My first post: Adam (237 hits)
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Submitted by astral206 (View user info) at 2007-08-27 20:49:36 EDT
Author's note: I have been a viewer of Ubersite for almost a year now and this is my first submission to the site. Critiques are more than welcome and I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Adam
I arrive to class on time. My watch must be off. As I walk into the silent classroom, every head looks up as the door closes behind me. I freeze and glance around the room. All the boys, a little more than half the class, have close-cropped hair that shies away from their ears. They sport grey sweaters and black slacks, displaying the Red Sash on their right arms, above the elbow. The girls' sweater-vests and skirts are much the same, the only exception being they donned the sash as a scarf around their prim little necks. There is a pencil in every hand. Light in every soulless eye. Damn.
Some dick-wad in the back snickers. Several others follow suit.
Mrs. Fork glares at me from behind dirty lenses. She is hunkered down behind a mahogany desk, extravagantly carved, fifteen feet in front of me. There are papers and pens muddled about on top of the desk, with her nameplate at the very center in big, bold letters: MRS. FORK. There is a window with bars in place of blinds behind her, the only one in the room. It's cloudy outside.
She's the word bulging personified. I imagine the redness and gouges that her skin must be afflicted with, since her military influenced uniform constricts her body, like rubber-bands wound around a balloon filled with sand. Several lumpy mounds protrude from the heftier areas of her figure. Easily three-hundred pounds.
She struggles and succeeds to uproot herself from her commodious ass-bed. The chair farts as she gets up, enjoying its relief. Her abused strawberry-blonde hair sticks out from behind her ears, as if trying to escape what's in that ugly mug. It shimmers with unwashed grease. She fingers her glasses back onto her nose and cerebrally signals her right ham of a leg to start towards me. Damnit. Not again.
"Mr. Faga," she squeals.
I hate my last name. The same dick-wads snicker.
"Do you know what time it is?"
I humbly hold my hands behind my back. I know better than to try and come up with an excuse.
"Yes ma'am." I manage weakly. It's 0910.
"Do you know what today is, Mr. Faga?" she over pronounces my name, moving ever closer. What today is? It's Thursday, I think.
I look down at my boots. The soles are damaged on both of them and there is a hole forming on the right one. Neither of the laces is tied. "Yes ma'am." I say, even weaker than before.
As she walks by the desk in the front of the classroom, she picks up the yard stick that is lying ominously by itself. Damn.
"And what day is it Mr. Faga!" she screeches, flinging spittle that lands so very close to me. I look up slightly.
"Thursday, ma-" she cuts me off like a guillotine.
"That's correct, Mr. Faga, it is Thursday. And do you know what is so special about this Thursday, Mr. Faga?"
I don't. She takes a final step, standing in front of me, the yard stick gripped tightly in her fat hand. I manage to bring myself to look her in her hard, blue eyes. Tears fill up in mine. Goddamn.
"No ma'am." The lump in my throat makes it hard to get those two words out.
She brings her fists to her hips, matter-of-factly. The weight of the fat on her arms drags her skin downwards and covers her elbows. The yardstick juts out in my direction, inches from my chest. I imagine turning around and bolting out of the room. There is no way her legs could've carried her fast enough. I could probably even make it past the Monitors, outside into the school yard. From there where could I go? I couldn't jump the chain-link fence cause of the cutter wire stretched across the top plus the voltage. At this point I would have an unknown amount of pursuers on my-. Movement.
Intense pain on the left side of my face. It shoots from my jaw to behind my ear, which is ringing a familiar tune. I'm looking, somewhat blurred, at the point where the floor meets the wall. There are a line of ants disappearing into a small hole. Some are carrying bits of chalk in their mandibles. They ignore me and continue with their work. I attempt to get up and am greeted with a whoosh of air and a cutting attack on my side, that spot where the ribs end and the fleshy kidney area begins. Air escapes my lungs in a feeble sounding rasp. Suddenly, heavy weight, accompanied by the hardened sole of a combat boot, is pressed down upon my back, making it even more a struggle to regain my breath. My side is screaming. I just lay there, gasping.
"Class, Mr. Faga doesn't know why today is so special. What a stupid boy. You are so stupid. You of all people should know what today is. Do you know why today is so special class, especially for Mr. Faga?" She digs her poundage deeper into my back with every mention of my name. I feel blood trickling down my swollen cheek. My mind races to find any answer of why this is happening. It's not because I was late. That would only have gotten me sent to the principle.
