For the Friday Challenge.
“The dinner”
11/19/09 11:33 A.M.
Less than a week until the big day, he thought to himself as he wheeled the cart through the aisles of his local mega-mart. Searching for everything he'd need for the big meal only a week away he tried his best to contain his excitement.
Jason was overjoyed at the fact his mom had agreed to have Thanksgiving dinner at his place this year. Even though his house wasn't nearly as big as his brother Jim's, or as close as his baby sister Carol's place, he knew the family would have a good time, he assured himself as he grabbed for the biggest bag of fresh cranberries on the shelf.
11/20/09 8:13 A.M.
The constant blaring of something off in the distance was making it hard to concentrate on exactly what Shania Twain and Taylor Swift were doing to him. Jason looked down at the two ladies and said, “Hey that almost sounds like my alarm..”
“Damn!” he screamed as he sat up in bed before he even looked at the clock radio on his bedside table. He'd overslept, and by a lot. His folks were waiting for him to pick them up at the airport.
For well over an hour and a half by his reckoning, he thought as he grabbed a pair of jeans off the floor and scrambled out the door with one shoe on and the other in his hand.
If he rushed and blew through a couple of red lights he might just make it before they gave up and called Jim or Carol to pick them up. Jason dread either of them lording that over him, so he peeled out of his driveway with a loud screech and headed off to pick up his parents.
11/20/09 9:41 A.M.
Jason stood waiting at the arrival gate for the plane his parents took checking his cellphone for any voice-mails or text messages from Jim or Carol, expecting to find a childishly worded taunt at forgetting to pick up mom and dad, but found nothing. Maybe all the worrying was for nothing, he thought as he scanned the faces of the crowd approaching him trying to pick out their faces.
11/20/09 11:20 A.M.
Okay, he thought as he stared at his watch for the ninth time in as many minutes. It's not like mom and dad are terrorists or drug mules, so where are they? The thought of his parents stuck in some back room of the airport getting interrogated and receiving a cavity search made him chuckle a little, mainly because he knew his folks were the most boring unexciting people on the face of the earth and that the chances of that happening were slim and none.
Jason sighed as he dialed Jim's cell, regretting every number dialed and actually hesitating before he pressed SEND. Jesus this was gonna suck, he thought as he waited for Jim to pick up.
RING
RING
RING
RING
“Hello?” said the voice on the other end of the phone.
“Jim, it's me are mom and dad with you?” Jason said waiting for the inevitable snarky comeback, but all he heard was silence.
“Jim, did you hear me? I asked you if you have mom and dad with you, I think I missed them at the airport.” Jason said knowing his brother wouldn't let a chance to really zing him go by twice.
“Who the hell is this? And how did you get my number?” came the confused reply.
Jason took the phone away from his ear and took a deep breath before speaking, knowing that Jim was putting him on just to get a rise out of him.
“Ha ha, very funny Jim, now answer my question, did you or did you not pick up mom and dad already?” Jason said wearily hoping that Jim would let him off easy this time.
“Okay pal, I don't know who you are or how you got this number, but I'm hanging up right now.” he said, and before Jason could get in a word edgewise the line went dead.
Looking at the phone like it was an alien bug come to life in his hand, Jason knew that Jim was going to be a real jerk about this so he decided to cut out the middleman as it were and quick call Carol. He hoped that she'd at least be mature enough not to screw with him and give him a straight answer so he could go home.
RING
RING
RING
“Hello, McManus residence.” she said with the sounds of children screaming in the background.
“Carol, thank God I caught you, listen Jim is being a real jerk. Can you tell me if he picked up mom and dad at the airport yet?” Jason said praying that Jim hadn't gotten to her already.
“Who..Oh you want Jim, I'm sorry he left to pick up our folks at the airport, he should be back in a couple of minutes if you want to talk to him then. Who should I say is calling?” she said sweetly, waiting to take down a message.
Jason decided enough was enough. His day was crappy enough already, after a nearly two hour drive, and waiting around for that long at the airport was enough.
“You know damn well who this is.” he said not waiting for her to respond. “It's your older brother Jason. Enough with the games okay?” he said a little louder than he intended.
People around him began to back away and the guards who until up to now had paid him no mind, began to watch him. Jason put the phone back to his ear hoping that would calm down the spooked travelers around him, and waited for Carol to admit it was all some prank and that it was over.
But that isn't what happened.
“Listen, I don't know who you are, but my brother, my only brother's name is Jim, so whatever you're doing, if it's just a wrong number or a scam or whatever. It's not gonna work. Okay?” she said hanging up before he had a chance to speak.
Jason turned and quickly left the airport, headed for his car resolute that he'd get to the bottom of this come hell or high water.
Even though he knew where Jim's place was, he had no idea how to get there from the airport, and was glad he'd invested in the tiny GPS unit on his dash. Listening to the monotone voice guide him, Jason kept going over the strange conversations in his mind as he blindly followed the directions the whole way.
Once he parked across the street from Jim's house the day's events took a stranger turn. He'd always thought that his house sorta looked like a smaller version of Jim's house, a fact his older brother needled him with right up until he'd closed on the deal, but looking at it now, Jason was struck at exactly how much the two buildings resembled each other.
Resembled hell, they were twins.
A sound from down the street got his attention and he watched as Jim's Beemer drove up into the driveway and parked. Jason had his hand on the door-handle and was ready to open the door and confront his brother, holiday be damned.
But then he saw it, a sight that defied all reason. Across the street Jason watched as their dad slid out from behind the drivers seat a smile to beat the band on his face, and from the passenger seat, well Jason watched as a perfect replica of himself stood and helped mom get out of the backseat.
“Damn son, she's a fine ride.” shouted dad as he handed the keys back to the other Jason.
“Pop, that's no way to speak about mom, she's right here.” said the other Jason smiling.
They all laughed and walked into the house never noticing Jason, the REAL Jason sitting across the street, with a look of shocked incredulity on his face.
After a few minutes of staring out the windshield of the car, Jason broke the silence with three words.
“What the f*ck?!”
11/20/09 1:48 P.M.
A rumble in his stomach broke through Jason's panicked attempts at reconciling what he'd seen.
He realized that he hadn't eaten anything since last night and numbly started the car to go get something to eat.
As he stood in line at a sandwich shop Jason wondered if perhaps he'd gone insane. That he'd simply snapped at some point and that right now he was really locked up in some looney bin somewhere, and this was all the drugged out fever dreams of his insane mind.
A quick goose from the old lady behind him telling him he was next pulled him out of that line of thinking. If he was crazy he'd hope the ladies playing grab-ass with him would be in the under 70 crowd.
Sitting at the table polishing off the rest of his lunch, Jason took out a pen from his shirt pocket and began making a quick list on the paper his sandwich had been wrapped in.
Crazy?
Huge joke?
Dead? Heaven/Hell?
And finally as a joke he wrote down Twilight Zone?
With a smile Jason quickly scratched off “huge joke” and all of the others right away leaving only the most likely reason.
Jason wondered what else could possibly explain his situation. But nothing came to mind.
He knew that among all the items on his list, things had to be pretty bad if he was hoping he was just crazy.
