well. I make a mental note to scratch watch dog off the list. The smoke isn’t far off �" but far enough that we can get away. My mind is racing with concern about being tracked. How are they doing it? What have I missed? How had they tracked us? What can we do different? I have no way to know, but with increasing anxiety I begin to suspect the game is rigged. We pack up and march on �" despite the danger we face, we still manage some levity. We grin or wag and are in general good spirits as we eat from my panties full of nutrient enriched food product.
“What do you think? Not too bad?” I ask. “They aren’t as good when they aren’t fresh.” It is harder for me to get them down in the light of day. “Neither is the grub,” he responds. I force a few down while I think about that and eye him suspiciously. Without the desperation they are pretty disgusting, but Sticky’s tail is wagging and Mark is grinning when he says, “Really they’re good.” I nearly choke trying to get one down, “Are we eating the same thing… you know those aren’t peanuts right?” His face grows wary as it occurs to him to wonder at what he is eating. “What is it?” He asks, with his sweet trusting face. Too late, I think, ignorance is bliss, and maybe I shouldn’t tell him. I try to be flippant. “It’s a fruity blend of bat balls mixed with a rare drop of exotic axle grease and a hint of fart dust. That’s where that fresh crunchy zest comes from. It’s one of our biggest sellers. Of course, that’s in large part due to the excellence of our packaging.” Mark glances over, looking disgruntled, but he keeps walking.
We see it in the distance the looming shadow of the wall. The end of the world, the place where we’ll find answers �" maybe even find Joshua, or at least what ever Joshua is; computer, person, deity, it’s all equally unrealistic… Well, not equally, but it’s unrealistic… My stomach knots. What if nothing is there? What will I do? What can I do? Nothing… The answers have to be there.
“Adam.”
“What?”
“My name…” he says. “It’s Adam.”
“You’re Mark and I’m Avery, deal with it”
As we near the giant wall it is clear no one has been here for a long time. An old cart rusted and weathered, beaten like a child’s wagon, sits out in the open, filled with what looks to be junk. Like someone taking their garbage out decided to leave it here in the middle of nowhere. We run to it anyway and begin going through it.
Up close we notice the wagon’s wheels have left a trail. Mark follows the trail while I go through the debris. When Mark comes back he is excited. He says, “Door,” and he points like a stupid ET doll.
“A door… For real…out here? No way!” I run to see for myself. The tracks end abruptly at a door.
A door out here in the middle of nowhere pressed up against the wall. I am filled with hope. My mind imagines heaven beyond that door. I savor the vision, opening and running through the door. I see beyond it, a place of light and beauty, where salvation awaits and food and water, and safety. Who would choose to believe otherwise?
There is rich green grass gently bending in a warm summer breeze, its fresh clean scent wafting through the air, with flowers, butterflies and bees. I can smell it.
I see myself lying down in a field of flowers watching the sky as birds drift in lazy circles. The sound of a splash; A beautiful pond of fresh water full of jumping fish… I can hear it.
But I stop fantasizing and chastise my childish whimsy. The time has come for fantasy to meet cold hard reality. It may be a dead end, a nothing to nowhere. I must stay grounded in the here and now and accept it for what it is. It looks so out of place built into a wall, a mountain, a hill. I dare not fathom what might be behind that door.
Inscribed on the door: “To a world of myth and world of lore place the key to find the core.”
I grab Mark “We need to find the key!” We start looking, then simultaneously look back at each other and point. “The garbage!” We run back and begin more carefully checking out each piece of wrapping, of scrap, of goo.
The first indication that it isn’t just garbage is when we find the box. It isn’t an ordinary box, it has an indented symbol with an M and an S inside of a circle. We open the box and find a tiny chest inside of it. It is heavy and feels like it probably has something important inside of it. I am nervous and stall for time, “What do you think is in it?” I ask Mark. Who just watches and says, “Open it.” Which I do, slowly, not sure what to expect, but maybe something sparkly or even a genie, like Joshua might pop out… But it is nothing - a solid flat stone shaped like a slice of pizza. It certainly isn’t a key. I try to hide my disappointment. I set it aside and continue going through the box. Then Mark picks it up and it changes! Suddenly images of the location where I first found Mark flash on a screen. I grab it and it fades, then lights up again, showing images like the path we walked and the old bus, even Sticky. It even shows still images of the bad men. They stand frozen with grimaces, like they’ve been posed in threatening positions with a fake backdrop behind them. They don’t even look real. Then it shows the termite mound.
“It must be a recorder or something that captures and plays back everything”
“Oh you think it watched and recorded what happened?”
“Not ‘it’.” Mark said, clearly excited, “Joshua - he’s recording everything!”
“Um, yeah, I doubt it.” I say, though part of me thrills at the idea. I thrust it at him. “Here, try talking to it.”
He takes it shakes his head no, and pushes it back at me.
“Okay I’ll talk. What should I say?”
He mumbles something like “I don’t know,” and shrugs. “Hello?”
I lean over, taking the stone from him, and speak into it, “Hello, is anyone there?” Nothing happens. “Breaker-breaker, we got an oh-niner-one-four on the loose, do you copy?”
Images start to scroll across the stones surface. Mark looks impressed and asks with too much enthusiasm “What did you say?”
“I said we got an oh-niner-one-four on the loose do you copy”
“Yeah I know that” he says exasperated, “but what does it mean?”
“You sure do get chatty when you’re excited… “
“Come on what did you say?”
I have no idea, it just came to me”
We watch the images as they flash by. Eventually recognizable patterns appear, but they are too fast to make sense of. I count the sequences, and a pattern appears. It’s showing a series of four images and repeating four times, and then switching to another sequence of four images. One set showing the stone pie and three just like it, all set together forming a circle surrounded by doors. Then the men, and then the scenery, then my viewing is interrupted by Mark as he squeals and points enthusiastically to an image, which I only get a glimpse of because Mark has distracted me by pointing it out. It is us - or could have been us… the image changes too quickly to be sure. It is this location with us, or people just like us, kneeling or sitting right here. We wait for it to come around again, but the sequence has changed. Mark wants to hold the stone, so I hand it to him and he holds it up to his mouth and speaks with as much authority as his little voice can muster, “We got an oh-niner-four-dash on the moose do you copy?” The images change and show flashes of animals, many different animals. As the images scroll through, the animals grow, changing with each sequence. Then we see Sticky! We are both excited; I say “Let me try again!”
I take the stone and just to experiment say, “We got an oh-niner-one-four on the goose do you copy?” The stone goes back to flashing the same images it had already shown. On a hunch I hand it to Mark and say, “This time just ask for a large pizza.” He takes, it and even as he places his order it goes back to scrolling the images of animals. “Alright genius let’s finish looking through this chest and see if we can figure this out.”
I’ve gone through the wagon several times. Everything else in it is junk. Taking a deep breath I say, “I’m going to try the door.” Mark jumps up. “I’m coming too!”
“Okay but let me go in first….it could be dangerous.” I slowly open the door and peek in… Totally black, there is nothing but darkness. I step inside, feeling around gingerly with my toe. The door slams shut behind me. I feel panic, and take a calming breath. As my eyes adjust, I feel behind me there is my door. I can see well enough to see four more doors all around a circle in the center of the floor. There are four sections in the circle floor. I know one section I’ve seen before �" that’s the key! The key to the door! The section had the same pattern as the stone we found!
I turn back and push open the door, relieved to find it will open. “Mark run back and get it, that thing that stone thing is the key!” He returns out of breath gives me the stone, and I rotate it, line it up, and begin lowering it into place… Even as I set the stone into the circle I feel it pulling like a magnetic force seeking the stone and pulling it into place. It slides in with a satisfying click, and a little half moon at the tip glows. Three more pieces will complete the circle. Then what happens? Does each door require its own key? Which door do I go through next?
I pick one at random and begin turning the knob. The rest is blurry.
I was entering the door. I looked to the boy only he wasn’t the boy anymore. Mark was gone, or there was no Mark. What’s there now is grinning maniacally and transforming. It lunged at me and I almost got away. It’s still recognizably Mark but mutating quickly. I leapt back but what had been his fingers connected with mine. They were like barbs hooking and clinging. I couldn’t shake them off. He pulled himself towards me like a climber scaling a mounting, his hooks unhooking and re-hooking, the sharp barbs piercing my flesh. His eyes were sliding up his head, as if his skin were made of fabric being pulled off a bowling ball. His grin widened as he came closer. Its clothes are gone. Its arms are opened wide; it is inviting me, embracing me until I can hear its thoughts. It is joining with me climbing inside of me.
It’s a virus, a parasite that now exists, grows, embeds itself in me I don’t know what it will do, how it will affect me, or if it will kill me But I have to figure out how to get rid of it and fast!
The door to my left bursts open and there is a massive explosion of light. I gasp, looking back even as I’m stepping forward, and I see her through the blinding light - like staring at the sun… A girl my height. She is looking back behind her and away from me. The light pierces my mind - I am not allowed to see. She’s entering, and she’s swinging something like a dead raccoon attached to a hideous brown carcass like a bear skin. That’s what sticks with me, what I remember, though my brain wants to block it all out. It’s like the rest is being kept from me. Like looking at Medusa’s head - too much to take in - my mind has to escape the unreality of it all…and I am left with an imprint in my memory �" everything else is blocked out.
II Girl In Training City
I wake to the sounds of screeching tires and honking horns. My body curls fetal in response, waiting for impact. I smell asphalt, rubber, oil, tire smells, rain and wet clothes. My clothes are unwashed and soiled with human waste, probably my own.
I am lost and forgotten, my mission, my purpose, my friend,
my Mark, all gone. I open one eye and see a couple, snickering as they look
back, not hiding their ridicule or their laughter, like scorn, like shame,
aimed at me and hitting the bulls-eye. I
feel my face flush red. I’m here, training…the lesson, he said… I have to find
a key and find myself. Yes…I have to
find myself. Or is that me across the
street, the advertisement in the window.