Why?
Why?
Why?
Realization. Oh no. Oh, God no.
"It's his birthday! His birthday! His birthday!" The class chants this in perfect unison. Rehearsed unison. Hive-mind unison.
"How could he forget his birthday?" questions Mrs. Fork, like she doesn't know.
Easy. I never wanted to be born.
The class answers her, honesty in there voices.
"He's a stupid boy! A stupid boy, a retard, a FUCKING REJECT! A stupid boy, a retard, a FUCKING REJECT! RE-JECT! RE-JECT!"
They chant until Mrs. Fork jovially quiets them down with a laugh and a "Now, now" line. The ants had seemed to stop their transit and were facing towards me, their feelers probing my direction. Their movements almost looked like laughter. I focus on the ants. I am numb of all emotion. Except one. I can barely sense it, like it's lost, trapped somewhere shouting, raging for someone to find it. I do, and hold on to it.
"Ha, class, you couldn't be more correct. Our dear Mr. Faga here is indeed stupid. I could show you his test scores if you would like."
I score the highest in the class.
"Show us! Show us!" they purr, like lions at milk.
"Oh, how I would love to my children, but I'm so disgusted with his failure that I burn all his school work after I grade it." She lifts her tremendous weight from my back and slams her combat boot down again, to the enthused amusement of my classmates. Exquisite pain flares in my spine. Tears and blood drip from my face, coalescing with dirt on the floor into a viscous looking stew. Not a sound escapes me save for the wheezing of air from my lungs. Rapid applause reaches my ear. The ants feel out and start drinking from my body's mire, ever expanding towards the wall.
"And why, precious children, is his birthday so important. More so, for him to remember it?" Mrs. Fork's question invokes immediate response.
"Because he isn't natural. He's a freak! An accident! Only by Mercy is he here!"
I picture them now: little hands gripped in violent strain onto the edges of their desks, eyes twitching, feeding on the sight of me being grounded into beef by this bitch of a butcher, legs vibrating swiftly beneath the desks, biting their cheeks, brandishing red smirks as they lick their lips in anticipation of my inevitable slaughter, and, at the same time, lamenting behind that crazed mask. They are just children after all. Yeah right.
I know why my birthday is so important. I just needed to be reminded. Nothing like a good three-hundred pound kick in the back as a refresher. It's not like I forgot, not really. I tend to block out things that cause physical harm, and that's one of them. I'm only reminded of it once a year so it's not that hard to suppress. I'm not natural. Not anymore at least. I am a freak. I don't bite my toe-nails or anything like that. In fact when I walked into this room I looked much like any other boy in the room. My Red Sash tied proudly round my arm. Now my head is gushing blood and I'm crying and ants are feeding from my fluids. And I am critically reminded of one fact. I am one of the last humans to be born.
I drown out Mrs. Fork's yearly speech. More laughter and applause. I ignore the pain in my head, side, and back. More kicking. I push my awareness to that emotion I never knew I had. It feels so familiar and foreign at the same time. I embrace it, welcome the heat that it gives off, the power it commands. And I give myself to it, splitting into what seems a million versions of myself. All are getting kicked. I switch focus to one of the ravenous selves, aware that the others are watching, and on one of the thirsty little ants, maybe four inches away from me. The insect is drinking methodically, its brothers crawling over him to get a better taste. I reach out with the emotion full force, and touch the ant. He looks up at me, antennae probing at the air. He feels it! I zero in on his head with the energy inside me and dig it into the floor. He squirms in my descent and sadness, drowning, and I push harder, forcing his meager ant brains out of his exo-skull. I vaguely feel a boot smashing into the back of my own crown and my last thought, screaming from every one of me, is that we would like to die now.
Dr. Kinslow
The following is my account of the recovery and alteration of Adam Faga, I.N. 12-0012. If there is a God, may he save us.
Dr. J. R. Kinslow
When the boy was brought into the infirmary, I was expecting a few bruises, maybe a broken bone or two. Expectation spawned disappointment.