11/20/09 5:51 P.M.
Sitting outside “Jim's” house Jason contemplated confronting the imposter, but decided against it. Anyone capable of stealing a person's face was surely able to hurt or kill his family.
No, what he needed was a plan. And after a few minutes he'd come up with a brilliant one if he said so himself. The only danger was to implement it, he'd have to leave his parents and sister in the hands of the other “him” for at least four or five days.
Seeing no other way, Jason started up his car and began driving the four hours it'd take to get home. Along the way he began to collect the first of the supplies he'd need for his plan to succeed.
11/22/09 5:58 A.M.
Jason lay in bed fully clothed, his hands stained with chemicals, and totally wired from the previous night's work. He'd never synthesized drugs before, so he had a few hits and misses, but overall he was happy with his results.
By his estimates he'd have enough in two days time, and by then he'd have the second phase of his plans in place. His family's life was depending on it.
11/22/09 10:24 A.M.
After an hour of fruitlessly searching on the internet for any mental illness that even remotely corresponded to what he was going through Jason came to the conclusion that he'd never figure it out, and went back to the task at hand.
11/23/09 4:04 A.M
It had been three days since he'd last slept and it didn't bother Jason in the least. If anything he was thinking much clearly and had even begun to unravel what had been happening to him.
The kitchen table was littered with empty food wrappers with nearly illegible notes scrawled on them detailing the massive conspiracy against him. Jason had laughed at how simple it had been to figure it all out.
As he squatted in the darkness in the field out behind his house, a noise in the woods got his attention. One of his traps had been sprung, finally, and now he had a test subject to try out his wares on to see if all his work would pay off.
Jason pulled the syringe from his back pocket and tapped the side of it to make sure there were no air bubbles in the liquid.
It be a shame to get this far and screw up the results with a beginners mistake like that he thought as he laughed standing over the Live-Trap® with one of the many neighborhood cats desperately trying to get out. Jason quickly jabbed the side of the animal with the needle and pushed down on the plunger in one deft move.
Before he had time to stand the cat was already moving around the cage blearily and weaving with each step. In less than 30 seconds it lay on the floor of the cage, totally and completely motionless.
Jason smiled as he carefully capped the syringe and walked back to his house.
Two more days, he though to himself.
11/25/09 11:59 P.M.
He'd had found a hiding place just behind “Jim's” house, a few loose boards in the fence acted as a pretty good makeshift door, and he had everything ready and packed in a backpack at his feet.
Now or never he thought as he picked up the bag and crept silently towards “Jim's” backdoor.
Count on Ol “Jim” to be reliable, no matter whose face he was wearing, he thought as he recovered the master-key from above the door-frame.
He had thought about entering through the sliding glass door, but quickly gave that up when he saw Carol's two girls camped out in sleeping bags on the living room floor. It wouldn't do to go through all this and have it dashed to hell by two freaked out little girls, so he opted for the basement entrance instead.
As he slowly made his way up the creaky basement steps, timing each step with sounds of the house settling, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. But as soon as he reached the door at the top of the stairs and saw his nieces asleep any thoughts about the path he'd chose were erased.
He'd do it for them, if only to ensure “Jim” couldn't hurt them.
He found all the food in the fridge ready for the next day's big meal all laid out as if arranged for his convenience. Carefully opening his bag, he pulled out the glass bottle and a syringe and set to work lacing each and every morsel of food and drink with the drug.
11/26/09 1:35 P.M.
The house was alive with noise and the smells of the food cooking began wafting downstairs. He was sure to stay stone-still and perfectly quiet in the darkest furthest corner of the basement, biding his time until his plan went into action.
11/26/09 3:02 P.M.
“Oh that smells sooo good!” someone said in the dining room above him the voice rendered unrecognizable through the layers of flooring.
“Alright everybody dig in.” said another voice. This one he knew who it belonged to, “Jim” fake Jim, body thief-Jim.
As the sounds of everybody eating and happily enjoying the day above him began to increase so too did his hatred for “Jim”.
He was sorely tempted to run up the stairs and stab the bastard through the eye with the carving knife, but the sudden rush of hostility began to wane as he heard the commotion upstairs start.
“Oh...oh God is she choking?” someone said in a panic as chairs were pushed back in a rush to assist whoever was the first to succumb to his last minute added ingredient in their holiday meal.
The sounds of bodies hitting the floor with a sickening thump increased as he ticked off the family members in his head. Once they'd all been accounted for he made his way up the stairs and into the dining room to see his handiwork up close.
He had to step over dad, and carol's oldest, but neither were the target he was searching for.
Laying the furthest away from the group was “Jim”, limply holding onto the wireless phone, weakly almost inaudibly begging for 911 to “Please help.”
“Jim” saw as he approached and the last words to escape his lips were a plaintive “Why?”
He looked down at the helpless man and smiled.
“You damn well know why.” he said as bent down and plucked the phone from “Jim's” hand.
11/26/09 3:16 P.M.
He sat at the nearest chair and began mumbling to himself. Repeating the same phrase over and over again out loud.
“He's not me, I'm me.”
Standing as he repeated the chant over and over again, he quickly walked to retrieve his bag, and what he'd need for phase two.
Pulling out the small canister of gasoline he starting practically yelling the phrase as he began spreading the fuel all around the house. Making a trail that led out the front door he laid the now nearly empty gas can just inside the front hall lit a match and said the phrase one last time...
“He's not me, I'm me!” he said throwing the match as he finished speaking.
With a smile on his face Jason turned around and walked away from the house without looking back even once.
When he got back to his car Jason locked the doors and fell asleep watching the growing orange glow and the black smoke as it belched from inside “Jim's” house.
11/26/09 4:02 P.M.
Jason sat in his car studying the ruins of the once beautiful home. With only a few standing walls left he wondered if he could even call it that anymore.
What was worse than the devastation and destruction to him, was the fact that who was at fault.
Damn "Jim"...
11/26/09 4:35 P.M.
Jason sat behind the wheel of his car and smiled as he remembered this year's festivities.
Ah...family.
Punching a new destination into the GPS unit he scowled as he realized he'd have less than 3 weeks to prepare for Christmas.
But he knew if he planned it just right it he could even outdo Thanksgiving.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Friday Challenge Entry #5
For the Friday Challenge.
“Last Hallows Eve”
Zach's toothless smile began to creep me out as we stood outside the back entrance to the funeral home. His cheery demeanor didn't lessen the impact of why we were there, and despite every rationalization I could think of, I knew it was all my fault.
Watching my breath fog the air between us, I thought back to how this all started less than a week ago, back before I'd brought the world and everyone on it to the brink of extinction.
I'd been looking forward to the Fall break and the trip home during my favorite holiday since August. Closing up the lab had been a last minute pain in the ass rush-job that professor Martin had foisted on me without any warning.
She was out the door before I had a chance to ask her if she would get someone else to do it, but I figured if I got it over with quick enough, it wouldn't delay me by too much. Oh to have that day to do over again....
I walked down the crowded rows of lab equipment ensuring everything was properly stowed and secured for the short break in studies. Checking off each item on a clipboard, I double checked to make sure everything that was supposed to be turned off was off, and that any experiment that had been left running wouldn't be a danger if left unattended.