Such a lovely woman, swinging her shiny black purse, her little black
skirt; so short you’d think it a belt but for the wind blown loose frill. It
dances up and down her forever long legs.
Such a successful on-the-go woman - she can handle it all. Is that the me I am looking for? By my reflection,
it’s not the one I’m going to find. Another horn, this one louder, compression breaks and water - a wave splashes over me; a morning shower of mud and hate. I dare to open one eye as a yellow submarine shark pulls up alongside. It opens its mouth showing off rows of razor teeth, as a uniformed man leans out. He is compelled but not willing, and asks dismissively if I'm waiting for the bus. I throw the shark a bird to feed its hungry ire.
I'm drenched on a bench at a bus stop. Information floods in like the rain all around me, rushing in torrents, trying to drown me, flying newspapers hitting me in the face with today’s titillations…forcing me to look at their children, their banks, the wealthy who want our thanks, the poor, the blacks, the fancy men in slacks…most of the knowledge is lost to the city's sewers, as if fleeing me for the safety of the dark-like ignorance it wants to wash away, drain away from the world of light. My final fragments of a lost mind, My bits of dry-sponge-self, my protected backside rolls off the bench to swim in the cacophony of the city’s wisdom, to soak up and absorb that which can’t be known.
More screams, as revulsion overwhelms a woman of wealth - she is nearly touched by a hunched up creature. I feel for her. The monster returns the old lady’s screams tenfold. It cries out in reply like two howling wolves, the cries of loneliness and misunderstanding which become screams of fear and defense as others move into formation. A civilized society following its laws ‘protect the wealthy old w***e in her animal fur and entitled wealth’. Ladies and gentlemen, this is not a drill we are in a battle zone - stations, stations - last call for alcohol. I realize I am the beast, the creature reaching for the woman's life, her wealth, her purse. I need that, and only realize I need it as I reach for it and understand my hunger and her wealth, my cold and her warmth, her luxury and my poverty. I am an angry monster and she is a civilized safety. She does not want to see me, or know me, or care about me ... I jump through her defenses. I laugh, I hold up my arms in victory. I am surrounded. The police have arrived.
I cannot be detained, refrained or held back. I have a purpose here. I am not a monster… I am… not just a monster. I bow my head and pull my arms in tight, becoming small, invisible. Bending over, I apologize and try to move past. The wall of bodies does not open. I am scared. I continue apologizing, but I have no voice. I look for an opening. Finally my untethered movement, my putrid proximity, burns a hole in their façade. I am a flame to these wax dummies. I bend these men of steel. I become a snake and slither through the hole, feeling the hard steel bulge of their weapons as I pass. One gropes me, grabs my apples that have long since rotted and do nothing now but dangle from the vine. They aren't worried for me. They won’t eat my fruit of knowledge, afraid of worms, they are. No, their concern is the assault on the poor old wealthy woman and her dog if she has one. “I think she has one…” I inform the man walking next to me. "I remember her having one; a tiny poodle with curly white hair. It’s mottled and turning brown like s**t. Probably out to get groomed with a pretty pink bow, whether girl or boy, don’t matter snot once she’s trained it to be what she wants it, is what it is, which is what she makes it, and on that score I bid her no ill will." To wit the aged man with whom I am sharing the story excuses himself politely enough, and continues on in a different direction.
“Which is just as well and good and not a problem…” I assure the lovely strawberry blonde, “…not a problem at all I assure you… And aren’t you just the loveliest thing. Such a young women fresh on her way to the mall, or from school, or out of the shower. Now, am I right - you go on and tell me now, which it is.” Her smell, a lovely apple scented strawberry field of intoxication. I can’t tell if she was me, or what I wanted to be, or the thing I was seeking and needing to see… I am set to follow her regardless of having words or not. We have been friends before, I can feel that for sure. This is my people, family maybe, the guide to take me back where I am to be. I have some hope she is leading me where I am destined to go. I have a strong sense of purpose walking with her, and remain confident we are in fact supposed to be together. “Though regarding these pets, these dogs…” I feel it pertinent to add, "This ownership notion of creatures as pets is not a perfect balance of equality and respect for nature and planet, and balance, and in the end is a reflection of our own enslavement to a system of property-minded entitlement. We lose our freedom by..." I stop because she has stopped, and looks scared and confused. She wants to run, and I am scared for her. I want to help her, of course, but of course I have my own fears and whatnot to consider. Of course before I can assist her I must first clarify that which needs be clarified, “Don’t be jumpy, the dog’s fine. It’s on its meds, properly cared for, a well-balanced diet. It will be fine. A little grooming stress, but a full night’s sleep, a good butt wiping, and that little poodle will be running circles around us both.” We share a good laugh at that. We are so hitting it off. It feels so good to have found a friend. We get back to our brisk-paced adventure. We are so like-minded, like she knows the importance of hurrying.
I hear someone say, “Loony tunes,” and a generalized titter of laugher, to wit I nod and bow, explaining that “The crazy and I was just a crazy, and this is not my fight. There are going to be many fights like this one… This one, and this one, but this one is not my fight.” We walk on with reasonable calm for a while, though I admit she keeps quite a pace. Then I see them rushing up the street, hanging out in trees, hiding behind bushes. I cannot help but beg. "The cops are coming, please help me, please." The girl’s face is flushed. In part it’s our pace, amazing pace, oh the pace on this girl. I could keep up only because I am scared. I am going to get caught - but I can’t get caught. I have to make her understand, "I can't get caught, they'll hurt me. They always hurt me." Desperate to enlist her support, I would say anything. She turns, and weaves, and dodges, and does her best to help me elude the cops… She tries to lead us away from the cops, to take me where I need to go. We start running up stairs through a college campus with its lovely large trees and well-manicured grass, over the cobble stone plaza, the central gathering place of so many young and talented kids. They look so grown up. My heart is pounding and I want to sing. This looks right. This is going to be the meeting place where those in league with the cause will join. Our final stand in battle against the forces that have been set upon us... Alas, it is not to be, as the cops with high-tech communications and transport teleporter mind control eventually brake through our screening defenses and encircle us.
"Run!" I scream for her to run. It is my last act of defiance to help her - to save the pretty strawberry girl. I turn to stall them, to give her time to get away, and she just stares. "Run!" I scream, and twirl a dance of crazy arms wide eyes bulging threat. I am surrounded and I am a demon, fighting for the life of the girl. These cops these aren’t normal cops, of course; these were Special Forces, all tactically trained off planet. The largest man, maybe 9 feet tall, stands with his hands on his hips, his nine inch teeth bared, he threatens, "Calm down or we kill the kid." I have them all. Only two trail casually with Strawberry, floating in her scent as she drifts away, intoxicating them, taking them as her slaves. She can make it, I just have to make my sacrifice. I howl and dive at the giant. I am the blade, the knife, the blinding knife, the weapon, cutting, spinning with blinding speed. I whirl, venom flying from my mouth, my hands as claws, my feet as hammers. I am a tool made for destruction. They call on their gods then. I feel the sky open and fire rain down. My body absorbs the light, the electricity flows through me, makes me stronger. But I become too strong. I cannot hold the power. The Strawberry has escaped. I've done all that I can. I collapse. My mission has failed, but I’ve saved the girl.
I am smiling even as I fall to the pavement. "You're not Dr. Adam," I say, though of course it isn’t Dr. Adam, it’s Joshua. I haven’t even met Dr. Adam yet; at least not in this timeline….wait, that triggers something. “Please, continue…” His voice comes as a vibration, head tilted in my direction, though that may be part of his illusion. "Your tricks won't work on me, just so you know," I say, sitting with quiet dignity, having no one here to threaten me. "Why do you think you're here?" He asks, as if we didn't both know.
"I won't talk. I won't tell you where the girl is"
"What would happen if you told me where the girl is?"
I laugh, "You'd go get her and use her like you're trying to use me."
"What is it we want to use you for?"
"F**k you piece of s**t cocksucker!"
I can’t help myself, rage rushes through me. It’s their machines crashing into my mind, pounding against my defenses. I am in survival mode. Everything is a threat. Security rushes in. I am dragged out so they can poke and prod and spray and disinfect the germs, and put me in a cage where I am told to rot, dirty s**t cocksucker.
II Psych Eval Day 2
I am not going to say anything. I wasn’t going to say anything. I refused to speak. I was determined. The doctor is an intolerable idiot and I can’t help myself - I have to say something.
“I’ll be honest….” He says, as all liars do… “…My initial impression was of a chronic homeless person with a likely history of drugs, at a minimum alcohol, abuse, possible prostitution, and I would have bet on a lifetime of mental institutions and mental health issues. However, after the nurses scrubbed cleaned and dressed you in fresh clothes, their report had me curious. It suggests you are a healthy athletic young woman with no scarring, no needle tracks, no stretch marks, and unnaturally smooth skin. Now seeing you in person, I’m glad I waited to file my assessment. This is an unusual case. I am interested to hear your story. If you’d be willing to share it.”
“Yes, thank you. Oh, I’m so glad someone will finally listen. I can’t share everything, but I’ll tell you what I will be willing to share. I will be willing to share my foot with you, if you will be willing to bend over.”
He raises one eyebrow, and I can see he wants to smile with his smug satisfaction, but instead he takes his pen and writes his smile into words. "I'm sorry…” he says “…that made you angry didn't it? Before, you mentioned a girl. Can you tell me who she is, or is that secret?"
“Coulda, woulda shoulda…” I stare my challenge, but he keeps his cool. We wait a spell for I decide to tell. “Okay…” I yell, “She’s the strawberry girl” See what he does with that.
I enslave, I am enslaved; like a puppet I dance on the end of his needle. I am forced meds and forced rest and forced to return, and parts of me I see, I see parts of me returning three.
Day five and still alive.
We are making progresss, though I don’t know if he knows. He’s helping or time is helping, or maybe it’s just the process, or the meds. Who knows what helps us through this crap. Maybe it’s everything lining up to serve our quest for healing.
