The Wake Pt. I

It’s a truly strange feeling, waking up, and not being sure if you actually opened your eyes or not, the overwhelming darkness being equal in both situations. Or, if you are lying on your back or standing on your feet, your body so numb that you wouldn’t feel a needle sliding into your gut. That’s how I awoke, not sure where I was, or if a darkness that thick was even possible.

Sitting up, realizing that I was in fact on my back, I rubbed my eyes, but to prevail did the darkness lessen, still shrouding everything around me, including me. I couldn’t see anything, and worst, I couldn’t remember anything. Not even my name.

Standing, or attempting to, my legs were wet noodle, not having the strength on that first attempt to hold me up. Quickly falling back down, I landed hard on my ass, but my body was still numb, so there was no feeling. But stranger than that, there was no noise. No thud of my ass coming back down to meet the ground.

Yelling, trying to figure out what was going on, my voice had escaped my lips as no more than a whisper, though in my mind I had spoke in a nervous yell, my nervousness brought on by the unfamiliarity of my own voice. Raspy, it sounded as though I had gargles rusty screws, then chased them with four bottles of flaming whiskey.

Sitting, knees to my chest, trying to catch my breath and calm down, I clutched my eyes shut, though it didn’t matter if I did or not, the darkness would have been the same if I left them open, but I was wishing that when I reopened them, there would be a light.

Who am I? Where am I? These questions ran through my mind over and over, and each time the disappointment of no answer was all that came. Coming to terms that I wouldn’t get the answers I wanted sitting there, losing my mind a bit at a time, I again stood up, this time holding my balance, feeling as a toddler walking for the first time, only, this toddler is blind.

Turning slowly, there was nothing but the dark. Nothing at all, but that darkness. Looking down, I couldn’t tell you what I was standing on. Stone, didn’t know. Dirt, again, not sure. It could have been the mortified remains of dead babies and I still wouldn’t have known. Thinking back now, I really hope that wasn’t what it was, since I had been laying on it.

Looking around again, knowing nothing had changed, but hoping that maybe something had, a glint of something from above caught my eye. Looking up, in that darkness that my eyes had grown accustomed to, there was a light. Small, but even as tiny as it was, to my eyes, it burned like the sun. Looking away, rubbing my eyes, I looked back up slowly, the light still burning bright.

Staring up, wondering how I would get to the light, and what was making it, my thoughts were answered when suddenly, as though gravity had decided to change it physics, I fell quickly and violently to my side, slamming into a wall that I hadn’t known was there. My body not so numb, I felt the pain of the collision, and was quickly confused, when, just a moment prior I had been on my feet, and then, was lying down on the floor.

I knew I hadn’t fallen, and quickly getting to my feet, the light was no longer above me, but rather in front of me. A simple what the hell is going on went through my thoughts, my arms outstretched fully trying to feel for any other strange walls that could be around, but none were there.

Finally coming to a decision, I began to slowly walk towards the light. Still a painful brightness, I never looked directly at it at first, squinting, trying to figure out what it was as I approached, my steps a very cautious, slow pace. The closer I grew to the light, the more confused I became, and even more so did my questions grow, one in particularly, Where was I?

Upon the light in minutes, I was at a loss about the source. A lantern, a Victorian era street lamp looking lantern, with a candle burning inside, the light was bright and powerful, I could feel the heat feet away. What was odd about it, though the light was bright and warm, it lit nothing around it but myself. Knowing that was merely inches away, I still could not see myself or anything around me. Reaching towards it, the light did nothing to shed away the darkness, giving a clue away about my identity. Dumbfounded, I just looked into the light, watching the candle dance inside that lantern.

Finally giving up on ratiolization, I again reached out, but this time, I reached completely to the light, my hands touching the lantern, and more strange than anything, feeling a bitter coldness on my fingertips. But it didn’t last long, for within seconds of touching that lantern, my body felt as if it had been torn apart and put back together, then my eyes burned worse than ever before, the sudden shock of light hitting them.

Falling to my knees, I was in too much pain to scream or even breathe. Catching my breathe and the pain fading quickly, my eyes opened to a fading blurriness, my new surroundings coming to view. Trees, a light grey clouded sky, no sun. And what looked like a funeral, a group of people gathered around a casket as it was preparing to be lowered into the ground forever. As strange as my sudden appearance was, what was more strange was that there was no other headstones, it simply looking like a field with now a lonely grave. But more mind blowing than that, everyone at that funeral was the same man. And for some reason, I could swear I knew him.