I hadn't been watching where I was walking when it happened.
My left hand barely brushed a beaker full of some noxious fluid, knocking it over and spraying the fluid across the counter right into the path of a Bunsen burner I'd yet to turn off. The brilliant flash of light and heat as the chemical ignited threw me back into a terrarium full of Brazilian moss cultures and set the entire south wall of the lab aflame. In less than a few seconds I found myself struggling to find a way out through the blinding and choking plumes of smoke and fire.
Already disoriented by the scene of carnage I'd manged to create, I wasn't helped when the lab's special fire suppression system went off dousing the room in a fine mist of halon and fire retardant foam, all the while high pitched peals of the fire alarm rang in my ears.
Completely unsure of where I was in relation to the main exit, I decided against feeling my way through the shambles of the lab. Quickly praying to God that I wouldn't die, I made my way through the lab, occasionally bumping into a desk or piece of equipment. It wasn't until I hit something large and metallic that I knew for sure where I was. The central wash station at the front of the room, only thirty-five steps from here to the door, I realized quickly becoming enervated by this minor bit of good fortune.
Once I'd managed to reach the door I hurriedly pushed my way out and into the hallway for my first lungful of fresh air since the accident. The rush of escaping death and finally being able to breathe made me a little light headed and as I slid down the wall landing on my ass, the growing crowd of people who'd gathered to see what was going on faded from my field of vision as I passed out.
I awoke hours later, in almost the exact same position I'd been in before losing consciousness. Almost as if someone had tried to move me but gave up and walked away. Looking around at the hallway, two things immediately struck me as strange, the alarms that had been blaring were still going, and there wasn't another person within sight.
Getting to my feet, I shambled back to the dorms hoping to find out what was going on, and to take a shower to wash off whatever chemicals I'd been marinating in.
The usually boisterous atmosphere of the senior wing's lobby was eerily quiet and the few people who were present didn't even seem to acknowledge my presence. Taking a moment to try to talk to each of them was a wasted effort and I assumed they had all already heard what had happened and decided to ignore me for some reason.
A TV left running in the common room was blaring a sci-fi movie from what I could make out, something about a killer plague and a mass evacuation. Deciding to skip the flick I sullenly walked toward the elevator and pressed the up button.
“Probably a stupid SyFy piece of crap anyway.” I said to myself waiting for the doors to open.
Later sitting on the edge of my bed, I noticed the fact that Taylor, my roommate was nowhere to be found. This was odd because he had spent the better part of the week annoying me into dragging him home with me. He'd finally managed to win me over by repeatedly waking me in the morning with an air-horn and threatening to do so for the rest of the year unless I took him with me.
Taking a moment to jot down a note for him, I mentioned that I had waited for a whole hour for him to show up, and couldn't delay a minute longer. Grabbing the small gym-bag with my clothes for the trip I pinned the note to our door, and locked the room, hoping Taylor wasn't drunk enough to forget his key, or else he'd be spending a long weekend locked out.
The drive back home was pretty uneventful, and once I got within a few miles of my folks house I decided to pay a quick visit to a few friends before I stopped home.
The guys hadn't changed much, and after a few quick beers and a half hour or so of catching up, we made plans to hang out the next night, maybe watch a movie, or something.
My Mom almost crushed me to death with a bear hug the second I was through the door, and Pop, well a handshake and a quick “How's things?” was about the best I could expect.
I hadn't been home less than an hour and already it felt like I'd never left.
“Where's the runt?” I asked Mom as I set down my bag, looking around for my younger brother Zach.
“Jake it's 10:45 at night, he's sleeping.” she said pointing out the obvious.
“Are you hungry, or did you eat on the drive home?” she asked dragging me by the hand to the kitchen not waiting for me to answer.
“I thought you were bringing a friend? You called and said something about that, I'm sure of it.” she said stopping to look at me before stepping behind the counter and scooping the guts out of a partially carved Jack O' Lantern.
“Yeah Mom, he couldn't make it, he came down with something. Sick as a dog.” I said lying to her face.
But knowing the truth wouldn't have set any better with her. Knowing my Mom, she'd have made me wait until Taylor showed up even if I missed out on the entire winter break.
Watching her pull seeds and pumpkin goo out of the incomplete Jack O' Lantern I was distracted just enough to not notice the odd sensation of something moving up the back of my leg until the last second.
Turning with a quick jerk I saw a miniature version of “Dr. Manhattan” running a hand up my leg like it was a spider.
“Boo!” He shrieked, smiling with a few more missing teeth than the last time I'd seen him.
“Zachster!” I shouted reaching down to scoop him up, before he could get away.
He laughed as I “flew” him around the room a few times before plopping him down on the counter next to Mom, and her Halloween handiwork.
“What are you still doing up, brat?” I asked tweaking his nose playfully as I looked at Mom, who was standing there smiling.
“Mom said if I was quiet, I could surprise you.” he said picking at the mess of seeds and pumpkin innards.
“Well mission accomplished, my good doctor.” I said complimenting his costume.
With a quick leap off the counter he bounded up the stairs, as fast as he could without another word.
“Isn't he gonna get awfully cold in that?” I asked my Mom, once he was out of earshot.
“Oh no, not nearly as bad as he was gonna be if he'd had his way.” she said smiling as she picked up the candle and placed it inside the now finished Jack O' Lantern.
Motioning for me to pick it up, she walked to the front porch and pointed out where she wanted it.
“What do you mean?” I asked her, already pretty sure of the answer.
Mom handed the long-tipped lighter as she pulled the top of the pumpkin.
“Well Zach had wanted to go as the “Authentic” Doctor Manhattan. Your father nearly had a coronary when Zach walked out of his bedroom pained blue from head to toe and as naked as the day he was born.” she said chuckling at the memory.
“This costume is a compromise, blue makeup and a pair black undies was as far as your father was willing to go. Besides it's Halloween, what's the worst that could happen?” she said giving my arm a quick reassuring slap.
I smiled as I stood in the slightly chilly October air, watching the amber glow of the candle flicker in the darkness.
It felt so good to be home.
The next morning I awoke with the king of all hangovers and morning breath that could kill an elephant. I hadn't really remembered drinking that much the night before, just a few beers with the guys, but the little men pounding pickaxes in my head tended to disagree.
Stumbling down the hall for some aspirin and a quick piss, I was struck by something odd. The usual sounds and smells of home were completely gone.
Our house wasn't a three-ring circus, but the normal amount of people milling about or getting ready for the day were completely absent.
Adding in the aroma of Mom's famous apple pancakes was missing too, I began to get a little unsettled. She always made that for the first morning when I was home.
Skipping the trip to the bathroom, I walked downstairs to find no one there, and more strangely the mess from the pumpkin carving the night before hadn't even been touched. While Mom may have quick stepped out to get something and taken Zach along, she'd have cut off an arm before not cleaning up a mess. It just wasn't in her, she was too much of a mom.
I picked up the cordless phone in the kitchen, thinking maybe I'd call Mrs. Schaeffer next door to see if she had any idea where my mom and brother were, but the dead line screwed that plan.