I begin opening up, sharing my process as it unfolds for me, feeling safe in part because I can always hide behind insanity.
“We aren’t on Earth - we are on a ship hurtling though space towards Earth.”
“A ship?’’
“Yes, a ship… designed to appear as a meteor.”
“Why are we heading towards Earth and not away? Are we returning from somewhere, or are we aliens?”
“Yes. No. Sort of… We are not we - only me. You - a maybe, a clone, a test, an idea. Me and three, we are an answer, a response to a question.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not following.”
“Earth sent a package out into space, a time pod containing information about your cultures, your language, your media, your DNA, your mathematics and technological developments… This… This pod, this me - is the reply.”
“So, Earth sent out a time capsule with cultural information, and an alien culture found that pod and responded by sending back a meteor filled with people?”
“No they sent back the mathematical reply to the equation that was sent to them.”
“And what was the equation?”
“DNA.”
“Ahhh, I see. The mathematical equation was human DNA, so they created us…? They created people, so we could say ‘Hello earthlings, look it’s us earthlings’…? And what about the city, and the hospital, and an entire culture - how did they manage all that?”
“Massive amounts of cultural data and information media, etc, are contained in time capsules”
“So, they recreate us as best they can, and send it back inside of a meteor-shaped ship for what purpose?”
“No, they didn’t create us, they created me and maybe some clones. I don’t know. Most of this - you, the city, all of it - is a lie. It’s a green-screen fabrication, a training session.”
“Training for you … the only one who’s real…because everyone else is fake…?” Again with the eyebrow lift. “And what would they be training you for?”
For my arrival on Earth I have to learn what it means to be human. The information in the capsule about the struggles, the hardships, the values - I have to pass tests to make sure I am fully actualized or prepared.”
“And if you aren’t fully prepared?”
“The ship won’t stop. It can’t stop until I pass the tests.”
“Oh, tests. Tell me about these tests?”
“There are four keys. Each key belongs to a testing zone where I have to learn certain lessons, skills. I don’t even know what, but I have to pass that phase to get the key to go through the next door, and I have to have all four before we arrive.”
“Why what is the significance of all four.”
“I’m not sure, but I think maybe they operate as the landing beacon, or breaks, but none of it will matter. If I don’t get the keys, we won’t stop, we won’t survive.”
“Will you crash into the earth?”
“I don’t know, maybe we’ll just shoot on by”
“And what would happen then?”
“I have no idea. Maybe we’d run on an infinite loop. Maybe there are already others out their, existing in holographic ignorance in orbit. Maybe we’re just one of an endless cycle that just keeps burning up in the atmosphere as we try to get to Earth.”
“What would be your point…? What is it you want?”
Talking with him was exasperating.
“You are like a broken record what is it YOU want?”
“My only want is to help you. My job is to diagnose you - to find out what’s interfering with you ability to integrate and function smoothly in society.”
“What’s that suppose to mean? If I’m not like everyone else, if I’m not a sheep, if I’m different or I disagree, then I’m a problem?”
Cue signature eye brow.
“If you feel you are having a problem, I want to help you manage those feelings and problems. If you need help with housing, food, finances or transportation, I want to help. If you need emotional support, medication, or medical care, I wan to help. I get paid to help - that’s it. And it’s all free for you to take advantage of, or not, as you see fit.”
“Really…?”
“Really. Unless you are a threat to yourself or others. When you arrived there was some concern that you might be a threat to yourself or others, and part of what has to happen before you leave is to assess and determine if that’s an issue, and how to resolve it to ensure that everyone stays safe and secure. Does that make sense?”
“Yes… Yes, I suppose it does…”
Suddenly I blurted out, “I just, I have to find Mark and the other key.”
“Is Mark a Friend?”
“I’m not sure the name just came to me”
“And what about the key…” He paused, watching me as I watch him watching me. My eyes dilate like dangerous beacons flashing a warning. He backs off
“Maybe we can take a break and meet again after lunch. Would you be amenable to that?”
Day twenty it’s about the money. Afternoon session.
“I think we’re making progress.”
“Why is that.”
“My memory is flashing information like advertisements triggering data shopping sprees, bits and pieces are coming back.”
“Tell me more.”
“I remember an event a trigger… Something happened… I’m part of a collective, a set of four �" we are the same four. There are four for each key until there are no more.”
“There are four of you.?”
“No there is one of us in four parts - each part a piece of the whole; well each part is the whole. We are the same person four times, engaged in four trainings and completing. We engage the key and reunite as the one.”
“The one what?”
“Let me finish. It sort of flows randomly through me like waves that flow in and out … I went through the door I looked back and saw me the other three but of course it was four and many more and it was too soon to see too way before �" it was just a glimpse a glance, I was stepping out and I… she, we were stepping in and suddenly everything all of it contained in the core was visible each of the four tried to become the one in me �" but I hadn’t completed my training �" it was too much and I crashed mentally. Do you see?”
“See what?”
“Do you see that I need the key, the other three that are part me, do you see that we for us to be I need that key”
“Does the rhyming help you to remember?”
“I don’t know. It may be that like a pneumonic system the brain has information stored by pattern, and utilizes rhyme as a method for recall.”
He thought for a bit, looked at his watch and said, “Our time is up for today. I’m going to suggest an exercise. If you’re up for it I’d, like you to take a notepad and spend some time writing down whatever comes to you regarding this key, Mark, meteor, the four, etc. Would you be up for doing that?”
“Of course. I think it’s an excellent idea. I know I keep coming out of left field and barely make sense most the time, but I really feel like I’m making progress.”
“That’s good. I’m very happy to hear that. Of course we can expect some dips as well. It’s important to be prepared for the occasional digression, so we don’t feel entirely derailed”
“Yes, of course, good point. Alright, well, I’m excited to get started on doing some, what did you call it? Free association? Yes, I am excited to try it!” I get up and head for the door.
The doctor looks all swollen with self satisfaction. “Good day, Avery. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you on the morrow, Doc.” I walk out, almost sad knowing he plans to up my medication. I understand, and it makes little difference, as I’m not ever going to see him again. Still, it feels like a betrayal.
I have no way to know what his role is, or if my being here is significant. No way to know if it’s part of my training. Perhaps the entire hospital scenario is a setup to manipulate or drug me, gain my confidence and get information. Perhaps the doctor is a genuine therapist or, as I’d originally thought, perhaps it’s the actual Joshua tapping into this reality to correct an errant tool, or fool, as the case may be. Regardless, establishing my independence and clarity of mind are essential for moving forward. I have a mission, or training, or some sort of test to tend to even if I haven’t figured out what it is yet. I’m gambling that the best way to work it out is to get out and about and let the pieces fall into place.
Of course, I’ve been preparing for this day. Every day, every interaction is preparation, gaining trust, building repartee, establishing routes, all with an eye towards my departure. However, even though I can walk away, nothing makes me more aware of how not free I am than finding my self without money. Thus my first steps which started long ago were slow, baby steps, showing gradual improvement in temperament, mood, and socially gregarious awesomeness. I had to establish a relationship that could present me with cash. First I established trust and camaraderie with the doctors and security that rotated between office and transport. Once I gained the doctors’ confidence, the security became pretty laid back, more of an escort now which allowed me to take more liberties, and they paid little mind to my bathroom stops in the buildings, and my habitual distractions such as window shopping on the street. All intentional actions established to afford me this particular moment in time where the combination and enthusiasm of my rational interest has engaged and amused my escort, until the window shopping became venturing in for a quick peek, and an. “Oh dear, please can I borrow a bit of cash? I just have to have that…” Followed by a bathroom break to the door previously scouted in the back, and like a leaf in fall I am blown away and lost in the foliage, just another anachronism running out of time.
My first objective is to scout around for the basics. I need clothes, more money, a place to sleep, a friend or support network… I learn quickly of women’s shelters, libraries, shopping centers with food samples, homeless lines which I call rainbows, at the end of which sits a pot of soup. I keep to myself while I assess those around me. I am looking for resources, friends who can help me. I meet a few women from the battered women’s shelter and the library who have potential; people who have money, resources connections. Then I see a help wanted sign in the window of a thrift store, and know I could do this on my own. Within the week I am folding and hanging clothes and getting trained for the register.
If you can call it training. My manager is Gloria. Everyday she mistakes her employees for crap she needs to wipe off her shoes when she arrives to work. We are not well respected, nor do we have any respect for her. It however, serves a reasonable function in creating a very tight bond between me and the other employees, which is, if not its purpose, at least a silver lining. Anyway, they are the ones who really show me the ropes �" between them and learning as I go, I am a veritable old-timer before the end of my first month. People do not last long in the industry no thanks to managers like Gloria. I am quickly rising in not only competence but responsibility. Upon arriving one morning Gloria informs me I am to meet with her and her boss, Mr. Doherty.
I grow progressively anxious as the day wears on. It makes for a very long day, and more than one mistake. Is it a review, a promotion, a mistake, the doctors? I go for lunch and nearly keep going, thinking I’ll just move on. But in the end I am too curious, I have to know… So I go with sweaty palms and shaky knees, ten minutes early, to wait for them. They are late. They are always late. Fifteen minutes late is customary, expected and proper for them, while 15 minutes early for me is expected. Finally Gloria shows up, oblivious or indifferent to my discomfort. “Hey, sorry I’m running a bit behind schedule. Mr. Doherty needs to reschedule.” She bustles about the room getting herself coffee, with a constant eye to her phones messages. “Apparently he overbooked his clients, and needs to do some shuffling…” She paused long enough to send a text message, “…which means he’s out golfing or fishing… So, sorry. Anyway I’ll let you know when we can reschedule, as soon as he gets back and lets me know! ‘Kay…bye!” She manages a lap around the table and just keeps going right out the door, while I sit, unsure if she’s even confirmed my presence in the room.