 

Xenophobia


The inside was dark.  Derek McNeal flicks on the overhead lantern and mutters, “Ah, that’s better” as he presses the button for acceleration on his X5 Vehicular Model No. 211 Special.  The gray sleek turbo car tracks and shifts into the appropriate highway travel lane based on speed, distance, and number of other traveling vehicles.  At this hour, there were few.

Derek grunts as the sleek pieces of metal slip and slide back into place below his seatbelt.  It wasn’t exactly a very comfortable way to relieve oneself and took some getting used to, but his bladder appreciated it and so did his watch.  The automatic relief disposable bin prevented him from having to stop in one of the highway’s few Relief Stations along the way.  A good thing since many of the Relief Stations now housed several techno gangs who operated solely on looks.  If they didn’t like the way you looked then you died.  If they did, they’d keep you.  Not exactly welcome choices.

Now personally comfortable, Derek presses the automatic refill button to take care of the car — his sleek fiberglass steering transportation machine.  Passing by one of the thousands of gray towers zigzagging along the edges of the eastbound and westbound lanes, Derek hears the command bark through the loudspeaker in front of him.

A metallic voice yells “McNeal, Derek.  What type of automobile fuel would you like today?”

Derek responds with a gruff “Premium.”

“Premium, 12.5 gallons as usual?”

“Confirm.  12.5 gallons,”  Derek replies.

“12.5 gallons beginning … now.”

Derek grabs the slick oblong shaped wheel to brace himself for the impact as a giant arm-like shape juts out of the nearest Highway Tower and races towards him.  A few seconds later, he feels the arm connect to the refuel bin on top of the car and he hears the hiss of air, water and a mixture of fossil fuels being dumped into the rectangular 5” by 5” cubed space.  The Tower Arm bends and jerks with the movement of his car now heading up a hill and almost out of sight of the fill station.  He would have to flip up his hazard lights and hold the car in motion if the fuel dump didn’t finish in time.

Just as this last thought crosses his mind, the electronic voice comes through again saying “McNeal, Derek.  12.5 gallons premium.  Complete.  Would you like to dump your personal waste cartridge now?”

“Yes, dump personal waste cartridge.   Confirm,”  Derek mumbles back to the electronic box.

A few seconds later, he feels the Tower Arm detach itself only as another Tower Arm from the right side of the Highway further up attaches itself underneath his vehicle.  In less than five seconds, the electronic voice spits back  “Personal waste cartridge dump complete.”

“Thank you,” Derek automatically responds.

“McNeal, Derek.  Thirty-six credits will be deducted from your account.”

“Thank you,”  Derek replies again.

“Anything else?”, the metallic female voice queries.

“Yes.  Two beef Hot-dogs.  Mustard.  French Fries.  Onion Rings.  Cola — large.”

“McNeal, Derek.  Those are not foods on your approved dietary catalog.  I will need an override code, please.”

Laughing, Derek gleefully answers with “X12365.  Now can I have my junk food, please?”

“X12365.  Approved code.  Order being prepared.  Please wait.”

Sighing, Derek releases the wheel letting the automatic drive operation take control again.  He presses some buttons on the side door until he gets his driver’s chair in the correct position.  With his thick clumsy fingers he manages to squeeze his hand into the side pocket again pressing a series of buttons until his objective has been achieved.

“Ah, no that’s even better,”  Derek whispers as he feels the automatic heat sensors press and mold into his medium framed body through the leather material of the chair.

About the same time, the electronic voice returns saying “McNeal, Derek.  Order complete.”

“Thank you.  That will be all the service I require for now,”  Derek answers.

The voice responds with “Thank you.  McNeal, Derek.  Sixteen more credits have been deducted from your account.”

Popping the Mustard-Hot-dogs-French Fries-Onion Rings-Cola pills into his mouth, Derek mumbles another “No, thank you.”  The flavors explode in his mouth as the tiny white pills dissolve in his saliva.  Eventually he swallows only to burp still tasting remnants of hot-dog and greasy oils used for creating the French Fries and Onion Rings flavored food tablets.

Fully satisfied, he reaches above him flipping the switch marked “Music – Relax.”  Soon the soft sounds of airy instruments fill the slender car that could accommodate only two passengers including the driver at a time.  No one but Derek had ever traveled in his car.  There had never been a need.

Reaching up above him again, Derek jiggles and presses a few more buttons until the digital numbers read thirty minutes.  “That should be enough time,”  he says aloud as he presses yet one more button whose feature is scheduled to go off after thirty minutes elapses along with the alarm.

Leaning back into the soft chair, Derek shuts his eyes as sweet music swells all around him heightening his senses.  He barely feels the shifts and turns as the car zooms at mid-speed towards his destination.