On an impulse I decide to check the garage, to see if Mom's car was there, and that's when I saw them. Mom was sitting behind the wheel of her car, her face totally relaxed and laying against the driver's side window, and once I got close enough to see him, Zach strapped into his car seat with his head lolled over to the side, as if they were both sleeping.
But as I stood there in the doorway, I knew that wasn't the case. I couldn't see their chests rising and falling, neither of them were breathing. In a moment of irrational panic I thought that maybe Mom had accidentally let the engine running and forgotten to open the garage door.
So that's exactly what I did.
I pressed the door clicker and walked numbly over to the passenger side, afraid of confirming what I already knew. They were both dead, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.
Sitting next to the lifeless body of my mother I pressed the back of my hand to her cheek and felt the ice cold skin. Waiting hoping this was all some terror dream, I held two fingers across her throat hunting desperately for any trace of a pulse, but knew it wouldn't be found.
And that's where I was when it happened, when I found out what I'd done to doom everyone I'd ever touch again. The sound of a low-flying plane managed to snap me out of the blankly staring at my family, and the announcement repeatedly playing over it's PA system brought me forcefully back to reality.
“ALL CITIZENS ARE TO REMAIN INDOORS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE BY ORDER OF MARSHAL LAW. FURTHER NEWS WILL BE BROADCAST ON CHANNELS 2, 5, 12, AND 16. ALL CITIZENS ARE TO REMAIN INDOORS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE BY ORDER OF MARSHAL.....” droned the mechanical sounding voice as it flew back and forth past my neighborhood.
Running inside, I flipped on the TV, first to channel 2, catching the usually bubbly host mid-sentence as she was reading from a prepared statement.
“and the public is being urged to remain indoors until further notice by order of marshal law. To recap, a terrible and highly virulent plague seems to be cutting a swath across our state, and shows no sign of slowing. Reports of multiple deaths all originating at State University, and spreading to various point across the country have left our nation in crisis.” she said letting the impact of the words she was reading off the TelePrompTer finally hit her.
Switching to channel 5 wasn't much better, but at least all they just had was a news crawl at the bottom of the screen and a map of the infection's spread.
Looking at the various lines and dots constantly being updated on the map made me have a sick moment of realization. The sickness had begun at State University, my school, and the path that the majority of the illness had followed more or less mirrored the exact route I had taken home.
And that's when I thought back to what had kicked off the holiday break, the lab fire.
It was all my fault, everything that was happening had begun with me. Everyone I had touched or come into contact since was either dead or dying. And there was nothing I could do about it.
A sound out in the garage drew my attention away from my guilt if only for a second.
“If there's anyone out there, stay back I'm infected.” I shouted hoping to keep whoever it was at bay.
But when I saw my Mom and Zach walk into the living room I nearly fainted.
Trying to get to my feet was harder than I thought as I rushed to hug them, happy at the though that they were alive, that somehow I'd been wrong.
Maybe I'd dreamed it all.
But the second I touched them, I knew. The cold dead skin touching mine was proof enough it wasn't a dream, more like a waking nightmare. Every ounce of strength left my legs and I collapsed on the sofa, utterly defeated.
That old saying about truth being stranger than fiction? Totally true.
You try being comforted by the corpses of your family as you mentally breakdown. I challenge anyone to stay completely sane in a situation that surreal.
That was a few days ago...
I've spent the last couple of days preparing for Halloween. It was my favorite holiday after all. Mom isn't much help, but I think I have everything pretty much set up good enough to make her happy.
I found dad the second day, he'd died on the way to work, and his car had flipped halfway down the block, the driver's wheel had pinned him in his seat. It wasn't easy getting as much of him as I could out, but I think he'd be proud of my efforts.
Since pretty much everyone in my neighborhood had died over the course of the week, I had the run of the entire town, carte blanche as it were.
And I'd need it for the next part of my plans.
The National Guard armory had been left with only a skeleton crew, and in a few weeks time, I imagined that's all that would be left of them. Walking right past them I gathered what I'd need and strolled right back out.
At first the fact that the “zombies” let me alone bothered me. But as time passed I quickly got used to it. Maybe they saw me as “King Zombie” or something. I couldn't care less. As I drove Mom's car home packed down with provisions for tonight's celebration, I knew all I'd need was one more thing, and everything would be perfect.
Standing outside McCrory's Funeral home with Zach in tow, I wondered for a brief second if perhaps the unreality of the situation had driven me insane.
But then Mr. McCrory came to the back door with three small garbage bags and a look of disgust on his face.
“This is the last time I'm doing this.” he said setting the bags at my feet.
Reaching down to grab the bags I smiled as I returned that train of thought.
“Picking up brains for my zombie family to eat, sanest thing in the world.” I said to myself laughing as I reached down and took Zach's lifeless hand in mine.
He tried to laugh too, but found it quite impossible. I think that broke my heart the most as I led him home.
Seated around the dinning table, we almost looked like a normal family eating dinner. If you ignored the rotting corpses and the heaping plates of brain.
Well..brains for them, and Hamburger Helper for me. I was an adventurous eater, but not that adventurous.
Once everyone had began to eat I pressed the plunger down on the timer, and in exactly two minutes and forty-five seconds it'd all be over.
I had thought wiring up 100 lbs of C-4 would have been much harder, but it comes with instructions right on the side. Kinda convent really.
Honestly I had more problems hooking up my stereo system freshman year.
Taking a mouthful of food I looked around at my family as they devoured the brains on their plate. I never even realized what was happening as one by one their heads exploded in a spray of dead flesh and gore.
A bright light shone in my eyes blinding me right before a high pitched whine and a sharp pain in my head knocked me to the floor. Laying to the side of my chair a pool of blood forming beside me, I could do nothing as the men dressed in army fatigues rushed into my house, guns drawn.
“Dammit Perkins, you only winged that last one! Take better aim next time, you remember what happened to Smith when he missed a “Stinky”, don't you?” said the man standing at the bottom step in the living room.
As I moved to stand up he pulled his sidearm and fired twice, hitting me in the chest both times. A searing pain made me choke on the mouthful of food as I lay dying on the floor.
“Now go and clean that up.” he said to Perkins as he and the other men swept the house looking for more of the walking dead.
I'll hand it to Perkins, he was pretty sharp, he saw right away that I was bleeding and put two and two together. Too bad he never noticed the timer, or the C-4 I was weakly pointing at until he turned to alert the others.
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“Oh Shi---
“Last Hallows Eve”
Zach's toothless smile began to creep me out as we stood outside the back entrance to the funeral home. His cheery demeanor didn't lessen the impact of why we were there, and despite every rationalization I could think of, I knew it was all my fault.
Watching my breath fog the air between us, I thought back to how this all started less than a week ago, back before I'd brought the world and everyone on it to the brink of extinction.
I'd been looking forward to the Fall break and the trip home during my favorite holiday since August. Closing up the lab had been a last minute pain in the ass rush-job that professor Martin had foisted on me without any warning.
She was out the door before I had a chance to ask her if she would get someone else to do it, but I figured if I got it over with quick enough, it wouldn't delay me by too much. Oh to have that day to do over again....