He was brought in by two of his classmates, firefighter style. They laid him down on a cot, and without a second glance or a spoken word, departed. I watched them go from where I was sitting behind my desk, my eyes peering through one of the cord holes. I didn't have a clear view of the boy so I got up and walked over to examine him. Short, rasping breaths and an occasional whimper were the only signs of life. His brown hair matted down and blackened by slick blood. His uniform was tattered to rags and red wounds were oozing between the fabrics. The Red Sash appeared intact. Teeth were protruding from the skin. More than a few got knocked out and I had to fish three out of his mouth. His nose was not just broken but smashed into eight fragments. He couldn't have opened his eyes if he wanted to. A large gash, partially covered by a bandage made from his uniform, ran from behind his left ear, down his jaw line. The back of his head was soft from broken skull and brain matter. I turned him on his side and could clearly see the swollen, disfigurement of his spine. He was near to death; holding on to God knows what for existence. He should not have been living by all natural rights. I said a prayer and got to work.
I spent the next hour dressing and stitching his wounds, applying antibacterial bandages, and fixing his face to the best of my ability. All I could do for the back of his crown was place a damp towel underneath, and hope for the best until the regeneration chassis was ready.
I removed his wasted clothing and covered his broken body with a clean-sheet. He was a small boy. Standing, he would of only come up to my hip. His wallet fell out of his pocket and I stooped down to pick it up. I opened it and scanned over his id card. Blood from my hands smudged where I held it.
NAME: ADAM FAGA
DOB: 14JUN2187
SEX: MALE
CLASS: ALPHA 12-0012
I placed it back into his wallet and set the leather down on a medical tray next to some gory scissors that I had used to slice away dead skin. I walked over to the chassis and configured the settings for his recovery. I set them to detailed, which was a slower process, but allowed for almost one-hundred percent recovery. Once that was complete I rolled Adam over to a platform next to a large glass cylinder that was set into an alcove, on the other side of the room. I pushed the button that read "up". A smart hydraulic whine carried us up about ten feet and before we came to a complete stop I was already mashing at the console with another set of commands. We were greeted to another platform adorned with silver rollers, this one extending out from the top of the cylinder. I placed a mobile respirator onto Adam's face and him onto the rollers. I typed in one last command, and shoved him forward. His broken shell vibrated until the platform ended and he plummeted head first into a fast-rising blue liquid. His body was immediately stiffened by the small electric current running through the solution and righted itself. My job was done. It was now on science. I went back to my desk to file my report.
I stayed in the infirmary that night, to keep an eye on the boy. At some point in the night I awoke cold, covered in what appeared to be snow. I threw the covers of and sat up. Nothing. The room was void of anything resembling snow and it was actually quite warm. I made a tired survey of the room. From where my cot was positioned next to the door I could see everything, except the area behind my desk. It was a gloomy room, brightened only by the dim lights of some of the medical equipment. The only sound was the faint humming of the chassis.
I turned my attention to the right wall where the cylinder was and saw the boy, his eyes open, looking at me. He smiled a broken smile behind the respirator and I was suddenly surrounded by familiar figures of death, rotting and reaching for me. The hot stench of decay filled my nostrils, stabbing its way onto my palette. Some were rasping my name, others that of my daughter's. I stared, wide eyed, frozen. My senses weren't my own. My eyes asserted themselves onto the maggots feeding on flesh, disease and pestilence encompassing the dead. One of the corpses was the next for my eyes to shift to. It was a little dead girl with no hair, burning flesh dripping from her face revealing the blackened skull beneath, the aftermath of a fire ten years past.
"Hello daddy" it scratched her sweet, departed voice.
My throat constricted to scream too tightly, allowing only a faint gasp to escape me. In the next instant the room was empty save for me and the boy, our eyes locked, my Hobson's choice. My body was then overwhelmed with exhaustion and I fell back, slamming down into sleep. I dreamt of death and dying for eternity.
That next week brought no visitors except the daily janitors. I had contented myself to staying in my quarters which brought very welcome sound sleep. I had brushed that first night off to night-terrors, which I was afflicted with from time to time. Every day the boy's wounds grew smaller; the machine's compounded actions of electricity, chemistry, and nanotechnology, working ever diligent. I was happy to be working at something and spent my time checking and rechecking readings that the monitors spat out. His physical recovery was exceptionally fast for his injuries. The settings that I had input into the console couldn't have possibly accomplished what the readings established. Eighty-five percent of his structure was repaired in five days!