 

Automobile travel had not always been this convenient, he recalls.  Almost thirty-five years ago as a child he remembers his parents had had to actually drive their cars and use maps, real bathrooms and stop at Fast Food restaurants if they were hungry.  Long dead now, his mother and father probably wouldn’t have been able to adjust to the New Society — the New Way.  They were better off being dead — those who did not, could not, or would not adjust were eliminated just as easily as personal waste was disposed of now.

His thoughts jangling around him, Derek jolts back into reality as the car’s internal electronic voice barks “Alarm.  Time Elapsed.  Please return to an upright state.”   As soon as the mini automatic arm and mirror charge from the dashboard, Derek is forced to sit up straight as the electronic razor begins to glide up and down his hard chiseled face.  Soon a comb moves back and forth automatically through his short black locks, and he winces only a little as tiny splashes of after-shave are sprinkled onto his newly shaven skin.

He takes a large breath of filtered air knowing what is next as the aluminum panels slip and slide around him forming airtight seals in a temporary compartment just below his neck.  He takes another deep breath.

He relaxes completely as he feels his black t-shirt and retro blue jeans sliced and removed from his body by the same automatic arm.  The clothes would be turned into the Tower Clearinghouse to be reworked and returned to him later in a brown paper mail-drop at his four room Apartment allotment off Central Avenue in ABQ, New Mexico — it had been shortened from Albuquerque years ago since spelling had become too difficult for what was left of the New Society’s inhabitants.  Now, everyone human used abbreviations for almost everything.  To his friends, he wasn’t Derek or McNeal but simply DM.  Easier to remember.

Thinking of his friends and the last time they’d reserved a Racquetball allotment pass, he grits his teeth as he feels his fit form being washed and scrubbed with lukewarm water and a soap cleanser.  The vehicle manufacturers had not yet figured out a way to get the car shower’s to produce really hot water.

He winces again as the water suddenly disappears to be replace by volumes of hot air drying his lightly tanned skin in seconds.  Tanning was not allowed, but for an inhabitant with dark features a few degrees of skin burning was acceptable since it was believed their bodies were more immune than those of fair-haired, fair skinned inhabitants.

A few moments later, the panels slip and slide returning to their previous positions only to reveal Derek now in a neatly pressed white turtleneck, black slacks, black hiking boots and a sliver timepiece and monitor secured around his right wrist.  Derek was left-handed — considered a flaw in the New Society but acceptable due to easier identification since there were not so many lefties among the inhabitants.

Wriggling around to a comfortable position, the Car Massager and Music Mosaic Surround Sound automatically shut down as the car’s built-in electronic speaker informs Derek he is five seconds away from his destination.

As the car pulls into the Tower Country Club’s overhang temporarily stopping motion, Derek locks down the theft pattern by whispering his middle name, Dean, into the tiny microphone in the steering wheel.  In the New Society no one had middle names so inhabitants often made them up for security purposes or for fun.  He smiles automatically as the inhabitant valet — a novelty in the New Society’s all electronic, all computers age — assists him from his vehicle.

Moving a few short steps and taking another deep breath — this time of unfiltered outside air, Derek presses the button for entrance into the Tower Country Club.  He knows what lies ahead of him and he is none too thrilled — at least sixty minutes of false and exaggerated celebration for his forty-first birthday party.  Only a few of his friends would be here — most would be inhabitants hired by the country club to make the party seem more realistic.  If he were a lower inhabitant instead of an upper one he might have some co-workers in attendance as well.  But, Derek had been fortunate –  he did not have to work for a living.

Biting his lip, Derek plunges inside the steel gray interior of the round sphere building wishing he had an automatic arm or electronic voice to guide him through all the necessary social graces and expectations for the next sixty minutes.  Every minute would be monitored and broadcast to the lower and middle inhabitants so they could see — since they were required to watch — what the life of an upper inhabitant was really like and aspire to it.

On the other hand, Derek could not afford any slip-ups or mistakes on his part — he being required to act accordingly unless he wanted to have credits deducted from his account.  Too few credits would mean banishment to the middle or lower inhabitant status.  And once banished below status there would be no return to the upper level ever.  The New Society believed once one attained or was born into upper status one had to behave correctly in order to stay or one would lose the privilege completely.

Putting on his best plastic smile and finding his firmest handshake, Derek enters the brightly lit ballroom.  A novelty orchestra also hired by the Country Club plays Big Band music.

As he glides towards the center of the crowd-filled room where a spotlight will be flung on him and his arrival announced, he suddenly realizes that ever since he’d been a teenage inhabitant in virtual High School he’d always hated — been afraid of inhabitants he didn’t know or rather strangers.  Unable to stop himself, the answer to his fear begins to cross his threshold of thought.  Without warning, he feels a sharp pain in his right wrist emitting from the silver timepiece/monitor.