I walked down the crowded rows of lab equipment ensuring everything was properly stowed and secured for the short break in studies. Checking off each item on a clipboard, I double checked to make sure everything that was supposed to be turned off was off, and that any experiment that had been left running wouldn't be a danger if left unattended.
I hadn't been watching where I was walking when it happened.
My left hand barely brushed a beaker full of some noxious fluid, knocking it over and spraying the fluid across the counter right into the path of a Bunsen burner I'd yet to turn off. The brilliant flash of light and heat as the chemical ignited threw me back into a terrarium full of Brazilian moss cultures and set the entire south wall of the lab aflame. In less than a few seconds I found myself struggling to find a way out through the blinding and choking plumes of smoke and fire.
Already disoriented by the scene of carnage I'd manged to create, I wasn't helped when the lab's special fire suppression system went off dousing the room in a fine mist of halon and fire retardant foam, all the while high pitched peals of the fire alarm rang in my ears.
Completely unsure of where I was in relation to the main exit, I decided against feeling my way through the shambles of the lab. Quickly praying to God that I wouldn't die, I made my way through the lab, occasionally bumping into a desk or piece of equipment. It wasn't until I hit something large and metallic that I knew for sure where I was. The central wash station at the front of the room, only thirty-five steps from here to the door, I realized quickly becoming enervated by this minor bit of good fortune.
Once I'd managed to reach the door I hurriedly pushed my way out and into the hallway for my first lungful of fresh air since the accident. The rush of escaping death and finally being able to breathe made me a little light headed and as I slid down the wall landing on my ass, the growing crowd of people who'd gathered to see what was going on faded from my field of vision as I passed out.
I awoke hours later, in almost the exact same position I'd been in before losing consciousness. Almost as if someone had tried to move me but gave up and walked away. Looking around at the hallway, two things immediately struck me as strange, the alarms that had been blaring were still going, and there wasn't another person within sight.
Getting to my feet, I shambled back to the dorms hoping to find out what was going on, and to take a shower to wash off whatever chemicals I'd been marinating in.
The usually boisterous atmosphere of the senior wing's lobby was eerily quiet and the few people who were present didn't even seem to acknowledge my presence. Taking a moment to try to talk to each of them was a wasted effort and I assumed they had all already heard what had happened and decided to ignore me for some reason.
A TV left running in the common room was blaring a sci-fi movie from what I could make out, something about a killer plague and a mass evacuation. Deciding to skip the flick I sullenly walked toward the elevator and pressed the up button.
“Probably a stupid SyFy piece of crap anyway.” I said to myself waiting for the doors to open.
Later sitting on the edge of my bed, I noticed the fact that Taylor, my roommate was nowhere to be found. This was odd because he had spent the better part of the week annoying me into dragging him home with me. He'd finally managed to win me over by repeatedly waking me in the morning with an air-horn and threatening to do so for the rest of the year unless I took him with me.
Taking a moment to jot down a note for him, I mentioned that I had waited for a whole hour for him to show up, and couldn't delay a minute longer. Grabbing the small gym-bag with my clothes for the trip I pinned the note to our door, and locked the room, hoping Taylor wasn't drunk enough to forget his key, or else he'd be spending a long weekend locked out.
The drive back home was pretty uneventful, and once I got within a few miles of my folks house I decided to pay a quick visit to a few friends before I stopped home.
The guys hadn't changed much, and after a few quick beers and a half hour or so of catching up, we made plans to hang out the next night, maybe watch a movie, or something.
My Mom almost crushed me to death with a bear hug the second I was through the door, and Pop, well a handshake and a quick “How's things?” was about the best I could expect.
I hadn't been home less than an hour and already it felt like I'd never left.
“Where's the runt?” I asked Mom as I set down my bag, looking around for my younger brother Zach.
“Jake it's 10:45 at night, he's sleeping.” she said pointing out the obvious.
“Are you hungry, or did you eat on the drive home?” she asked dragging me by the hand to the kitchen not waiting for me to answer.
“I thought you were bringing a friend? You called and said something about that, I'm sure of it.” she said stopping to look at me before stepping behind the counter and scooping the guts out of a partially carved Jack O' Lantern.
“Yeah Mom, he couldn't make it, he came down with something. Sick as a dog.” I said lying to her face.
But knowing the truth wouldn't have set any better with her. Knowing my Mom, she'd have made me wait until Taylor showed up even if I missed out on the entire winter break.
Watching her pull seeds and pumpkin goo out of the incomplete Jack O' Lantern I was distracted just enough to not notice the odd sensation of something moving up the back of my leg until the last second.
Turning with a quick jerk I saw a miniature version of “Dr. Manhattan” running a hand up my leg like it was a spider.
“Boo!” He shrieked, smiling with a few more missing teeth than the last time I'd seen him.
“Zachster!” I shouted reaching down to scoop him up, before he could get away.
He laughed as I “flew” him around the room a few times before plopping him down on the counter next to Mom, and her Halloween handiwork.
“What are you still doing up, brat?” I asked tweaking his nose playfully as I looked at Mom, who was standing there smiling.
“Mom said if I was quiet, I could surprise you.” he said picking at the mess of seeds and pumpkin innards.
“Well mission accomplished, my good doctor.” I said complimenting his costume.
With a quick leap off the counter he bounded up the stairs, as fast as he could without another word.
“Isn't he gonna get awfully cold in that?” I asked my Mom, once he was out of earshot.
“Oh no, not nearly as bad as he was gonna be if he'd had his way.” she said smiling as she picked up the candle and placed it inside the now finished Jack O' Lantern.
Motioning for me to pick it up, she walked to the front porch and pointed out where she wanted it.
“What do you mean?” I asked her, already pretty sure of the answer.
Mom handed the long-tipped lighter as she pulled the top of the pumpkin.
“Well Zach had wanted to go as the “Authentic” Doctor Manhattan. Your father nearly had a coronary when Zach walked out of his bedroom pained blue from head to toe and as naked as the day he was born.” she said chuckling at the memory.
“This costume is a compromise, blue makeup and a pair black undies was as far as your father was willing to go. Besides it's Halloween, what's the worst that could happen?” she said giving my arm a quick reassuring slap.
I smiled as I stood in the slightly chilly October air, watching the amber glow of the candle flicker in the darkness.
It felt so good to be home.
The next morning I awoke with the king of all hangovers and morning breath that could kill an elephant. I hadn't really remembered drinking that much the night before, just a few beers with the guys, but the little men pounding pickaxes in my head tended to disagree.
Stumbling down the hall for some aspirin and a quick piss, I was struck by something odd. The usual sounds and smells of home were completely gone.
Our house wasn't a three-ring circus, but the normal amount of people milling about or getting ready for the day were completely absent.
Adding in the aroma of Mom's famous apple pancakes was missing too, I began to get a little unsettled. She always made that for the first morning when I was home.
Skipping the trip to the bathroom, I walked downstairs to find no one there, and more strangely the mess from the pumpkin carving the night before hadn't even been touched. While Mom may have quick stepped out to get something and taken Zach along, she'd have cut off an arm before not cleaning up a mess. It just wasn't in her, she was too much of a mom.