One reading revealed that his epidermic structure was denser than before. I attempted to access one of the nanoscopes, to see for myself, but was confronted with an error reporting that they were all offline and had been for three days. I checked the data files and was able to view the microscopic scene from the fourth day. From what I could tell, the boy's skin cells were splitting and merging with his bone structure, causing them to become one, while retaining their previous physical characteristics. There was something else there too, though very faint. I would be able to see it if I wasn't looking at it directly but I could never truly focus on it. It would just disappear. It was a dark, spherical object that seemed to weave in and out of his cells. Very odd. The cerebral readings were more disturbing. I called the Dean immediately with my concerns.
"I'll get someone over there." He responded, followed by static. I got to work trying to find out why the nanoscopes went down.
I was sitting at my desk some time later that day, writing my findings down, when there was a rap at the door and the Dean followed by another fellow, let themselves in. I stood up. The Dean's scholarly uniform was pressed impressively and his medals shone proudly above his heart. His head was absent of hair save for his dark eyebrows and combed mustache. His eyes were grim. He didn't look pleased to be escorting his companion.
The new fellow was an odd looking man. His head seemed too small for the large lenses set in metal perched on the bridge of his nose and they magnified his eyes. What he lacked in chin he made up for in throat. He wore the white coat and black slacks of a member of the Research Division. He nearly bounced every step, like he never properly learned how to walk. He carried a silver brief case.
I walked around my desk to greet them.
"Dean. Sir," I said extending my hand to one and then the other. The Dean grasped my hand. The new fellow just looked at me, blinking great, ample blinks. I brought my hand back to my side.
"Dr. Kinslow, this is...Ser Rodney, from the Research Division," he said, motioning towards the man. "He will be taking over the observation of the boy. Aid him in whatever he needs. And pay close attention because I want a full report when this situation is resolved." With that he exited the room, closing the door behind him, leaving the man, Ser Rodney, staring at me. I waited about ten seconds for him to do anything before I spoke.
"So the boy is right over here." I led him to the chassis.
"This is a nice set-up you have here." He voiced this between lips that didn't want to open all the way and sounded very nasal.
"Umm, thank you sir. As you can see the boy has recovered quite well from his injuries. They were so extensive, I honestly don't see how he was alive when brought in."
He sniffed, forcing one of his nostrils to close tight, "Of course you wouldn't see how. This is a good model," he nasalized, patting the chassis. "I'm currently working on improving its successor." He turns and stares at me. I stare back.
"Sir would you like to see what I've discovered about the boy?" I say.
He cocks his head, as if pondering the question. "Ok." He decides.
I gathered all of the readings and presented them to Ser Rodney. I offered him my desk to look over the findings and he sat down on the floor before I could finish. As he started shifting through the documents I went to make a pot of coffee in the small kitchen area at the back of the room. I rechecked all the monitors, steamy sounds emanating from the pot. Soon after it was brewed and I was sipping from a hot mug, Ser Rodney approached me. He waited for me to speak.
"Have you found anything sir?" I probed.
"Why yes I have, thank you. Say, do I smell coffee?" He asked, sniffing into the air.
I took a sip and said, "Umm, yes sir, you do. Would you like a cup?"
"Oh no, thank you. Coffee makes me...unstable. I approve the scent though." More staring. More blinking.
"So what have you found?" I ask finally.
"I'm glad you asked. The boy appears to be in stable condition with an extreme case of rapid molecular transmutation. This, of course, is unheard of." He wiped his dry brow with a rag from one of his coat pockets before continuing. "Evolution takes eons. In the subject's case, it is happening in a matter of days, according to the evidence. I'm hypothesizing chromosomal expansion which, theoretically, paves the way for more malleable DNA strands and new, unpredictable genes."
It was hard to digest completely what the more knowledgeable man was saying. I tried to translate some of his words into something more familiar to me, but failed. He continued.
"I am going to perform a series of experiments on the subject to detect and ultimately eliminate said chromosomes and this should effectively suppress this...occurrence." He turned and appreciated the "subject".
This was certainly interesting! I was curious and anxious to see the results of Ser Rodney's experiments, odd as the man was. I turned to admire the subject as well. The wounds were all but gone, save for some scarring on the lips. Methodical air bubbles escaped and rose to the surface as the subject's respirator controlled his breathing. His bare chest rose and fell. He at least looked like a normal boy.