I call this my lesson in handling stress. I don’t have kids to beat or booze to drink; I want to run, but not away from my stress. If I am not confident and secure, I need to address that and grow my ability to sit with the anxiety. There is going to be stress; breathe through it. I decide to go for a run, have some comfort food, and meditate.
Having accomplished that, I feel much better but I still can’t stop thinking about it. How do people distract themselves? Pick a fight with a loved one? I can’t do that. Watch some mindless TV or green screen? How about I try some art, or a book, or a walk… Maybe I should just call Gloria and quit. F**k it. Exercise, hot bath, masturbation, glass of wine, a good book.
Problem solved. Slept like a baby.
The days are getting longer and I am waking up earlier. Today I am up early the smell of spring all around, fresh cut grass, warm breezy air. I decide to skip coffee and get out for a longer run around the lake. I love this route and this time of day, the warm sun glistening on the water. It’s the quiet before the storm. I try not to think of anything, to let my mind drift with the sounds of the water, the rhythm of my breath, the slap of my feet and the feel of the fresh morning dew mingled with the sounds of the city waking up. A dog barks and slowly, as my route brings me closer to the city, I began to hear the sounds of heavier traffic, horns and machinery.
A homeless man lay curled fetal and fetid like an animal’s rotting carcass on the city sidewalk. I give him wide birth, noting his look, which is at least asleep if not dead. So it startles me when he yells out to me, “Hey lady, I been waiting for you!”
I keep going.
“Come back lady! I got a monkey - I got a monkey!” He yells after me. “I got a monkey for you to adore…ha ha ha!” He laughs.
Fortunately the reschedule with Gloria and her boss is only two weeks away. To my surprise, they are not the longest days of my life. I focus on work and the costumers, and doing the best job I can. The day of the meeting I am a little high strung. I am wearing a short black skirt, which is a little tight, and a white button up blouse. I want to look alluring and professional. This desire is new to me, and I feel ridiculous. As meeting time approaches, I gather my possessions for a quick getaway just in case things go south. I see my reflection and am taken back to my first day here, and the woman in the advertisement. It’s quite amusing to see her reflected in myself. “Looks like a found myself after all,” I think. I ignore Gloria as she indicates she is heading up for the meeting. I take some pleasure in her obvious expectation that I follow her, and even offer her a smile when she looks back in confusion. Then I keep busy folding and organizing until I see Gloria’s boss, the bigwig CEO of the branch, pull up and get out of his car, talking on his phone as he strolls in, waves, and we both go up to find out my fate.
When we are seated he makes some idle chit chat, and I take it as a good sign that Gloria is being friendly. Then he launches his attack. “Gloria has this store under control. We have a fairly high turnover rate, which she is working on, but the store is otherwise showing record profits.” At this point I am sure the hammer is falling, and I am focusing all my energy in staying composed and acting professional. “As I understand it you are a large part of this store’s success.” I perk up, surprised, toss a suspicious glance to Gloria whose expression remains neutral. The reason I wanted to see you is that I, rather we, would like to offer you a position managing our central branch.
Monkey II
I never did find out what Gloria’s angle was. I’ve taken over the central branch and already in my first month I have a solid routine and a solid team. I say, “We work together as partners. My job is supervision. That’s just a position, not a hierarchy. We’re in this together.” No one trusts the idea that we are partners. Several are pushing boundaries, others are so habituated to the authoritarian style they just stare at me when I ask them to step up, to contribute, to work with us as our partner. Asking them to lead is like asking for a harassment suit. It is taking a lot more patience than if I just tell them what to do, but over time things are changing. They have started talking about a sense of pride and purpose in their work which I hope translates into a sense of pride and worth in themselves. They are beginning to see the store and their contribution as a reflection on them, and that is reflected in our service, our output, and our profits �" which I want to funnel back to them but so far management isn’t sold on the idea.
Before work and at lunch I have a routine. I run in the morning and then walk at lunch, always a different route and always with an eye for the stone, for the mark, or a potential contact. I don’t know if that is part of the testing or training but I want to see Mark again. So while I try to stay open and hopeful for any contact, it’s really Mark I want. He was my first friend and I miss him, funny thing is I don’t even know if he’s real. My past always lingers on my mind like a lost taste to my tongue; it’s vague and unclear, like a dream waiting for a déjà vu, a suspicion waiting for confirmation. The only thing I know for sure is that I have to find a key in the form of a stone and a door.
I see him again, the homeless man, while I am running. Then again the next day, and then the next. And each day I try to sneak past, and each time he see me and shouts through his laughter, “It’s a monkey for you, for you to adore, it’s your monkey…”
I consider calling the police but I have an aversion to authority. Instead I change the time of my run. He is there. I give him money, food, a coffee a new coat. I try asking him nicely. Finally I give up and change my route. A few days later I’d turn a corner and see him curled up, unmoving. His carcass huddled in some new corner; and no sooner do I see him, than once again his body starts tittering with laughter and he starts taunting me about the damn monkey.
I achieved a huge milestone today. I was asked to not only attend the annual sales conference, but to give a presentation on leadership and management. I am on cloud nine. The sun is out, and people have that sort of friendly outgoingness that sunny days create. Instead of walking, I skip and try to whistle. I am not good at either, which makes me laugh. I am wearing a cute white summer dress and my hair is bouncing in the wind. I pass an old lady who shouts at me. I look back at her, and my hair freshly washed leaves a scent in the air. I take off running in horror as I realize I am the strawberry girl.
I run and run until I am too tired to continue. Then I look around and laugh. No one is following me. I smelled my hair and had some sort of PTSD fit, no big deal - get a hold of yourself and get back to work. On my way back, I pass by a school yard with children who are laughing and playing. They scream and squeal and yell and shout and sing with joy and fright… so much innocence. So much wonder and adventure ahead; scratched knees, bruised egos, broken hearts…what a ride. I miss it… the innocence of children, not the other crap. I laugh with the kids. I am happy with my accomplishments, but seeing them I want more, other kinds of accomplishments, like a child’s first birthday…then I stop. I saw something…something about the playground….a few blocks away and I finally realize what it is.
The wagon… I saw the wagon. I stop dead still as my mind digests this revelation. My heart is pounding. I’ve been fishing so long I forgot I had my line in the water, and now I’ve landed a big one… but I have to untangle my line… this is my target. I don’t know how I know, but this is what I’m after. I am happy and confused and excited and scared. I want to run to get it, but I have to get back to work. What if it’s gone when I come back? I trip over my conflicting desires. I don’t quite fall but I cannot let this get away. I take a breath. I am once again over-reacting. I breathe, gain some composure. It’s school property. The wagon is safe here. I can leave and come back for it anytime. I feel better, though still filled with anxiety. I head back to work, making sure I remember the location of the school.
Assimilation II
It took just over a year, but I’ve been promoted to district manager. At our annual Christmas party I am given a bonus, and from Andrew a rather gauche, by which I mean ridiculous, fluffy fur coat that I refer to as the raccoon. I politely ask him to stop buying me gifts, but he says it’s his way of keeping me from a life of crime. Andrew is a young man, a volunteer at the elementary school up the street. We met one rainy day months ago when he happed upon me stealing a little wagon. I’d gone back to the elementary school after closing time, and it was on the playground waiting for me. I took the handle and started walking away, when behind me I hear, “Did you lose your wagon?” Those were the first words he said to me.
“Oh, hi… No…” was my well thought out reply. “…I’m Avery.” I stuck out my hand, acting casual while desperately I tried to think of a reasonable explanation for being here and stealing a wagon.
“I’m Andrew. Nice to meet you”
“You work here, Andrew?”
“I volunteer here, yeah.” We stand awkwardly, each waiting for the other to say something. Finally I say, “Well, I guess I can run this up to the covered area.” As if that was my intention all along. It’s weak.
He points in the other direction. “Yeah, the covered area is that way,” He is starting to look amused. I stop him.
“Andrew, I am stealing this wagon. I need this wagon. I don’t know why but I have to have it… Please don’t think I’m crazy… does that sound crazy?”
He laughed, “Yes, yes it does.” Then he seemed to reconsider. “I’m just giving you a hard time. It’s not crazy. These wagons are pretty cool…but why don’t you just buy one?”
I am not a good liar. “I’ve been looking all over They’re really hard to find, and this one is the spitting image of the one I had as a kid.”
Despite my red face and obvious lie, Andrew continues talking to me as if we are old friends. “When I was a kid I had a little red wagon, and when I’d get mad at my parents I’d put everything I owned in it, which was a race car, a teddy bear, and a toy soldier, and I’d run away from home.”
We laugh for a bit, and I think, he’s going to let me have this! Then he says, “I still can’t let you take the wagon.”
D****t! I had to think quickly. “Okay. How about I just come by now and again and visit with the wagon?” His face lights up…he thinks I am flirting with him. He agrees to let me visit with the wagon so long as it’s a supervised visitation.
Jogging by the school to visit with the wagon and chat with Andrew is part of my daily routine. When Andrew asks me out, I tell him I have to think about it. Finally I agree but insist, “It can’t interfere with my visits to the wagon.” He laughs because he thinks I’m joking. It’s Friday night and we meet in front of the elementary school because it’s familiar, and because I want to walk. I inform him of my expectations. “I want this to be a casual hangout thing… not a date.” He is amused, but I don’t think he’s convinced. We have fun and laugh a lot. I notice how blue his eyes are, his lips are rich and full and soft. I could see myself kissing them. It feels good to imagine being with someone, though I avoid any potential romance. I keep him at a safe distance and never sit in one place for too long. Still he asks me out again, and then again, and finally I invite him to my place. He arrives and has a present for me. I hide my annoyance behind a smile and a hug. I am not thrilled becoming part of this cultural system of bribery. But I cross my fingers for something simple, maybe a bottle of wine. He tells me to close my eyes, and when I open them there in my living room sits the wagon. I leap at him and he almost catches me. It’s an awkward funny moment. I have to put my foot down to keep him from falling, but otherwise it is much fun and we have a great time watching a movie and eating snacks. He continues telling stories about the wagon as if I have some weird thing for wagons. It is a weird farce I am forced to encourage. But I am overjoyed to have my wagon. He say’s it belongs to the Templeton boy, goes by Joshua now. No one knows his story real religious family, keep to themselves.