I picked up the cordless phone in the kitchen, thinking maybe I'd call Mrs. Schaeffer next door to see if she had any idea where my mom and brother were, but the dead line screwed that plan.
On an impulse I decide to check the garage, to see if Mom's car was there, and that's when I saw them. Mom was sitting behind the wheel of her car, her face totally relaxed and laying against the driver's side window, and once I got close enough to see him, Zach strapped into his car seat with his head lolled over to the side, as if they were both sleeping.
But as I stood there in the doorway, I knew that wasn't the case. I couldn't see their chests rising and falling, neither of them were breathing. In a moment of irrational panic I thought that maybe Mom had accidentally let the engine running and forgotten to open the garage door.
So that's exactly what I did.
I pressed the door clicker and walked numbly over to the passenger side, afraid of confirming what I already knew. They were both dead, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.
Sitting next to the lifeless body of my mother I pressed the back of my hand to her cheek and felt the ice cold skin. Waiting hoping this was all some terror dream, I held two fingers across her throat hunting desperately for any trace of a pulse, but knew it wouldn't be found.
And that's where I was when it happened, when I found out what I'd done to doom everyone I'd ever touch again. The sound of a low-flying plane managed to snap me out of the blankly staring at my family, and the announcement repeatedly playing over it's PA system brought me forcefully back to reality.
“ALL CITIZENS ARE TO REMAIN INDOORS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE BY ORDER OF MARSHAL LAW. FURTHER NEWS WILL BE BROADCAST ON CHANNELS 2, 5, 12, AND 16. ALL CITIZENS ARE TO REMAIN INDOORS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE BY ORDER OF MARSHAL.....” droned the mechanical sounding voice as it flew back and forth past my neighborhood.
Running inside, I flipped on the TV, first to channel 2, catching the usually bubbly host mid-sentence as she was reading from a prepared statement.
“and the public is being urged to remain indoors until further notice by order of marshal law. To recap, a terrible and highly virulent plague seems to be cutting a swath across our state, and shows no sign of slowing. Reports of multiple deaths all originating at State University, and spreading to various point across the country have left our nation in crisis.” she said letting the impact of the words she was reading off the TelePrompTer finally hit her.
Switching to channel 5 wasn't much better, but at least all they just had was a news crawl at the bottom of the screen and a map of the infection's spread.
Looking at the various lines and dots constantly being updated on the map made me have a sick moment of realization. The sickness had begun at State University, my school, and the path that the majority of the illness had followed more or less mirrored the exact route I had taken home.
And that's when I thought back to what had kicked off the holiday break, the lab fire.
It was all my fault, everything that was happening had begun with me. Everyone I had touched or come into contact since was either dead or dying. And there was nothing I could do about it.
A sound out in the garage drew my attention away from my guilt if only for a second.
“If there's anyone out there, stay back I'm infected.” I shouted hoping to keep whoever it was at bay.
But when I saw my Mom and Zach walk into the living room I nearly fainted.
Trying to get to my feet was harder than I thought as I rushed to hug them, happy at the though that they were alive, that somehow I'd been wrong.
Maybe I'd dreamed it all.
But the second I touched them, I knew. The cold dead skin touching mine was proof enough it wasn't a dream, more like a waking nightmare. Every ounce of strength left my legs and I collapsed on the sofa, utterly defeated.
That old saying about truth being stranger than fiction? Totally true.
You try being comforted by the corpses of your family as you mentally breakdown. I challenge anyone to stay completely sane in a situation that surreal.
That was a few days ago...
I've spent the last couple of days preparing for Halloween. It was my favorite holiday after all. Mom isn't much help, but I think I have everything pretty much set up good enough to make her happy.
I found dad the second day, he'd died on the way to work, and his car had flipped halfway down the block, the driver's wheel had pinned him in his seat. It wasn't easy getting as much of him as I could out, but I think he'd be proud of my efforts.
Since pretty much everyone in my neighborhood had died over the course of the week, I had the run of the entire town, carte blanche as it were.
And I'd need it for the next part of my plans.
The National Guard armory had been left with only a skeleton crew, and in a few weeks time, I imagined that's all that would be left of them. Walking right past them I gathered what I'd need and strolled right back out.
At first the fact that the “zombies” let me alone bothered me. But as time passed I quickly got used to it. Maybe they saw me as “King Zombie” or something. I couldn't care less. As I drove Mom's car home packed down with provisions for tonight's celebration, I knew all I'd need was one more thing, and everything would be perfect.
Standing outside McCrory's Funeral home with Zach in tow, I wondered for a brief second if perhaps the unreality of the situation had driven me insane.
But then Mr. McCrory came to the back door with three small garbage bags and a look of disgust on his face.
“This is the last time I'm doing this.” he said setting the bags at my feet.
Reaching down to grab the bags I smiled as I returned that train of thought.
“Picking up brains for my zombie family to eat, sanest thing in the world.” I said to myself laughing as I reached down and took Zach's lifeless hand in mine.
He tried to laugh too, but found it quite impossible. I think that broke my heart the most as I led him home.
Seated around the dinning table, we almost looked like a normal family eating dinner. If you ignored the rotting corpses and the heaping plates of brain.
Well..brains for them, and Hamburger Helper for me. I was an adventurous eater, but not that adventurous.
Once everyone had began to eat I pressed the plunger down on the timer, and in exactly two minutes and forty-five seconds it'd all be over.
I had thought wiring up 100 lbs of C-4 would have been much harder, but it comes with instructions right on the side. Kinda convent really.
Honestly I had more problems hooking up my stereo system freshman year.
Taking a mouthful of food I looked around at my family as they devoured the brains on their plate. I never even realized what was happening as one by one their heads exploded in a spray of dead flesh and gore.
A bright light shone in my eyes blinding me right before a high pitched whine and a sharp pain in my head knocked me to the floor. Laying to the side of my chair a pool of blood forming beside me, I could do nothing as the men dressed in army fatigues rushed into my house, guns drawn.
“Dammit Perkins, you only winged that last one! Take better aim next time, you remember what happened to Smith when he missed a “Stinky”, don't you?” said the man standing at the bottom step in the living room.
As I moved to stand up he pulled his sidearm and fired twice, hitting me in the chest both times. A searing pain made me choke on the mouthful of food as I lay dying on the floor.
“Now go and clean that up.” he said to Perkins as he and the other men swept the house looking for more of the walking dead.
I'll hand it to Perkins, he was pretty sharp, he saw right away that I was bleeding and put two and two together. Too bad he never noticed the timer, or the C-4 I was weakly pointing at until he turned to alert the others.
5
4
3
2
1
“Oh Shi---
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Friday Challenge Entry #4
For the Friday Challenge.
"The message"
To: CarlHansen@Neximrobotics.com
From: JMHall@WMA.org
Re: Latest dig. You have to see this!
Carl,
I'm sending this to you because you're the only man I'd trust not to immediately think that I'm crazy.
During a recent archeological dig in Mexico an extremely curious object was found. An object that had no earthly reason to be buried among the remnants of a 1918 campsite, purportedly one where Pancho Villa had stayed for an extended period.