Suddenly, Derek jerks his arm and body as the pain rocks him into reality.

A sharp voice echoes around him saying “McNeal, Derek.  Stop it!  You are not allowed to think.  Return to your previous state.”

Wildly looking around the damp cement cubed cell with a ceiling over forty feet above him, Derek twists his head a fraction taking in the long steel bars to his left preventing his exit and also glimpsing several similar cells scattered throughout down the long stark hallway.  He notes the gray and white distorted fuzz emitting from the 40 inch TV screen buried in front of him in the cement wall, and knows it will be used in an attempt to control his thought patterns.  So far it hadn’t worked.

He tries to twist his body further around when another jolt to his wrist — this time twice the voltage — shocks him back to a complying state.  Quickly, Derek flings himself back down on the cement cot keeping himself perfectly still.

“Prisoner X12365, McNeal, Derek.  Please comply,”  a metallic voice screams in his ear.

Derek repeats  “Prisoner X12365.  McNeal, Derek.  Will comply,” softly but firmly.

Maybe he was a captive here and maybe he was only daydreaming again, but he would never comply.  He might be afraid of the New Society’s leaders, but he would never tell them what they wanted to know.

Glowing Rectangles

image © Casey Reinhardt 2008


“Please, just try to avoid determining I’m insane before I’ve finished the story.  I know it’s strange, but I simply cannot explain these rectangles.  They haunt me.  They creep up on me from all sides now.  I see them everywhere and in everything.”

It was absolutely unnatural for a woman to be shaking so much; so anxious, so afraid.  Her eyes a deep emerald steeped in fear.  I looked away for a moment, adjusted my tie, picked up my coffee mug, surely exhibiting a premature disbelief disguised as patience.

Her face was dripping with sweat, head turned to look out the window every few moments.  The vacant gaping may have indicated she was spending time in the deep recess of her mind.  I urged her to continue.


“Are you waiting for something?” I said as my disguise melted away.

Her face dropped down into the palm of her hand, the dark circles under her eyes barely visible between bony fingers.”Sorry, take your time.” 

 

 

Her words are muffled: “It began toward the end of my fifth semester in college, four hours into my shift at work.”  Lifting her head from her hands, she throws it back with a profound resignation.  “I remember, it was April 14th.  The computer screen began moving.  Ridiculous, but I swear I could see the light, swirling multicolored imagery, moving upward, downward, backward, forward, sideways — everywhere.  I felt my cell phone vibrate amid this trance.  I took it out of my pocket and flicked it open.  The glowing rectangle lifted itself off of the screen, leaving it black.  It began to hover in my peripheral vision, blinding me with some awkward angle to the eye.  I would attempt to blink it out of existence but there it remained.  The unnatural psychedelic imagery led me to vomit right into the garbage can under my desk.  I hurled until my gut hurt, attracting the attention of everyone in the department as they all ran in my direction.  The manager shoved my bag into my hand and led me out the door, urging me to see a doctor.

“As I walked out, I tossed the cell phone in the garbage.  I closed my eyes as I walked, intending to re-set my vision.  I was so sure at that time that my eyes were just playing tricks on me.”  Her eyes closed, with a sigh she declared:  ”That’s just the problem, we believe these are just tricks of eyes and light.  We close it or start it over and move on, never even realizing…”
Her eyes, for the first time this interview, focused on my own.   “So I figured, What do I do now?  Where will I be away from technology?  The park.”
“Did you begin to feel better when you got there?”

“You see — when I left work, aside from the scent of vomit and my empty stomach, I felt fine.  I could run, and I did, at an unnatural speed toward my car.  The wind in my face helped to clear the haunting images.  When I got into my car the digital clock screen immediately began taunting me in the same absurd fashion.  It would flicker on and off constantly.  I turned off the radio to subdue it, ultimately failing.  I closed my eyes to suppress the mental trickery. Regardless, I could sense it.  That goddamn red glowing rectangle wanted me to pay attention to it, I was so certain.  As I said, these images are repetitive and malicious.  The more I became afraid the more persistent they became.

“After arriving at the park, I stopped my car and began toward the nature trail.  For some reason,  I turned back toward the car with an unusual sense of urgent curiosity.  I opened the door to my car, unlocking it slowly, methodically.  Once open, I grabbed my laptop from the back seat.  I guarantee you it was hooked up to nothing, nothing! The battery had been dead for three days.  I opened the lid to a bright glowing screen; a brutal, blinding light.  This was confirmation that I wasn’t losing my mind.   The battery had been dead for three days, as I said.
“In a fit of rage I slammed the cover of the computer, followed immediately by the car door.  Once out of the car, that revitalizing sensation sparked by the brisk wind against my skin returned.  Laptop in hand, I jogged toward the trail.