The equipment that Ser Rodney had ordered arrived at the infirmary after breakfast the next day. I signed the receipt since he was busy studying fresh readings that the cerebral-nanos had spat out. It was a normal looking black plasteel box, about four by four feet, with the Research Division's white flask logo on the side. I bid the deliverer farewell and wheeled the heavy package over to the scientist. He was sitting Indian style on the ground, holding a parchment up to the light on the ceiling. I sighed and informed him the equipment had arrived.
"Oh swell, thank you. Open the container and remove the equipment for me. Delicately, thank you." He said, not taking his eyes from the paper.
I did as told and found myself filled with excitement at beholding such new and wondrous contraptions. The largest of the lot was very fantastic looking and seemed to fit over ones head. The smallest was the size of a coin, but perfectly spherical and clear, with metal components visible inside. I couldn't begin to imagine its purpose. There were surgeons tools, vials, flasks, chipsticks, and at least half a dozen other useful looking devices. I stole a quick glance at the subject and right as I was looking away his eyes opened for an instant and then shut again. My heart jumped and I was reminded of that first night, dread creeping up my spine. I stared at him a while longer, searching for more activity, and then turned back to the box content it was my imagination.
I began removing the equipment and setting them one by one, very carefully down on a stainless workbench. I arranged them in smallest to largest, left to right, just to make the task take longer, knowing Ser Rodney would be studying for sometime. He had shifted his attention to his own console, which was what he had brought in the silver case, and was swiftly typing away, his tongue protruding between his teeth. A droplet of saliva, suspended in anticipation, slowly descended only to snap and plummet down onto his collar. Finished with my task, I walked around him to pour myself a mug of coffee. Before I could finish pouring he called nasally for my assistance.
"Dr. Kinslow, it is time to begin." He said, struggling to get his standing. "We must prepare the subject. I've concluded that his body is sufficiently recovered to withstand the ordeal and we will proceed immediately with the project."
"Certainly sir. I am anxious to proceed as well. Very interesting, this hypothesis of yours." I said, taking a sip.
"Were you successful in not damaging the equipment?" He asked me, a bit of spittle still lining his lips.
"I, uh, believe so sir. I arranged it all on that table there." I motioned to his left.
He followed my gesture and nodded when he observed the layout.
"Very well. We begin."
His instructions were very simple. I was to prepare a space to lay the subject down upon and gather essential tools for surgery. After that was done I was to drain the chassis and remove the subject. I did that one in reverse order because there was no way to effectively remove the boy in that manner without crawling into the cylinder with him and tossing him out. I retrieved him by manipulating the current in the solution, causing it to force him to rise to the top. I grabbed a hold of his arm with a grounded, gloved hand and pulled him free across the rollers, his body going limp after being stoic for a week. I removed the respirator from his face and was taken aback. All of his teeth had grown back, on the outside of his mouth through the skin. They were white and perfect and disturbing. Memories of that first night crept back. A shiver spiraled down through my spine, tickling the backs of my knees. I placed the subject onto the stretcher, covered him with a clean sheet, and pressed the button that read "down". Last was the sanitation. I rolled the bed the center of the room and placed the boy on the ground next to an incurved drain in the floor. I reached up over my head and took hold of a hose hanging down from piping that ran across the ceiling. I turned the nozzle and sprayed the boy down with frigid soapy water. There were no other abnormalities from his healing. The wounds were gone, his face being the only result of the regeneration. I wasn't quite convinced it was a malfunction with the machinery. He gave a twitch and I jumped.
Ser Rodney was preparing his new equipment as I was accomplishing my tasks. I glanced over curiously from time to time and watched as he activated one of the contraptions, causing it to pulsate in a brilliant polychrome glow and hum with power. Others were less spectacular. Ser Rodney had a look of seriousness about him now. His movements were more fluid and precise. He deftly handled each one with a care and swiftness that was hard to follow. It was quite entertaining to watch and helped occupy my mind, along with the prospect what we were accomplishing. Respect for the man came a little easier seeing him work. I finally finished soaking the boy down sufficiently and placed him back onto the stretcher.
"Ser Rodney, I have finished my tasks." I reported. "Shall I assist you?"
"Certainly, thank you." He replied setting the last of his activated contraptions back onto the table. " The subject is prepared I take it?"