I'm sending you copies of both the original documents, and photos, as well as the translated and digitally enhanced versions.
Sincerely,
James Mathieu Hall; Phd
Archeological Director, Westermann Museum Albuquerque, NM
ATTACHED DOCUMENT: DIGINFO.PDF
Carl opened the document and saw what appeared to be a diary entry. The handwriting was shaky and barely legible, so he scrolled down to the next page and saw a cleaned up and thankfully translated version of the same page.
Day 38: Experiment a complete failure. Minor cascade reactions in my central neural net have slowed my ability to move, and are impairing some motor functions. I've spent the better part of a month acclimating myself to this odd era, and the humans who've welcomed me into their society.
They have been most helpful in repairing most of the external damage to my outer housing. But any queries I have of replacement parts seem to be beyond them. When I asked repeatedly for an oscillating wave-form projector they looked at me strangely and walked away.
Carl laughed and thought about sending a reply to John, he'd nearly forgotten how wicked a sense of humor the man had. But something in the text he'd just read had caught his eye.
Oscilating wave-form projector.
The phrase was something well out of John's wheelhouse, and it'd be easy for him to look up the term on any online tech site, but for the fact the term hadn't even existed up until two days ago. Other than himself and a few technicians, Carl knew no one else even knew of its existence.
But then how did John manage to work it into this weird prank, he thought to himself as he scrolled down to the next page.
Day 51: Have met an odd human. He is under the impression I am not of this Earth, and despite my many protestations (in his native tongue) has managed to conscript me into his personal army.
I fear this may be the last entry in this journal, and have managed to find a hiding spot where it and the other material enclosed will remain undisturbed for well over a century. My hope is that this will be found before my creator performs his “grand experiment”, and I am somehow not flung back in time.
Carl wondered what the brief entry meant by “grand experiment, but decided to scroll to the last page in the PDF.
What he saw at first made no sense. A formation of several men dressed in clothes of Mexican peasants, but standing alongside of them, a robot.
A robot that seemed eerily familiar, he thought as he quickly moved to his drafting table and pulled up the schematics of prototype #318, his latest breakthrough.
As he stared, moving his eyes between the two images, a thought occurred to him. “Look for it”, knowing the entire time it'd be there.
Opening up a copy of the picture in the company's high-end image editor, Carl zoomed in on the odd photo, and hidden on the lower quadrant of the robot's head was exactly what he expected to see, something only he knew to look for.
Etched in micro-printing were the words “CarlHansen@Neximrobotics.com”
"The message"
To: CarlHansen@Neximrobotics.com
From: JMHall@WMA.org
Re: Latest dig. You have to see this!
Carl,
I'm sending this to you because you're the only man I'd trust not to immediately think that I'm crazy.
During a recent archeological dig in Mexico an extremely curious object was found. An object that had no earthly reason to be buried among the remnants of a 1918 campsite, purportedly one where Pancho Villa had stayed for an extended period.
I'm sending you copies of both the original documents, and photos, as well as the translated and digitally enhanced versions.
Sincerely,
James Mathieu Hall; Phd
Archeological Director, Westermann Museum Albuquerque, NM
ATTACHED DOCUMENT: DIGINFO.PDF
Carl opened the document and saw what appeared to be a diary entry. The handwriting was shaky and barely legible, so he scrolled down to the next page and saw a cleaned up and thankfully translated version of the same page.
Day 38: Experiment a complete failure. Minor cascade reactions in my central neural net have slowed my ability to move, and are impairing some motor functions. I've spent the better part of a month acclimating myself to this odd era, and the humans who've welcomed me into their society.
They have been most helpful in repairing most of the external damage to my outer housing. But any queries I have of replacement parts seem to be beyond them. When I asked repeatedly for an oscillating wave-form projector they looked at me strangely and walked away.
Carl laughed and thought about sending a reply to John, he'd nearly forgotten how wicked a sense of humor the man had. But something in the text he'd just read had caught his eye.
Oscilating wave-form projector.
The phrase was something well out of John's wheelhouse, and it'd be easy for him to look up the term on any online tech site, but for the fact the term hadn't even existed up until two days ago. Other than himself and a few technicians, Carl knew no one else even knew of its existence.
But then how did John manage to work it into this weird prank, he thought to himself as he scrolled down to the next page.
Day 51: Have met an odd human. He is under the impression I am not of this Earth, and despite my many protestations (in his native tongue) has managed to conscript me into his personal army.
I fear this may be the last entry in this journal, and have managed to find a hiding spot where it and the other material enclosed will remain undisturbed for well over a century. My hope is that this will be found before my creator performs his “grand experiment”, and I am somehow not flung back in time.
Carl wondered what the brief entry meant by “grand experiment, but decided to scroll to the last page in the PDF.
What he saw at first made no sense. A formation of several men dressed in clothes of Mexican peasants, but standing alongside of them, a robot.
A robot that seemed eerily familiar, he thought as he quickly moved to his drafting table and pulled up the schematics of prototype #318, his latest breakthrough.
As he stared, moving his eyes between the two images, a thought occurred to him. “Look for it”, knowing the entire time it'd be there.
Opening up a copy of the picture in the company's high-end image editor, Carl zoomed in on the odd photo, and hidden on the lower quadrant of the robot's head was exactly what he expected to see, something only he knew to look for.
Etched in micro-printing were the words “CarlHansen@Neximrobotics.com”
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Friday Challenge Entry #3
For the Friday Challenge
"Che cosa ha accaduto questa estate" or "What occurred this summer"
Miss Truglio assigned us all a report due on our return to school, telling her and the rest of our class what we did over the summer break. At first I thought it was a silly and childish thing to have to do. And I already had mine almost done a few days after we left school, figuring that nothing of any importance would happen anyway. That was just a few weeks ago, just before it all started. Proving me wrong in the worst possible way.
The invaders came during the night, their terrifying ships floating silently above the city.
My parents and my brother Marco were as scared as I was, but they made the mistake of leaving the house to inspect the spectacle they thought must be a sign from God.
Something in the pit of my stomach told me otherwise, and I was about to warn my parents and the the others in our neighborhood who'd also gone out to see. But before I could, a brilliant flash of light and heat came from the nearest ship, and they were all gone in an instant.
All that was left smoke and a patch scorch marks upon the earth where they had stood.
What looked as harmless as a ray of sunlight poking through the clouds had taken my entire family, and almost everyone else I knew before I could even blink. The warning that I had meant to voice had been all but forgotten as I ran back to my bedroom, and gathered what I would need once I'd gone into hiding. A few days worth of clothes, the knife my father had given me last year, and a small map of the area that I been making to keep busy over the summer break.
Running to the kitchen I grabbed a few loaves of bread my mother had made for the next day, and some other things I knew would keep well on my journey. I had made the decision only seconds after watching what the invaders were capable of, I would need to run for help. No weapons we had in the village were capable of defending us from them, but I suspected that maybe nearby garrison of soldiers did.
As I watched the invader's ships float away towards the center of the village, I pulled my pack of supplies closer to me, fingering the handle of the knife, readying myself for a confrontation in case I ran into any of their ground forces.