“I stood still at the entrance, looking only upward at the large expanse of green leaves and blue sky.  I tried to appreciate the natural, warming light — restarting my brain.  I could feel it for a moment, seeping into the pores of my skin, bathing me in delicate warmth.  The wind making my hair dance and tickle my skin.  I smiled — although it soon faded back into the anxiety of my reality now being marred by this bizarre haunting.  My sense of loathing deepened — with one focused swing I hit the computer against a tree.  It was a pitiful attempt at destruction at first, barely a dent was visible.  I did it again, this time with wreckage at the forefront of my mind. Empowered by adrenaline and the wind in my face I repeatedly hammered the laptop against the tree. My heart  pumped; my strength doubled.  At one point, I absentmindedly tore my hand apart on the bark.” She held her hand up, showing me the scabs covering her fingers and knuckles.  Even I winced slightly.

“I didn’t notice at the time, however, I was so consumed with rage it went entirely overlooked.  At any rate, once I was done pummeling the machine into the tree, I threw it to the ground.  I kicked it as hard as I could, missing the first time because I was so incensed.  On the second attempt it barely lifted off the ground so I jumped on top of it, bounding toward it so as to release all of my weight, breaking it nearly in half.

“Shocked by my own strength, I stopped and tried to pry the cover off of it, to detach it from the rest.  I did manage to open it with some force and do you want to know what color that screen was?  Do you want to know Doctor?  Could you even imagine?”

“It was glowing.”  I sat back in my chair, frantically inhaling a cigarette.  My leg bounced frantically on the ball of my foot.
“Of course it was!  Its mocking light penetrated my entire being, provoking me beyond the point of consciousness, I swear it.”  She was growing short of breath, arms flailing to color her descriptions.  ”So you know what I did then?  I threw it into the goddamn creek.  I threw it in, threw the biggest rock I could find on top of it and ran away.”
“I got into my car, used my tweezers to destroy the LED clock in my car and drove home.  I pulled my Kindle out of my bag, took a moment to mourn my collection of books, and threw it out the window.  I sped down the road at about sixty miles an hour, swerving like a maniac through the slower cars.  At the next stop the ipod came out of the bag, I smashed it against the dashboard several times and threw it as far as possible, the car making a sharp swerve to the right, taking out a mailbox or two.  When I came to my house, I pulled the car into the front lawn.  It took a moment to catch my breath.  Once calm, I slammed the car door as hard as possible, releasing ample frustration.  After stumbling a bit, I walked toward the house.

“I paused for a moment before walking through the door — I was sure the television would be on, as it always was, begging for my attention.  I tried to calm myself down, counting backwards from ten and then pushed the door open slowly.  I caught a glimpse of the television and quickly slammed it shut, not trusting myself.”

There was a deep pause, a deafening silence in the office.  The girl’s breathing was erratic and her entire body pale with horror.

“Well… did you open the door again?”  I lit another cigarette to avoid running my mouth.

“Of course I did!  How could I not?”  Her face moved from horror to indignation in a split second, and I leaned forward, entranced by her senseless madness.  “When I opened the door again I walked in and stood right in front of the thing.  I stood, staring at it.  Of course I tried to turn it off, to no avail.  It just sat there, it’s bright speckled static and somehow yellowish light pushing me farther into the pit of madness.  I took a curtain rod from the corner of the room and began again to thrash and strike it, kick it as hard as my body would let me.  As it lay on the floor, battered beyond the point of recognition.  This is where it gets crazy doctor.  This is where you begin to think I’m on drugs, if you haven’t already.  It began bleeding — yellowish liquid electricity pouring from the screen, pooling on the floor.  For a moment it looked as some godly being were suffering at my expense.Even if it was, I have no sympathy. 

 

 

“As I’m sure you’re aware, my husband found me in the bathroom, where I was sitting on top of the sink, rocking back and forth, eyes closed.  You see, after killing all of the televisions and computers, their yellow matter began flowing all over the house.  There was a pool of it just below me.  I thought I would be safe in the bathroom; I was wrong.  You see, unfortunately the light wasn’t afraid of water.  Soon it began leaking from the upstairs bedroom onto my head.  I had no where to run.  I just sat, rocking.  He came home, picked me up into his arms and brought me here, to somehow make sense of it all.”

“You do realize that these objects are inanimate, and that they do not bleed?”  Without taking my eyes off of her, I lowered my laptop, setting it under my desk, out of sight.