I nodded affirmation.
"Very well. We will begin by implanting the gatherer." He reached for the clear spherical device and carried it over to the subject, holding it carefully with his thumb and forefinger over the boy's mouth. He saw the teeth that I had forgotten to inform him of. "What's this now?"
"The boy, it appears to be a regeneration error. I noticed it when I removed his respirator."
"Interesting. The teeth and skin have seemingly become one. This should prove difficult to reverse. If the retransmutation does not succeed, we will have to dispose of the subject. We can't have one such as him existing in his current state now can we?"
I agreed completely.
He continued with the "gatherer". He pressed his fingers together slightly and the spherical device uncoiled its metal components into a wicked looking robotic caterpillar. It was maybe five inches long. He was now holding it by its "tail" and lowering it down to the boy's face. Ser Rodney had me part the boy's mouth, which I did with some hesitation. The gatherer slid easily in and down the subject's throat, it's slithering clearly visible through the skin. The scientist wiped his hands on his rag and made his way back to his console and the floor.
"Since your nanoscopes went down some time ago, we haven't had a clear picture of the subject's cellular composition. With the gatherer, we will be able to see what developments we've been missing." He said, rapping away at the keys.
I moved to look over his shoulder at the monitor. I was presented with the gatherer's view of things, and then the image split into hundreds of views, each going a different route through the boy.
The scientist informed me of what we were witnessing. "The gatherer is a very diverse creation, its primary function being to gather information. I could have placed the same one that's in the boy at this moment into your coffee maker and found out how many pots it has brewed in its lifetime. Brilliant isn't it? Right now, I have activated it's nanocomponents and literally split it into hundreds of microscopic robots, each under my direct control."
I listened and watched in amazement. He continued.
"The gatherer also has another...useful function. Since the bots are under my control, I can raise and lower the amount of free electrons that they contain. Think of the nanos as man-made atoms. I can mold them into whatever I want, or need should the occasion arise. Watch."
I was glued to the screen watching as he typed in a set of commands. The bottom half of the screen came together into one view while the upper screens remained separated, still traveling through the blood streams and bone structure. He beat-out some more commands and the bottom half of the screen displayed about ten of the nanos moving ahead of the whole. They searched out and found solid cell tissue and began eating away at it, like ravenous methodical beasts. They destroyed the tissue and moved ever onward feeding there insatiable hunger. It was very exhilarating to behold.
"Go observe the subject's left shoulder and tell me your findings." Offered Ser Rodney.
I stood up fully and approached the subject's left side. What I saw was amazing. An inconsiderable spot on the shoulder reddened at first, then small molecules of blood seeped through the skin, pooling together into a droplet that streamed down onto the clean-sheet underneath the boy, staining it. The spot was growing in size and blood flowing freely when it suddenly closed up, no evidence of harm.
"Did they do that too?" I asked, turning back towards the scientist.
"That wasn't me." He said, slightly shaken. "That was the subject. Something attacked the nanos and I've lost all contact with the lower half. Th-that has never happened. The subject's case must be severe." More typing as I moved back to my original position. I was watching the remaining screens, which had slightly expanded to replace the lost ones. They were still roaming through at the molecular level when I saw a familiar site: The darkened spheres. Except now they were apparent, moving through the boy's cells and tissue like strange ghosts. Some were passively orbiting cells while others were spinning violently around them, somehow bending them, changing them into something unrecognizable to my eyes. I pointed to them and informed Ser Rodney that that is what I had seen in the nanoscope data.
"Thank you, this is very interesting." He said, looking up from his typing. "The objects appear, from observing them, to have no mass whatsoever. What are they?" he said, peering closer to the screen in a way that brought hope of realization.
I was studying one of the views when a nanobot it was covering came into contact with one of the black ghosts. The dark thing surrounded it and for a moment sat there motionless. Ser Rodney saw it too and hastily typed in a command. The nano-bot began generating an electrical charge but before it could release it the black sphere closed in on itself, crushing the bot. In the next instant, screens started going dark from lost contact and the ones that remained up for that short time went dark from something else. Ser Rodney's panicked commands did nothing to save them. Soon all the screens had vanished from the monitor.