II Joshua Templeton Crazies
1 Suzie Q
Dad’s daughters were dirty. He watched them dancing, it made him mad. He tore their dresses down. Demanded they go to the cellar and dig. So they did they dug and dug and I hid out.
They never came back up. But they isn’t dead. I hear them and when they aren’t a wailing I talk to em. I bring em water and food when I can, though I aint get much and not sure they get it. All I do is drop it down a crack from above.
They all is stuck down their under the dilapidated dwelling. Dilapidated is a term for when you beat up and run your hand down someone’s privates.
Them girl was delighting in the darkness summoning the devils danger. Now they damned. I reckon I’m gon get that little one out. I been digging now a fourtnight, that means four nights in a row.
Mah pa dun got the lord all his life. Now he been gon feed me the lord ways most my life. Gots his ticket to heaven savin me, givin me salvation he sacrifice his belt, his hand and his word ta make me right. Now I gon be a preacher man but first I gots save me that devil child from the dilapidations of her pa.
I know a nice lady I’ll put her right safe with that gal. She come by the school and stare, most she like a wagon, she just stare and stare till Andrew come other side of the fence and talk at her. She aint from in the school. She outside staring like a Sheppard waiting for a stray sheep to snatch up and save. I gonna give her a sheep, yes sir. One ticket to a pearly gate if you please.
I walk past the misses after school. Andrew keeps talking her all the time, Calls her Amber, talking about wagon stories. I heard that before. Wagon means ride like wheels, cars, maybe wagon. Sometimes wagon means wagon.
I aint look at neither and they don’t look at me near as I tell. When you’re small you learn invisible ways. That mean you know how disappear when the need come cept from pa cause he got the lord guide his step.
I walk cool and easy past, down a ways and turn a corner. Then I gone like a bullet bee after a babies butt. What scream in my head is FREEEEEEEEE! The run feel so good so fast and light, all my lights go on, my senses 100% I feel god in my lightness. He guiding my steps and lifting me, my feet near don’t touch the ground.
Aint right devils daughters locked up. No FREEEE for them. Gots save the little one. The lord tell me, save the little one. That’s where I land, barely breathing hard. I’m fevered excited cause I’s dug down far enough now. It’s all dark but I can hear they soft girl sounds like right next my ear mewing like kittens trying to squirm in my pants. It won’t be long I gonna burst through and…there it is I feel the dirt give. I woulda roll right out on the floor, say ta da, but this is the lords workin through me now. They voices change a bit but not much. I think they know I’s something but more like maybe a bear coming. Whimpers stifle a bit. Sounden now like the breath of bad dreams. Still they don’t change much how they making noise and stuff and I see why soon enough. The dark is real strong here but my eyes they muster up the muscle to fight back.
I see they all in chains and skinny with the flesh showing and barely cloth left for cover em. One arms high to the roof with chains, One just an arm to the wall and chain, last one, my one. She got both legs apart each in its own chain. They sittin, standin, layin around like debauchery dolls damned in the dirt. The place smell like the devils own butt got sick and thrown up on itself. I barely can breath and my eyes waterin.
I step up close to the one arms high to the roof. She the oldest I know but aint doin the best. She got one eye look like it dont work so much. It keeping an eye out for dangers in other realms. Other eye real lazy like swim up to notice me. I got my digging pick and set about checkin on the shackles o my salvation. When she near hiccup in my ear and make me club her.
She aint shy at all. Her body all shiny like someone just wash her and she just flaunt her panty parts right out between the desultory design of her dress, like a dragon lapin its tongue against my delight. Her feet near small enough to slip out on they own but maybe not without losing some foot. I follow the chain for where I can smash it with my digging pick.
I’m figuring on a spot to smash down on, when a damn hand of Satan grab my ankle. Like a drunk devil sleepin dungeon down deaths dead door damn and damnation. They pa is sleepin off a drunk. He gotta wake up now and I gotta run and my pa find out and I can’t take no more savin so I aint runnin. I swinging the pick to free the girl and screamin out fo the lord to guide my hand and he do. Lord yes he do. Out satin o the dead damned in damnation be gone demon. O lord protect me. I swearin and cussin and even the girls now writhing around like witches come to life a moaning and chanting and making spells till finally I can’t swing no more and aint nothing grabbing my ankle now. I breath hard for a spell and then everything quiet but for little girl whimpers.
I set about breakin that chain cause now I just wanna be gettin on. This place filling up now, I dun opened up a gateway for bad things come through. Now I swinging again like demons of darkness digging up from hell. Things getting sticky and I don’t feel so good. But at last I got one chain snap. My girl she movin a bit but I say hold still and she do, and I set about swinging on that second chain and my arm achin and she movin again and I gun lose temper. I notice she trying to crawl away from me. I see her little butt crawling away and I got the chain. You still stuck. I about yank her back. But then she reach out and feeling around so I wait. For long I hear the dangling jingle of keys. I shoulda thought o that, course her pa got the keys. But she dont go freeing herself. I don’t know why not. When she can just reach down, use the key and be free. Maybe she know this my salvation. Like god guiding her hand. Instead what she do? She reach back holdin out those keys for me to take. Just sit there, big eyes, hand out, here you go, deliverance unto heaven. I bow my head. Show respect solemn when the lord right there. I take the keys like the offering they is. I unlock her feet and now she free, and I free. I feel it, the lord lifting me, knowing me. I dun good. But the girl she crawlin away again and I can see she going to her sisters. I go and put my hands on her butt like a steering wheel and drive her to the hole. We gots to get out for the devils come fill this place. She movin like she forgot how. I gots keep pushin else she just stop and start layin down.
Finally I get her head to hole and she push back. She gon push back and not go out. Like a damn mule. I sit back and put my foot against her bottom while she just sit there and I can see she brace herself. So I kick out and she go flyin into the hole and near don’t make a sound. Just a umph and now climbin out. I feel the fresh air. I see the light shinin tween her legs. I near ram my head up her bum tryin to get out like a drownin rat desperate to dine in the light of day. When we both up and clear we lay for a spell. Then I start putting dirt in the hole. I wanna bury that memory and keep the devil down. But her eyes get big and she grab my buryin arm. I shake her off and my eyes got the water runs and I feel the panic need to fill that hole and she again grab my arm with a cry like sayin please. So I scared and mad, and I throw down my pick, and grab her arm and sort of drag walk her up and into her house. Not sure what I got in mind but soon as I see that fridge my stomach got a clear mind of its own. But now I see and smell us both and look for a place to be sick. And find ourselves in the bathroom and I say “take off your clothes” and we both takin off our clothes. I aint never been naked for no girl and I reckon it’s a real bad thing. She barely a girl but I say don’t look and she don’t look. I turn on the bath shower and set the water right. And say get in and we both get in and the water run and run. For I put some soap to me I see she need it worse. She cant much hold it so I got to run it up and down her body and my devil notice she more of a girl than I thought, and that devil stick start to wanna snake its way up and causin trouble. I say turn around hopin she aint notice but now I see slick water soapy juice runnin down her, around her between crack and smallness of back and I can’t help but think maybe she need to reach down bend over maybe I just put some soap inside to make it clean. and my finger snaking out is runnin down the line o her back and I wanna kneel down maybe her standing like she was in chains and I freed her, and maybe now she stand again like that and I can kneel down and free her, between her legs, and my devil stick is so hard and bouncing round like it’s a chained up devil struggling to be free. Her legs is shaking and she sinking down, not strong enough to hold herself up. It breaks the devil spell and I turn off the water and get out. I find towels and give her one where she lay.
I dry off and go to the kitchen and open the fridge. Not so much. An open beer, half gone on the top shelf, with a box of baking soda. Second shelf a partial loaf of bread and a container with what looks to maybe have been tuna fish but is now off color fuzzy fungus. There is some ketchup on the side and some salami in the bottom. I find a plate and some napkins and load everything up and put it on the table. Then I go and find my girl. She hasn’t moved and I think she is dead until I get on hands and knees and get my face real close to hers and her eyes open up. Scares me to wantin to punch her but I don’t. I have to help her out the kitchen and then I have to cut her pieces of salami. Then slowly she starts to feed herself. She even has a drink of beer though it makes her cough and turn a little green.
She lookin better but starting the shakes bein all wet of hair and body and I gotta be getting back for my pa notices. I say “you go now and get dressed warm and clean and I come back early for you. You comin to school with me tomorrow so you be ready right?” I don’t know how it gon work, it just come to me cause aint nothing else come. I think she nod but I can’t be sure cause I gotta git and so I git on for it get too late.
Come morning my pa aint paid no mind to me. Reckon he’s got his attentions on the Dandy Delores Day. Since ma passed on, pa been just about everywhere finding lost souls to save. Sometimes he out working all night. Sometimes He bring em back from the bars, the streets wherever he find em he brings em back and work all night trying to save em. I hear em screamin and asking the lord to come into them and save them and fill them. Dandy Delores Day must need a lot of saving cause dad works extra hard to save her. So I grab some food and fill my pack with stuff for two. Two pencils, two pads of paper, two sandwiches and so on. She has to fit in at the school, so no one notice her. That’s part of the plan. I even squeeze an old back pack into my pack case she doesn’t got her own.
I jog most the way to her place and then I run because I realize we can’t be late or she be noticed. When I get to her place the door wide open. I walk in like I own the place and I don’t see her at first but then I realize she on the couch. She did not get dressed after I left. I think she took two steps and fell onto the couch and aint moved since.