“Don’t you patronize me.  Don’t you realize that soon, we’ll all be bleeding light?  That the very blood around our bones will soon be replaced with the light of the screen?  Everything concrete has been replaced, what makes you think you’re going to evade it?

“Don’t be irrational.  You’re an educated, professional — albeit paranoid, woman.  Nothing bleeds light.”

She began laughing, a hysterical laugh known only to the truly mad.  Then, after nodding her head in thanks, she ran.  She ran faster than I’d ever seen a woman run, out my door, feed banging down the hall.  I rang security and had my agents apprehend her at the front door, and per my instruction soon sent her off to the county hospital.

As I reflected on her possessed nature, I sat back in my chair, still smoking the cigarette I’d last lit.  I set my laptop back on my desk.  I opened it.  There, illuminating my dimly lit office, unaided by electricity or a charged battery, the rectangular screen glowed the most fantastic yellow, demanding my undivided attention.

The Shielded

I don’t like to think of it as “running”. No, let’s call it “traveling with the intent of avoiding a specific party”.

What you call it doesn’t matter, I guess. What does matter is that the Abunari have tracked me through six states up and down the Atlantic coast, and I need to keep moving.

I’ll assume you think that the Abunari is something like the mafia, some family organization geared toward money and corruption and a skewed view of honor. You’d be terribly wrong. The Abunari is ten times what the mafia could ever be with no clear understandable motivation. At least what the mafia does can be understood; the Abunari do what they do simply for the hell of it.

I guess with that much power it’s understandable.

I attacked one of them. They have this hobby of taking over largely public vehicles and crashing them into things. They like to watch your thoughts panic and bounce frantically around your aura as you see death approaching you, as you begin to comprehend that your life is terminating.

They live for that moment of clarity you experience right before impact. It feeds them.

I happened to be on that bus one of them overtook in Virginia. And I happened to notice that he didn’t even realize I was there. I looked him straight in the face. He looked right through me.

The Abunari do not “see” like you and I “see”. They perceive the world through something they like to call Visual Telepathic Energy. In essence, they don’t see you, they see your thoughts. Think something along the lines of thermal energy goggles.

I can’t explain it, but for some reason, they can’t see me. I have some sort of VTE shield, and they can’t penetrate it. That’s why the one on the bus couldn’t see me pull out the handgun I carry for protection and shoot him directly between the eyes. Now, of course, this didn’t kill him, but it stunned him long enough for us to toss him onto the road at 60 miles per hour. That didn’t kill him either.

I assume that’s why they want me so badly. It gives them something to chase, something to experiment on when they eventually catch me.

How are they tracking me? I can’t say that I’m entirely sure about that myself. My theory is that they can see me through other people’s VTE. Sure, they never had a clear basis for what I would look like to them, but I’m sure the one on the bus caught glimpses of me, even though he had no idea where I was or what I was doing. Using that, they simply follow me through the people that see me, those who happen to see a ratty, skinny, dirty young woman scaling scaffolds and running through shadows, those who happen to see me hop a bus to wherever.

That’s just a theory, though. I cannot claim to fully understand the Abunari. As I said: all that matters is that they’re tracking me, and I’ve got to keep moving.

All I care about is staying ahead. All I care about is finding others like me, other Shielded, so that maybe we can start a resistance. The Abunari want to tear this world apart; I don’t feel inclined to let them. There are more out there, somewhere, and I’m going to find them.

So I’ll keep moving. Be on the lookout for a woman in the shadows, beyond the perception of everyday life. That’s where I’ll be, preparing to fight.

Will you?

Dead: A Frank D. Wilson Narrative

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Deep Wood

 

Deep WoodDeep in the woods stands a cabin.  Occupying this cabin is a man who appears almost inhuman.  He came to be in this cabin through a rather unusual ordeal.  He’s a vengeful soul, constantly paranoid and very suspicious of other people.  To venture near is not for the faint of heart!  You might even say he’s a bit insane, but alas, he was not always like this.  He was once a normal person.

His story begins a long time ago while living with his parents.  A relatively normal childhood with his share of hardships and high points.  His parents were highly professional and highly respected in society, often attending functions leaving the boy home by himself.  It’s not that they didn’t care, it’s more they were incapable of dealing with his adventurous and seemingly free spirit.  He was always off exploring and getting into mischief that would force his parents to conjure up explanations to the town.  They eventually grew tired and impatient of his ways after a few years and there became a huge gap in communication and the family unit began to crumble.  Then, the incident occurred!  One clear night while his parents were out hobnobbing, he ventured outside to investigate strange lights he saw outside his bedroom window.  He searched and searched but came up empty.  Then, without warning, three aliens ambushed him and took him to their ship and took off!  Once inside, they strapped him down and performed test after test for what seemed like an eternity.