"That is very unfortunate." Commented Ser Rodney just as the lights on our side went out. The room was unlit save for the small rays of illumination streaking in from the window of the door. The way the beams were entering the room they were positioned above the subject's stretcher, barely reaching the far wall. The room grew very cold and a snowflake landed on my bottom lip, my shocked exhalation of hot air doing naught to melt it's icy touch. Ser Rodney was mumbling something about power failure when I heard a rustling by the stretcher and witnessed the boy sit up, glowing in the light, a twisted smile adorning his foul face. I wasted no time scrambling to my feet and rushing my way into the darkness, towards my desk. I smashed into the worktable with my hip, forcing a sharp cry from my mouth. I recovered quickly and flipped the table out of my way, sending the unquestionably expensive equipment crashing to the floor, and continued on. In two steps I tripped over my legs, my knees popping, breaking my fall, and crawled fleetingly the rest of the way, slipping with some difficulty beneath my desk, gasping for breath.
"What in hell are you doing doctor? It's just a power-outage! No need for all the panic!" Said the agitated scientist. I could hear him scrambling about, testing his surroundings with his hands, trying to find something recognizable. I didn't answer him, I just kept gasping cold air that never seemed to satisfy my lungs, attempting to fight the fear that pressed itself down upon my like a vice, crushing me ever so slowly. And the snow came on.
"Ah, there, the lights are back on." Remarked a relieved Ser Rodney.
I couldn't see the wall three feet in front of me.
"What have you done to my equipment? You fool!" He raged, his destroyed equipment made visible to him. "You will surely compensate the Research Division for this atrocity!"
Then, I assume, he saw the boy. "The subject is awake doctor!"
I began to pray. The snow was relentless now and the ice of the flakes frozen so sharply that it felt like they were nettling into my skin, digging down to pierce my flesh. Tears formed in my ducts only to be frozen before they could drop.
"Hello there, little one. Try and be still. You have suffered a great trauma and must rest." He reassured the boy.
That is when Ser Rodney began to scream. I heard him fall to the ground with a loud smack and wails of "What? What are-." Followed by the shrillest cry I've ever escape man's mouth. Eventually my own suffering drowned him out. My head turned itself to the right and I was confronted with a view my dead daughter again. The snow falling melted before it ever fell upon her and rotten steam was escaping her mouth, nose, eyes, and ears. Flesh dripped from her face and splattered into a gory pool on the ground. What was remaining of her brow was furrowed and an evil grin adorned her melting face, her swollen, oozing eyeballs piercing into me. She wore the red dress she died in.
"Hello daddy. Did you miss me?" She pressed, the wraith that was my daughter.
I tried to run and couldn't, tried to scream and choked, tried to look away and met her terrible fury. Flames erupted from where she was standing and engulfed her, her scream cleaving into my soul, flooding it's foul presence along through the walls of my existence. I writhed inside, pain flaring at the end of every nerve. My teeth began exploding, the shards ripping inward and out, frothy blood spewed from my mouth only to freeze mid-air and softly shatter as it struck the ground. My finger-nails tore themselves from the tips while my toe-nails pushed themselves inward, chafing the bone as they moved.
The flames around my daughter died but my pain remained. My daughter had covered her mouth with a skeletal hand and was giggling behind it. That was soon replaced by the previous evil features, her brow furrowed. Somewhere in the distance, far away, someone was begging for mercy between howls of pain.
"I said, Daddy, "Did you miss me?" She demanded.
I attempted speech and was allowed to form words.
"Yes." I managed painfully, shards of teeth cutting into the word.
"Liar~liar~liar~liar~lair. LIAR!" Her singing turned into shrieks. I couldn't lie to my daughter...
"I...missed...you, baby." Every word a jolt of pain.
"Then why'd you burn me!?" She cried, weeping flesh instead of tears.
My heart swelled up like it never had before. The only tears I could cry were from blood pouring down into my eyes out of icy cuts. We sat there staring at each other, crying the only tears we could.
"I'm...sorry...Jessie." Shame clothed every word.
"You murdered me. You should die too. But he won't let me kill you. Not yet." She told me. She looked above my head, at something in the distance, then back to me. "He's finished with the other one. Now he's coming for you Daddy!"
Ser Rodney's screams had indeed stopped.
I felt the boy's presence behind me, approaching closer. I heard his soft steps splash in some liquid as they landed, the rising step showering droplets back down. His breath, coming and going easily. Closer and closer.