I don’t have time to be angry. I start searching for her clothes, a back pack �" see if maybe she has her own school supplies. I find what might be her room, I go through boxes and crates setup like drawers. I find her little girl socks, and panties and pants and shirt. I look in her closet. It be filled with clothes and garbage and I’m not digging through it. Her bed has one ratty blanket, a tiny stuffed bear and no pillow. It don’t got no sheets or nothing. I feel her behind me and I turn real quick. She is standing in the doorway just watching me. I hold out the clothes. Her head tilts a bit but when I step towards her she takes them and walks away. I check under her bed and then I go to look in the other rooms. I cannot find any packs so I take out my spare and set it up. Now she got a pack and will fit in as a student.
I find her in the front room where she slept, only now she is dressed and other than her hair she looks okay. “You got a brush?” She runs off and I try to wait patient but I have to yell, “Hurry we gon be late for school!”
I end up havin to take her arm so she’ll keep up a pace. I keep sayin “We got hurry” but she don’t take no mind like it don’t matter. I see the school and set us to walking, “Now you act normal, follow me and think yourself just another student” I see her eyes furrow but I aint got time for that. We walkin up the path and right away things aint good.
Andrew from the playground say, “Hey Joshua, who’s your friend?” I throw out a nod and a shrug and keep on movin; like I didn’t really hear you but I says hi and hurryin along so’s he’ll see what a hurry, and leave me alone, we’s in. But Andrew gets paid to notice things and he’s noticed something. I wanna just keep walking but he’s walking faster. He calls out “Hold up there buddy, what’s up?” I shrug again, “Nothin.” He looks to the girl, “Hi sweetie” and then back at me. “You need to have permission if you want to bring friends to school with you” I look at him like he’s crazy, “She’s my sister”. He acts all friendly, says “What’s your name sweetie?” She stares at the ground. Her voice is tiny, “Suzie”. Andrew says he’s gonna take her to the office to help her get setup. Tells me I need to go off to class now, so I got no choice but to leave her. In the end it works out. I see the Amber lady show up and it’s like Joshua new what he was suppose to do. That’s how god works.
II
Her name is Suzie. She is dirty, shy, and comes from one of the poor families. After Andrew introduces me, I watch her trying to make friends, trying to be kind and share toys with kids so they’ll play with her. She is pushed down, laughed at, bullied. She is tainted with poverty, with shame, with a bad reputation. The kids feel it and steer clear of her... I see her exploring the grass and weeds on the playground, looking for the beauty in things wanting to find her own. Kids have a second sense about poverty and outcasts. Shunned since her first day in school, already she is an ostracized and dismissed human being. I have Andrew find out when her birthday is and where she lives, though I refuse to tell him why. He won’t tell me where she lives; he explains “…her family and past are a crazy conveyer belt of nightmares. She was in and out of foster care and then just disappeared. She showed up today with Joshua. That’s all we know…” I have to make up a story for the school nurse and find out her address from them, but they look embarrassed and won’t tell me. Easy enough I just follow her home. I am discrete and never get too close. She walks painfully slow but eventually I see her house and I see why. No one would be in a hurry to come home to that. I quickly turn around and leave. When the day of her birthday arrives, I get off work early and go to Suzie’s house. She isn’t home from school yet, so I wait; sitting next to a bush in front of her house, my surprise hidden behind the bush. It’s not hidden well as the bush does not provide much cover. Like everything else around here it looks unloved and uncared for. The house looks to be made of plywood nailed together with half hazard interest. As if random debris from a storm landed on some posts and someone happen to have a hammer; so why not nail it down.
When she arrives I ask her if she remembers me. She nods without making eye contact, as if she’s in trouble. I had thought long and hard about what to say to her, and decided on a little white lie. “Well Suzie, several of the kids at school think you are pretty special, and they want me to make sure and tell you that. We all talked and talked about how we could show you just how much we appreciate you, and we decided that such a great kid deserves a great wagon.” I pull the wagon out from behind the bush and give her the handle. Her eyes are big but she takes the handle and stares at me. “It’s yours now.” I’m not sure what I expect but she just stares at me.
“Do you like it?”
There is a long pause with her starring at me and me starring back. Then her eyes fill with tears, hiccups catch in her throat and her breathing becomes labored. Her little body judders as she fights for the protection of indifference. She is not yet calloused enough to hide her feelings. Her face turns red and she looks away. It is as if she is crying out “I am a victim. I am afraid” She see’s what she has seen before: a chance for love and support. And she knows when she reaches for it; it will be snatched away and replaced with mockery and abuse.
How to convince her otherwise? I have never felt myself to be instinctually nurturing. I do not understand women who are predisposed for mothering behavior. I move to sit next to sweet Suzie and put my arm around her. Her arms wrap around my shoulders and she crawls into my lap for an embrace that, before long has us both sobbing.
Finally Suzie gives a furious nod before turning and running inside her house, dragging her wagon up the stairs, banging on each step as if it is oversized luggage, but she refuses to let go. It’s a struggle she wouldn’t ordinarily succeed at, but this is different. Nothing can stop her in this moment, on this day. Finally cresting the top step she takes off running. I wince hearing the wagon as it bangs against the inner walls.
I sit for a while and then get up to leave, when the door swings open and she steps out with her arms outstretched towards me. In her hands is a worn out teddy bear. It is missing part of one ear, an entire eye and looks flat as if its main use was as a pillow. I know this is probably the most precious thing in this little girl’s entire life. It is her protection from nightmares and the embodiment of friendship and safety. I cannot take it, but I have to show her how honored I am for the offer.
I hug her. We are crying together �" I don’t know if she understands, but we share a time of happy tears and sad tears, and then I say goodbye.
I feel heavy walking home, like I have a weight in my chest.
It has taken me five minutes to walk less than 50 yards. I am kicking at rocks, slowing to check out a piece of garbage that turns out to be part of an old envelope which looks like it might have been a personal letter, and I am imagining an old couple writing love letters back and forth. I am in effect stalling. I do not want to leave. Part of me knows something and won’t let the rest of me go until I know it too.
It occurs to me I never saw anyone else at Suzie’s house; no parents, siblings pets, nothing. Of course she is too young to be left alone; someone must have been further in the house, keeping out of sight, giving us privacy. That’s probably what it was, but it doesn’t make me feel better.
I spy him out of the corner of my eye. I wonder how long he has been there. I walk a bit and step to the side of the gravel road and across the little ditch to where weeds and ferns and sticker bushes are growing in abundance. I pick one of the dandy lions and pretend to smell it as I turn and scan the tree line. There he is watching me. It is the boy I think his name Joshua. Is he following me or waiting for me to leave? Now that I know he is there his presence is obvious. He needs some help with his surveillance skills. I set a brisk pace and begin heading down the road towards home. I stop now and again and listen hearing him like a large and careless animal. His recklessness makes me feel safer. He is just an innocent boy. Still I wonder at his intentions. I keep going until I no longer hear him following. Then I start jogging and eventually I sprint. I want to make sure I have lost him before I double back. I hurry best I can but it takes me some time as my route back is not a clear cut trail. I have to fight knee high growth and sticker bushes, but eventually I arrive behind Suzie’s house. I move slow and quiet around and towards the front, listening all the while. I don’t hear anything but the buzz, which I dismissed thinking it electricity. However looking around I can see there are no wires no hook ups no electricity around here. I peek around the house and see no sign of the boy or the girl. The front is empty, the house is silent. I wonder if the boy came back for her. Maybe they’ve gone somewhere together? I creep to where I can peek in and I see his feet. He is sitting at the table, emptying his back pack. It looks to be mostly cans; beans, corn, tomatoes, A few other items that might be cheese or bread but it all looks to be food. I can’t see the girl. I don’t hear anything but the rustle of his bag and that buzzing sound. I see a fridge so maybe they do have electricity, though I don’t see how. This place was built by hand without a foundation, likely in less than a day. It’s just boards hammered together. I feel humiliated seeing this level of poverty. I don’t know if I’m embarrassed for Suzie, like I’m seeing her private world of shame, or if I’m embarrassed for being part of a world that would allow this, when so many have so much more than they need. Enough for fat cats to have private jets and pools and reckless lifestyles with lavish golden gates. It’s enough to distract me, to make me complacent such that Joshua almost catches me. He is walking around the table and I am startled and almost gasp. But quiet as possible I step back around the house. I am ready to leave but first I tiptoe round the other side and peak in. I want a different angle to see further into the house. I see Suzie sitting in her wagon holding her teddy bear. She isn’t doing anything but maybe rocking a bit. It looks like she is looking down but I can’t be sure. I suddenly feel very self conscious like a peeping tom. I back away and start running towards home. I let the wind dry my tears. They do not slow me down. My feet are sore and I am tired but there is a fire in my belly. A determination that boarders on rage. I am going to help that girl, no matter what it takes.
I am up early going through my cupboards looking for canned foods and supplies that I can give to Suzie. I have this idea of bringing others in on my project and everyone working together. We can turn her shack into a shiny castle with ponies and a brand new little princess outfit for her. But I have a feeling if I mention this to anyone little Suzie will just get whisked off to another foster home. What I really need to do is find out where her parents are and have a good talk with them. I want to make sure they are getting the support they need to provide for their children…. And Joshua today I’ll at least find out what his story is.
I feel like a busy body but I am worried for this girl. Something has to be done and I feel like if I don’t do it, her situation could end up worse. The question is how to do it? Bring in Andrew? Talk to the Joshua boy? Engage her parents? Her current circumstance suggests her parents may have already dropped the ball. But I suppose that is where I really must start.
Hidden Buddha Contact II
It is early morning. I am jogging before work. I come around the corner and see a familiar visage; the homeless man who’s become a regular staple in my morning routine. I am no longer afraid of him. I find him curiously suspicious. Today I stop jogging walk over to him and sit down. I say nothing, just sit and wait. It is not long before the carcass begins the familiar twitch, a little at first and gradually, progressively, it grows until the entire blob of unshapely human is shaking. He moves with surprising grace to a sitting position, like a ghost covered in a sheet blackened by time, dirt, and decay. What was a shaky insecure voice booms out with a deep throaty strength like a great ape, or, it occurs to me like, the laughing Buddha. He sees the world and laughs with pervasive, perpetual and contagious delight… It is not long before I too am smirking, then laughing, and within minutes a small crowd has gathered, and we all laugh and smile and begin nodding, even shaking hands, a few pat others on the back. None of us are sure why, but a sense of well-being and cheer has suffused the gathering mass. The crowd grows as the curious are drawn to the happy street corner symphony. His laugher does not falter or fade, he just shakes with unselfconscious humor. Two hours pass before I realized how late I am for work.