Meanwhile, his parents arrived home and without even checking to see if he’s home in bed, swiftly went off to sleep.  Finally he was returned home, exhausted and weary.  Whatever was done up there had him anxious and untrusting of just about everyone and everything.  Unable to rationalize or comprehend what just happened, he decided to turn in for the night.  He slept cautiously.  As morning came around, so did he.  During breakfast he emotionally conveyed his encounter to his parents.  Alarmed, and full of disbelief they felt necessary to confine him to a mental institution.  Hurt and feeling betrayed, the boy eventually went mad from being alone.  While inside, he vowed unconditional revenge on his parents and those aliens who did this to him.

Years went by as he planned and plotted his escape and revenge plan.  By now the boy became a young man and his hatred and intensity grew.  Meanwhile, his parents eventually forgot about him and went about their business.  A mistake that he would not let them get away with.  He grew stronger and stronger, waiting for the perfect time.  Finally, the time came to make his escape!  Before the guards even figured out what happened, he was gone.

His first order of business, find his parents.  They were not exactly hard to find either, just find a high class function!  He stormed into the room looking like a mad man would if he was locked away for fifteen years!  All the people scattered and fled, leaving his parents standing there amazed and puzzled.  He strolled over to the buffet table and grabbed a knife and proceeded to charge towards his parents.  They ran out, but not before he was able to slash their arms as they weaseled their way out his clutches.  He yelled after them, vowing to find and exact his revenge!  He, himself ran off into the woods and eventually stumbled upon an abandoned cabin where he settled and planned his rightous victory.  Few people ventured near, mainly out of fear and the ones that did, he made absolutely sure they thought twice about it!

It was a hot, lazy summer day when hikers stumbled upon his cabin.  Horrified and startled, they backed off when wildly approached by him.  Still, however, they were intrigued and mysteriously drawn to him.  The strong summer heat made him weary and unstable.  He began to have frequent hallucinations.  He would frequently begin to barricade himself inside as if he was surrounded by something.  When people drew near, he would speak in an unearthly tongue!  One crisp and cool evening, while cooking dinner for himself, he noticed figures outside his cabin.  He opened his window and immediately felt a wave of anger and adrenaline surge over him!  The very same aliens that abducted him as a child were now standing right outside!  He grinned with delight and prepared himself for a battle he was waiting for his whole life.  The battle was epic and waged on throughout the night with fire from his weapons and alien fireballs lighting up the clear night sky.  When it was all over, he had prevailed.  All that was left was to find his parents, or perhaps, they find him.

He waited and waited and the seasons turned until the following summer came around.  Again, the same two hikers appeared.  He was waiting!  In their first encounter, he had noticed the scars he had inflicted on their arms years earlier.  He brought them inside and he and he could tell their hearts and health were growing weaker.  He told them he had a present for them and asked them to follow him to the other room.  Upon entrance into the room, a loud THUD was heard as they literally dropped dead from shock and horror at what they saw!  In their final seconds they became a believer as they watched the lifeless alien bodies dangle from the cabin rafters, mutilated and swinging in the soft breeze from the little open window.  He had an overwhelming sense of accomplishment along with a huge grin on his face!  He sat the bodies in chairs towards the back of the room where they are facing the alien bodies.  He closes the door and goes off to sleep.

He never came out much after that and no one knows what became of him or what truly lies inside that cabin.  Whether he stll lives or not is unclear and shrouded in mystery.  There are many beliefs and theories as to what has become of him.  There are those that insist he died and his ghost lingers and haunts the cabin and you can hear the bodies swing if you listen closely.  Others say the aliens turned him into a freak of nature: half human, half alien.  Also that the cabin is a cover that hides the spaceship and secret lair.  Then there are those that say he still lives but is so deranged that he seems other worldly.  Which one is true?  There’s only one way to find out, IF YOU DARE!

If you are venturing out into the woods, be sure to not be alone in case you stumble upon a rickety cabin.  If you find you are brave enough to enter, be prepared for what you might find for you may just drop dead from fear and doubt from what you see!  Tell everyone you meet that when jogging, hiking, or just plain exploring to remember: deep in the woods stands a cabin.  Occupying this cabin is a man who appears almost inhuman.  He came to be in this cabin through a rather unusual ordeal.