He appeared around the corner, naked, behind my daughter. He raised a hand to caress her shoulder and she looked up smiling at him, a piece of flesh dripping in the process. His twisted smile returned the affection. And then he turned to me, all humor erased. Those dark eyes, revealing innocence and terror and something else. Understanding.
He moved in front of my Jessie and addressed me in a voice so foreign that my mind could only perceive a fraction of it. "Dr. Kinslow, I am Adam." He said, a hint of a child's voice hiding behind the foreign one. His lips didn't move. He walked right up to me and put his face close to mine, burning it into my mind forever. "And you are damned."
Before that sentence was complete, the world somehow shifted to a familiar place. I was in the study of the house I owned ten years ago, the house my daughter died in. I was staring out the window gazing out into the front yard. It was grey outside. I turned around, taking in the room. Plush red carpet covered the floor. The mini-bar was directly across from me, next to the door leading into the living room. It looked very inviting at the moment, but I suppressed the thirst. My red-leather couch was on the wall to the right of me with an unfamiliar book resting on one of the cushions. My desk was to the left of me, facing the wall. A stack of blank paper and a pen were the only objects decorating the top. The chair sat there facing me, as if waiting to be sat in.
My daughter skipped into the room at that moment, alive and well and beautiful in her red dress. She held something in her hands but I couldn't quite focus on what it was. She saw me and smiled. She set something down and ran over to hug me. She reached her arms around me and I hugged her back. She let go and motioned for me to sit down at the desk. I happily obliged her. I sat down and turned in the chair to face the wall. That is when chains shot up from the ground and wrapped around my legs, digging into the meat of my thighs. I attempted to pry them off with my fingers, but pain shot through my hands and arms from the lack of finger-nails, leaving me crying out in pain. My Jessie giggled behind me as a strong smelling liquid was poured over my head, soaking my skin and clothes in a greasy substance. Try as I might, I couldn't escape. I heard the familiar flick of a lighter behind me.
"Your turn, Daddy." She said, tossing the flame onto my head. A bright flare engulfed me, searing my flesh but ignoring my nerves. Screams and laughter filled the room, my daughter taking her revenge in the exact manner of her demise ten years ago in this room.
The desk soon caught fire, but the pen and paper were untouched beckoning to be used. I heard Adam's voice. "Use these tools to write down my story. Start with your own account. I will give words to your hand. This is your penance Doctor. Spend it humbly. When it is done, you will be free."
I writhed as the flames licked at my body, cooking my muscles and frying my fat. I could here the popping of my flesh as pockets of grease erupted in intense agony, splattering on top of the desk. The smell wafted into my nose and I couldn't escape it. I started retching up bile and coffee, the only contents of my stomach, burning as it came up and clawing at my throat as I coughed and choked it back down. I looked down to the chains and they were glowing white. I managed to focus my vision past the flames, to the pen and paper. I reached out in pain and grasped the pen, my fractured teeth digging down into the gums, causing a torrent of blood to spill forth. My hand steamed where I held the pen and I eventually got it shakily into position. I steadied a piece of paper with my other hand, tilting it slightly to the left. Adam's voice began filling my head, every decibel coursed through my bones and touched I brought down the smoking tip of that fiery pen.
User Reviews
Submitted by Fartman (user info) at 2007-08-27 21:59:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
WTF I'M NOT READIN ALL THAT!
Submitted by skrapmetal (user info) at 2007-08-27 21:35:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Sorry, but you should know better.
Submitted by Astral206 (user info) at 2007-08-27 21:03:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Reposted with spaced paragraphs here: http://www.ubersite.com/m/111273
Not really much effort. Wrote it while doing extra duties in Portugal. Enjoy :)
Submitted by rob_berg (user info) at 2007-08-27 21:00:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Almost a year and still felt compelled to mention it was your first post?
I think your career could be fairly short lived.
Didn't read it but that sure looks like a whole lotta effort and/or work.
Submitted by lungfish (user info) at 2007-08-27 20:55:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I read enough to know I'm going to finish it when I have the time. Gotta go.
Yeah, though. You might add some spaces between paragraphs and re-post if you want honest criticisms.
Submitted by Sinistral (user info) at 2007-08-27 20:51:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
You are going to get destroyed.
Just so ya know.