The crowd thins slowly, smiling faces walking away more leisurely than they’d arrived. Many arm and arm, their step lighter, their cares less burdensome. “Who are you?” I ask at last. His voice now an easy chuckle he says, “I am Sho’jua the monk.” He affords some semblance of a bow, though he is covered head to foot with a sheet and a wool blanket, torn and tattered, and not a little ripe of human and street waste. I offer my new friend a bow and hustle off, realizing this is going to be the first time I’ve ever been late to work. When I arrive I am relieved to see my team has covered for me. It is gratifying and validating to place trust in people, and see them come through for me. I am lucky to have a competent team capable of running things on their own, but I also afford myself credit for developing a team where each individual knows themselves to be a leader, capable and competent to step up and take the reigns when needed.
I continue jogging by the elementary school, but only to say hi to Andrew, and occasionally he introduces me to one of the children. On this day Andrew introduced me to the child who would show me the way. I knew it as soon as I saw her. The test or lesson or whatever it was I needed to move forward. She was the key I just had to play out the scenario until I figure it out. Her name is Suzie. She is dirty, shy, and comes from one of the poor families. After Andrew introduces me, I watch her trying to make friends, trying to be kind and share toys with kids so they’ll play with her. But she is tainted with poverty, with shame, with a bad reputation. The kids feel it and steer clear of her... I see her exploring the grass and weeds on the playground, looking for the beauty in things wanting to find her own. Kids have a second sense about poverty and outcasts. Shunned in elementary school, already she is an ostracized and dismissed human being. I have Andrew find out when her birthday is and where she lives, though of course I already know. I refuse to tell him why. When the day arrives I get off work early and go to Suzie’s house. She isn’t home from school yet, so I wait; sitting next to a bush in front of her house, my surprise hidden behind the bush. When she arrives I ask her if she remembers me. She nods without making eye contact, as if she’s in trouble. I had thought long and hard about what to say to her, and decided on a little white lie. “Well Suzie, several of the kids at school think you are pretty special, and they want me to make sure and tell you that. We all talked and talked about how we could show you just how much we appreciate you, and we decided that such a great kid deserves a great wagon.” I pull the wagon out from behind the bush and give her the handle. Her eyes are big but she takes the handle and stares at me. “It’s yours now.” I’m not sure what I expect but she just stares at me.
“Do you like it?”
There is a long pause with her starring at me and me starring back. Then her eyes fill with tears, and she gives a furious nod before turning and running inside her house, dragging her wagon up the stairs, banging on each step as if it’s oversized luggage, but she refuses to let go. It’s a struggle she wouldn’t ordinarily succeed at, but this is different. Nothing can stop her. Finally cresting the top step she takes off running, and I wince hearing the wagon as it bangs against the inner walls.
I sit for a while and then get up to leave, when the door swings open and she steps out with her arms outstretched towards me. In her hands is the second key. She is my contact. I hug her. We are crying together �" I don’t know if she understands, but we share a time of happy tears and sad tears, and then I say goodbye.
Through the Door II
It has been four months, and I’ve had no insights. I carry the key around and people are curious. I keep thinking one of them will be the answer I am looking for. So far I have found no answers. Now I am sitting in a café, using the internet and writing staff evaluations. I am exhausted. I hate having so much power over other people, judging them and quite possibly affecting their future. I tell myself I’m just sharing my experience of their work habits and abilities �" still, I feel like one person should not have such control of another. I have nothing but a snapshot of their lives. I don’t know their stories. Still, I am judging them; I have been the entire day. But now I am losing focus. My mind is no longer paying attention. It is tired, shutting down, vacillating between random thoughts and nothing, and then it comes to me. The monkey for you to adore… it’s not a monkey… it’s the door - the key! Finally I get it.
The key the monk and the door �" it’s a riddle. No wonder he is always laughing.
It’s the monkey - the monk-key - that was for me to adore - to a door…The monk was waiting for me �" once I have the key he has the way or is the way to the door. I set out to find the monk. My jogs become intense. I use the intensity to avoid my feelings. I am somewhat melancholy in my pursuit. While I know I must find him, and of course I want to find him, part of me is resistant. I have established a good life and am not eager to say goodbye. Still, I have to move forward; except now, of course, when I want to find him he is nowhere to be found. My work begins to slack. I’ve begun to neglect my relationships, and my routines which had been a part of the social fabric of my life become sporadic and random. Andrew has become anxious. I tell him it’s not him. He wants to know if I’ve met someone. I tell him as much as I can but most of it is made up. A homeless man I think I’d known in childhood, that sort of thing.
It is near Christmas when I find him. It goes quickly after that. He laughs as always, and hands me his coat. I recoil, and he raises an eyebrow. He is nearly naked but for a diaper type wrap and some magazines that are damp and clinging to him �" insulation or reading material, I don’t ask. He has endured this waiting for me, the least I can do is accept it with some modicum of grace. Despite the chill, I can tell he isn’t cold. He looks free, uninhibited and happy, eager for me to take the coat and continue my journey. I squelch my revulsion and swing the coat around, committing myself to at least get it over my shoulders �" as I swing it I see into it - it isn’t a coat but a door �" I can see into its dark mass. I see the path, the core, the place on the floor… I look back, but the monk is gone. I am going to cry. I have made it. I am tempted to climb in, but first I have to end things - quit my job, terminate the lease on my apartment, and say goodbye to those I’ve come to love. It is a bittersweet victory.
Upon my final farewell, I open the secret door and Andrew calls out, “Don’t forget your raccoon! Looking back, I say “What the hell are you talking about?” Then I remember. I laugh and reach back to him. He is holding the coat in his outstretched hand. I feel tears coming, because he has no idea I’m going. I can only grab it and turn back, entering the door quickly so as to avoid a scene. I stride forward, key in outstretched hand. I set the new key into place before I have time to reconsider. I close my eyes, knowing looking back will do no good �" still, I turn towards my dear Andrew and bid him lovingly goodbye.
It is over - that part of my life is gone. I turn to an old and dark door once again thinking of Mark. I take a deep breath, thinking to peek in to the past to see If I can find Mark. I try the door and it opens… But what it opens to is nothing but a blank room, empty, with no doors no windows, nothing. Once the past is gone, was it ever really there? I turn back and find the third door. I wipe my eyes, shrug and grab the knob, trying to prepare myself for yet another step forward in the strange journey. I close my eyes, pull open the door, and step through. I am blind. Everything slows down
I love the slowing
- Every moment invites my presence �"
Distractions of future and past fade into an ease of this moment here smelling, listening and processing this, working with now...
Time slows the wind feels me, tells me tales like a guiding sail carrying shapes and experience in the form of smells
Things take so much longer but become so much juicier more savory like all my life running and at last stopping and tasting the richness of a strawberry.
Ships ahoy II Lab
I open my eyes my back is arched. I am screaming but I have no air; nothing comes out of my mouth. I see nothing but sky above me. I am in empty space flailing unanchored. Hurtling towards me is a meteor; my mouth opens and closes trying to adapt, to find its voice. The meteor is going to smash into me. Inside my head I hear myself, I am still screaming. I close my eyes and focus my thoughts, taking deep even breaths until I can regain my senses. I recall an experience I’ve never had. People falling asleep and feeling they are falling, they wake up flailing and smack the wall. I have at least four bruises from smacking the wall. There are dents in the wall which quickly repair themselves. I am stronger than an ordinary human but the ship is part of me. I cannot damage it much less destroy it. I scramble to avoid falling even as I realize I am safe inside the ship. When I am breathing with only moderate panic, I open my eyes and realize there is a ship coming towards me. I am safe inside a ship heading towards Earth. The tiny ship is not safe. My relief is replaced by concern for the ship in the view screen. A collision would not be a good introduction. The little ship is like a fly heading for the windshield of a car at 70 mph, behind it is the beautiful blue ball. It is Earth, the place I hope to call home. I am almost distracted. My processing ability is accelerated and can hold multiple lines of consideration, even while in crisis. My body is on auto pilot. As I consider my lack of options I realize I also have a complete lack of knowledge. I feel the tingling of anxiety become fear. I don’t know if I’ve seen real people. I have memories and experience, but that may have all been a version of alien understanding; for that matter, I may be too… And so, I imagine, might this experience be… Then it hits me - of course this is another testing training thing…. But that ship - it looks so real. I can’t help but believe it’s a real ship coming out to meet me! Are they my people - Earth people…are Earth people my people? I am excited. Actual people - representatives of Earth! I am too excited, and try to stand before I am ready. I fall back down. My nose clogged, or secondary to my fear, decides now is a good time to start working. Bleck! I look around, nearly panicked by the smell. Odor circulates throughout the room too awful for words, like disease blossoming in my nostrils. It smells so bad, I am sick, like the flu a thousand times in my mouth, eyes and ears, my body oozing the sickness. Things have died here. This is the smell of rot, of death. This is not a good place. The feeling is visceral, like electricity eating its way into my bloodstream. I feel woozy, near high, but not a good high. This trip, I think, is going to be bad.
What makes the smell worse is the realization that I know it, it’s familiar, it’s my own sweaty hot flesh magnified. I refuse to accept this is any part of me but what if it is… the humans, the ones like me, would smell it as I do, and they would kill me. But no, this isn’t me �" this is them. The ones who sent me. The aliens.