 

Nancy is a new generation

 

Nancy is a new generation of computers programmed to respond biologically she has built-in human shortcomings including conflicted feelings uncertainty sense of soul pre-installed parts of her are dying she can feel it after elaborate shower focusing on specific body selections underarms feet vagina ass face allowing other anatomical regions to retain natural biotech oils lathering scalp with premiere restructuring shampoo conditioner she dries applies fastidious refined moisturizer emollients to forehead eyelids mouth neck areas vigorously massages special mousse treatment into brunette hair cut medium length brushes teeth rinses with spearmint mouthwash lightly rouges face with extra fine powder mist meticulously paints eyes lips with conventional colors finally adding distinctive subtle scents behind ears neck décolletage wrists thighs derriere toes tonight will be 2nd date with Rick handsome successful options trader who has no idea Nancy is extremely sophisticated complex doll meeting at catch.com on their 1st date Rick has too much to drink possibly owing to his nervousness or shyness around Nancy who possesses regal beauty bearing yet infectious smile laugh he spills 3rd drink then orders 4th drink Nancy becomes courteously standoffish

Bob’s LG electronic 27.5 cubic foot French door refrigerator’s water filter ice system located on door is malfunctioning spewing out brown fetid ice chips onto extremely intricate decorative parquet (palace style) floor consequently leaking into downstairs neighbors custom design ceiling dwelling to make matters worse Bob’s smart phone is on the blink his internet connection down due to unpredicted wild winds he is beside himself in isolated frustration compounding this calamity is foreboding realization Bob highly trained biotech computer programmer may have miscalculated tiny chip link inside Nancy’s cerebellum stem

as Nancy is about to open door for eagerly waiting Rick holding small gift box in hand with note that reads thank you for giving me a 2nd chance something quite irregular unforeseen pleasure fear motor impulse tenses snaps inside her head she reaches for door handle while other hand grasps butcher knife

His Fellow Man

 

His Fellow ManA sharp sting, screaming violent voices all came down around him. He clutched his chest! He had been
shot! He dropped to the ground!.. His thoughts burned in his mind with contempt, bolting his mind into reality.
He was dying and he could do nothing to reach anyone for help. There were two bodies sprawled on the
ground in front of him. One other lay along his side. How many of his relatives had suffered this devastating
demise? Why did he believe tactics for their last chance of survival was to be restrained in a damp and musty
hole in the ground? Was this not supposed to save them?

Time, what length of time did it take? Would it ever be resolved and by whom, that these human forms died
so needlessly, as did so many others? They had already suffered, before passing into the place called peace.
They waited patiently for the moment of escape into a safe and better world that was steadily being destroyed
by man. What was Heaven? He was positive it was better than this.

He was content, only with the fact, that he was the last to remain alive. Scant time left for confirming this
reality. He was truly thankful that the woman he loved so dearly had preceded him in death by minutes. Her
suffering was ended. The two innocent, physically healthy children that lay so still on the brown, dusty ground
yet not a breath of life between them. All were a fun-loving family. They understood, only too well, death could
befall them. The eminent danger and the possible lack of a full future life, Why was this? It was because of the
invasion warnings that came from the newspapers, television and radio. The last few months all had been
deluged with references about invaders. Their fears everyday were magnified.

Oh, yes, he was their leader, a thoughtful, modest, intelligent business man. Most of all the Father and
protector of this close-knit family. He could barely see now, through the mist of his pain, the form of the woman
he so proudly lived with and loved. He longed to reach out and touch her body. She was still warm. He lie
motionless with no real desire. to increase his discomfort and his own mental and physical pain. Nor did he
try. Many more favorable memories flashed through his mind. It brought a piercing smile to his lips.
Lenny, his lovely daughter, a tomboy. Her given name was Arlene. It did not fully describe her. Her boyish
personality hid all her feminine attributes. She was only fifteen. So naive, but ready to accept the threats
connected with the so-called forthcoming invasion. To gain her survival, she had suffered along with the
restrictions. Fourteen Days. They all had endured a drastic life change and terrible confinement.
Duck, his delightful son, lie, as if asleep on a bed for an afternoon nap. His left hand over his head. His
cheek resting on the cold wet ground. Small in stature, but a big man at heart. He too had already
experienced life, laughter, sorrow and strict confinement. This all within his seven years.
Breathing was becoming more difficult. Time was now a matter of minutes to remain conscious. Lost of any
new societies of man. He and his family. All gone. It was ironical, after all those days of restraint. The suffering
of all the discomforts of the dark room, the hiding, confined to a point of mental breaking in that stinking bunker,
only to come out of the ground, sprouting like a tree in the spring, vital and enthusiastic to have life begin
again, wandering for a mile or more among the dead and debris, to look upon who they knew as their fellow
man. They did not recognize the family. Their voices, in perfect unison pelted his ears, “Shoot them, kill them,

they are the invaders!”

THE END

By: D. Hassen

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