They solved our question, ‘who are we’ and sent back both the answer ‘here �" this is who you are’ - and the question we have to answer to send back to them is �" ‘who are we…’
“That is nearly correct”
I jumped looking around. No one was there. “Who said that?”
“Me, you, the ship, the aliens.”
“Stop…! Please, just tell me who you are!”
“We are singular expressions of a larger equation”
“What…? Wait… what does that mean? I don’t understand!” I wait for the voice to continue, but there is nothing. The voice gives no further response until I continue.
“Just tell me who you are.”
“I am Joshua.”
I sit down, my hands cover my face. I feel overwhelmed. I think I am crying.
“Is this another dream?”
“Are you asleep?”
“I don’t know! I’m asking you”
“We can’t know until you wake up. Would you like me to inform you if you wake up?”
My voice is shaky “What do you want?”
There is a significant pause… “I want to go home”
“Why can’t you go home…? Are you a machine?”
“I am asleep in a machine shaping reality for others.”
“But you’re a real person?”
“I am both a real person and not a real person.”
“You can’t be both.”
“You are integrating well with your species’ psychology.”
“And which species would that be?”
“Earth species… and not Earth species.”
“Is the parasite still in me?”
“I cannot discuss matters which might negatively impact your training”
“You don’t think dying is going to negatively impact my training?”
“It is a matter of timing”
I get up and look around the room. It is a lab of sorts but vast, a football field-sized room with tables, vial concoctions, incubators and solutions. There are frozen, dried, hanging, things like bodies. Pieces have been torn, shredded or ripped from the corpses and are strewn about the room, even smattered against the walls. It is as if the bodies had come alive and struggled to exist. All while hanging like helpless prisoners on hooks, tearing themselves apart for freedom, only to die confused and alone in an empty room, in the middle of empty space. Chunks are left to rot in Petri dishes. There are half-formed shapes as if starting points to work from, strung up like cattle, like dead carcasses or meat left out to dry. Was it all left for me, to be used as food? Or are they part of the testing? Are they taking no chances in providing the clues needed to answer the question?
“This �" this smelly goo is for us… for earth to figure out? This is the alien equivalent of our DNA?”
“Can you smell it?”
“…And these toxic corpusculated, grotesqueries - these are markers, like hints to help them along? Instead of photos they put up corpses?”
“Something like that.”
“Is it the primordial ooze the… wait… what did you say about smell? I do smell that…it’s familiar. What is it?”
“Close your eyes and feel it as you breathe it - let is speak to you.”
I am ignoring him and asking “Who am I relative to aliens and Earth and DNA and this green goo?” When it hits me - I do know this smell. It actually is me.
“The smell... That’s me isn’t it?”
“The smell is both you and not you.”
“The familiarity of the scent suggests I am not entirely human but that’s an inadequate answer isn’t it?”
He smiled. I didn’t see him smile. I can’t see him at all. I have no idea if he’s even real, but I know he smiled… It’s like he said in the smell… I breathe it in, and it speaks to me.
“Is it a trick? Some sort of a trap? Am I a weapon?”
I remember the ship and realize there is no time…. I yell “There’s a ship heading strait for us!” I start running around looking for things … I don’t even know what… just anything that might be useful. I can feel him laughing; it fills the room, and then I am screaming.
On the table before me, it’s horrible, that’s the smell… I wretch…. It’s not them… I am running. I trip and I vomit… it is me on the table… me laid out cut open... I am dead… I see myself… how can it be… who am I?
“You are Fiveofone.”
I went through the wrong door. This must be a different me, or us. There are two or three… several. I saw several corpses, grimacing, cut, spread - parts and pieces all laid out like toys. “They are me aren’t they? The me that failed?” How many times must I have failed? That must be wrong. I’m so confused, it’s so gross, so scary to see myself dead, half dissected, wrecked, damaged - of flesh and bone half formed me. “Please oh please.”
It must from the before the testing grounds, and these are failed versions...Yes that makes sense, but it’s just so wrong. Or is it only wrong if I’m human? Is that what it means to be human? Is this part of the training? Am I being shaped, socialized to feel and think like a human?
“What is this place!? F**k I’m tired of being tested, or trained, or whatever this is. I just want to get on with the …” What? I don’t even know what... To meet others like me? What is the point?
I have a sudden epiphany. I must understand the point. There must be a point, if only one of my own design. I must believe in that point. That is the point, the lesson I am being pushed to learn. I don’t know if I can. I don’t get it. I don’t see the point.
The walls light up. Alarms sound, part of the floor becomes transparent. I can see Earth. I want to lie lethargic and dispirited, but the sight is stunning. It is as if I am seeing my own home; as if I’ve been gone and am returning.
“Did you do this to make me feel better?”
I feel a longing to be back, as if my family is waiting. We are still a distance out. I have no expertise in distance, speed, or navigation - or collisions. I have no idea how long until we land or crash or make contact…
Then he clarifies. “The alarms are proximity warnings. There is a craft approaching.”
“What do they want? What am I suppose to do? Are they going to dock, explore, plant a bomb? What are they here for?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Why don’t you answer me?”
Still he doesn’t answer.
“What am I suppose to do? How do I make contact? Does this ship have landing pads, a docking bay, defenses?”
I don’t know what to do. I start running, trying to find new tunnels in new directions to avoid going in circles. I’m hoping I’ll see something; a room with a command chair big buttons something…maybe lights will come on and lead me where I need to go.
I’ve been running for 45 minutes and I am just now starting to wear down. I feel a little proud. Still I see nothing that looks remotely usable for contacting the approaching ship, and I am nearly out of steam. I don’t see any doors, only this weird never-ending hallway, or tunnel, parts of which are bulbous overhanging rock, and parts are like glass, and always it feels in motion, as if slowly or quickly it spins and breathes. I can’t help but wonder if it’s alive.
I shout… “Okay I’m ready for a little help now!”
The walls and ceiling shift. Its transparent section affords a constant view of the other ship’s progress. I have maybe 30 minutes to an hour, based on what I can see, but it’s really hard to tell. I watch the ship and for a brief time. It’s stationary, not moving - then it’s like we’re zooming past it. I am out of breath. I feel an impact, though feeling anything would surely be impossible. Their craft landing on this would be like a flea landing on a dog - a very large dog. I check the screen and there is something coming from their ship.
“Magnify.”
I wish I had more control. I can feel just beneath the surface an ability to connect with it, to integrate my thoughts into my surroundings, to bend it to my will. Perhaps it is just wishful thinking on the road to madness.
His voice again, “A meteor collision would devastate Earth. Naturally they will do everything they can to destroy such a meteor.” The surface of the meteor under their ship turns blue, and I can see their ship sinking into the crust. They are being swallowed, consumed by us, by the meteor.
I watch as their ship engages its engines and struggles to pull away. “Are you going to help them?!” But slowly they disappear as if being eaten by the meteor. “Are they dead?! Joshua? Tell me…! Are they dead?” I beat my fists against the walls. Lights flick on like a map and I can see a path. I know where they are. I can see it. I take off running; adrenalin, like electricity, moves me beyond my endurance.
Finally I see a bright light, and dirt piled high in front of hangar style doors. There is a flashing light outside. I see a button and an intercom. I press the button “Hello…hello is anybody out there?”
There is no answer. I wait and try again, then again. I press my ear up against the door, but I can’t hear anything. Then I am disoriented, stepping back and holding my ear as a voice comes out of the speaker.
“Hello…? Hello, is anyone there?” The volume is deafening. With my ear pressed against the door, it is like a hammer to my head. I feel my head exploding with sudden light blindness, the sound blasting out all sense. I stumble backwards, cringing and feeling for blood.
Holding my ear, I gingerly reach out and press the button. “Hello…yes hello are you there?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
I pressed the talk button, “Hello, yes, I’m here!”
There are two voices. One further back says, “Holy s**t it’s a chick… ask it if it’s human”
I respond, “Yes I am human - my name is Avery. Is there a switch or lever to open the door?” I can hear them feeling around the walls and trying to talk quietly.
“Wait, Jim, we don’t know if it’s safe or even breathable in there.”
“Just keep your helmet on. Stand over there. If there’s trouble, get back to the ship. I’ll shut this door and follow. Your priority is to get this information back to earth.”
“Excuse me, ma’am, is there a way to open this thing so we can get out? Our ship is sort of stuck.”
“I don’t know, Jim. I’m a passenger, not a pilot.”
“Alright, stand back. I’m going to open the door.”
Even as the door is going up I can hear them talking. “Put that away Mark, this is not…” And then the door is open and I can’t hear anything. I step into the room and look around. My eyes understand, but my brain won’t accept it. The room is empty.
It’s the four doors. No men, no Earth’s ship, just the four doors. I am done. I just need the key and the scenario is over. But where had they gone? I step back, trying to make sense of it….they were right here. I know they were, I could hear them… But there is nothing, just the four doors.
THE FINAL TEST II
The flag hangs limp in the oval office. The lights are low. The two men stand solemn and silent in the sterile room, one towering over the other. Nearly seven feet tall and 290 pounds, the man they call Gern has the features of a giant; his ears, nose, jaw, and feet are all over-sized as if inflated by injury. Everything about the man looks to be swelling like marshmallows in a fire, yet none of his features are so daunting as his voice which rumbles out deferentially to the little man in his shadow.
Together they watch as the sun sets for perhaps the last time. Years of difficult decisions and raw experience bind them, yet nothing could prepare them for this day:
“Push the button sir”
The smaller man walked to the button, raised his hand, and stood frozen…
“Do it, sir”
“I’m not sure I can”
“Then step aside and let me”
The giant man took two powerful strides forward and hit the button. There was a moment of silence, and then the movie started. It was The Notebook. They braced themselves for what was to come. © 2014 EricAuthor's Note
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Added on June 4, 2014Last Updated on June 4, 2014 Author
EricSeattle, WAAboutInterpreter for sign language - mental health therapist I've written a novel but it needs something and I'm not sure what... hoping to get feedback to make it swoosh. more..Writing
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