A foolish gesture, I know, but at the time it was more for confidence than anything else. Once the ships were a fair enough distance away, I slipped out of my home and made my way toward the garrison and what I hoped would be my village's salvation.
Fearing being seen by the invaders I had decided against carrying anything to light my way, depending instead on the moonlight and the growing fires their weapons were starting. I had made it to the crest of the pathway the led away from our village when I got a glimpse of one of them.
Standing high above me on the ridge overlooking the village was an invader. He was no bigger than any of the men in the village, but something about him seemed much more threatening.
He wore strange clothes that covered him from head to toe, all in black, cinched with a belt around his waist, loaded down with what I assumed to be more weapons.
It wasn't until he turned around and I caught a glimpse of his face that I knew how terrifying and different the invaders really were.
His face was a smooth blank sheet of black with one small green eye centered in the middle of his face.
As I watched him observe what was going on back in the village, I waited for him to leave, hoping I'd be able to make a run for the soldiers. But as the moon slowly traced its way across the sky, marking the hours passing he stood stone still. Carefully moving as not to make any sound, I walked back the way I had came, praying that none of the invaders had followed my path out of the village.
Realizing going back home would be pointless, I spent the rest of the night creeping around the village, making my way to the only place I could think to hide, the school. By the time I got there it was nearing dawn.
Any other day and I'd have only been getting up just now to the smells of food being cooked by mother, listening to the sound of her yelling at Marco for running around her and generally being in the way.
Walking into my classroom, these thoughts racing through my head I finally broke down and started crying at what I'd lost, and the fact that I may never survive long enough for anyone to know what has happened here.
That's when I started writing this. So that if the invaders do find me and kill me too there will be a record of this, that all who died will not be forgotten.
Fulvio DeRentis, age 10 brother of Marco, son of Silvio and Josette DeRentis, of Pompeii
August 24, 79 In the Year of Our Lord Jesus Christ
It had taken even less time than the leaders had assumed to take over the small country, thought the invader as he stood over the spot where the small boy had been huddled asleep only moments earlier.
The scent of ozone and charred carbon hung in the air long after the body had been vaporized. He'd hated to to kill children, having two of his own, but the orders were clear, no survivors.
Looking down at the scrap of paper the boy had been writing on when he'd caught him unaware, the invader wondered what the indecipherable scribblings meant, if anything. He debated taking it along with him back to the command post, but thought better of it in the end. The cleaning today and tomorrow would take care of any evidence of their arrival.
He had to hand it to the leaders, disguising an invasion with a series of natural disasters was brilliant. Too bad the next one wasn't scheduled to occur for another 1804 years. He'd counted on bringing his family with him to settle on this planet. But took solace in the fact that they'd be well taken care of from the work he was doing.
As he pulled the night vision glasses, and the environmental hood off his face, revealing not the the face of an alien, but a human being, he wondered to himself what kind of name was Earth for such a beautifully unspoiled planet?
He knew the inhabitants hadn't done any better naming his home world after a god of war, but to name a planet after the ground underfoot was just lazy.
He'd spend the walk back to the command post coming up with much better suggestions, he thought to himself as he watched the scientists setting up the cleansing devices in the mountain above the silent and now nearly empty village.
Any stragglers he and the others manged to miss would be taken care of by that, he thought smiling as he went back to coming up with much better names for this new world.
"Che cosa ha accaduto questa estate" or "What occurred this summer"
Miss Truglio assigned us all a report due on our return to school, telling her and the rest of our class what we did over the summer break. At first I thought it was a silly and childish thing to have to do. And I already had mine almost done a few days after we left school, figuring that nothing of any importance would happen anyway. That was just a few weeks ago, just before it all started. Proving me wrong in the worst possible way.
The invaders came during the night, their terrifying ships floating silently above the city.
My parents and my brother Marco were as scared as I was, but they made the mistake of leaving the house to inspect the spectacle they thought must be a sign from God.
Something in the pit of my stomach told me otherwise, and I was about to warn my parents and the the others in our neighborhood who'd also gone out to see. But before I could, a brilliant flash of light and heat came from the nearest ship, and they were all gone in an instant.
All that was left smoke and a patch scorch marks upon the earth where they had stood.
What looked as harmless as a ray of sunlight poking through the clouds had taken my entire family, and almost everyone else I knew before I could even blink. The warning that I had meant to voice had been all but forgotten as I ran back to my bedroom, and gathered what I would need once I'd gone into hiding. A few days worth of clothes, the knife my father had given me last year, and a small map of the area that I been making to keep busy over the summer break.
Running to the kitchen I grabbed a few loaves of bread my mother had made for the next day, and some other things I knew would keep well on my journey. I had made the decision only seconds after watching what the invaders were capable of, I would need to run for help. No weapons we had in the village were capable of defending us from them, but I suspected that maybe nearby garrison of soldiers did.
As I watched the invader's ships float away towards the center of the village, I pulled my pack of supplies closer to me, fingering the handle of the knife, readying myself for a confrontation in case I ran into any of their ground forces.
A foolish gesture, I know, but at the time it was more for confidence than anything else. Once the ships were a fair enough distance away, I slipped out of my home and made my way toward the garrison and what I hoped would be my village's salvation.
Fearing being seen by the invaders I had decided against carrying anything to light my way, depending instead on the moonlight and the growing fires their weapons were starting. I had made it to the crest of the pathway the led away from our village when I got a glimpse of one of them.
Standing high above me on the ridge overlooking the village was an invader. He was no bigger than any of the men in the village, but something about him seemed much more threatening.
He wore strange clothes that covered him from head to toe, all in black, cinched with a belt around his waist, loaded down with what I assumed to be more weapons.
It wasn't until he turned around and I caught a glimpse of his face that I knew how terrifying and different the invaders really were.
His face was a smooth blank sheet of black with one small green eye centered in the middle of his face.
As I watched him observe what was going on back in the village, I waited for him to leave, hoping I'd be able to make a run for the soldiers. But as the moon slowly traced its way across the sky, marking the hours passing he stood stone still. Carefully moving as not to make any sound, I walked back the way I had came, praying that none of the invaders had followed my path out of the village.
Realizing going back home would be pointless, I spent the rest of the night creeping around the village, making my way to the only place I could think to hide, the school. By the time I got there it was nearing dawn.
Any other day and I'd have only been getting up just now to the smells of food being cooked by mother, listening to the sound of her yelling at Marco for running around her and generally being in the way.
Walking into my classroom, these thoughts racing through my head I finally broke down and started crying at what I'd lost, and the fact that I may never survive long enough for anyone to know what has happened here.
That's when I started writing this. So that if the invaders do find me and kill me too there will be a record of this, that all who died will not be forgotten.
Fulvio DeRentis, age 10 brother of Marco, son of Silvio and Josette DeRentis, of Pompeii
August 24, 79 In the Year of Our Lord Jesus Christ
It had taken even less time than the leaders had assumed to take over the small country, thought the invader as he stood over the spot where the small boy had been huddled asleep only moments earlier.
The scent of ozone and charred carbon hung in the air long after the body had been vaporized. He'd hated to to kill children, having two of his own, but the orders were clear, no survivors.
Looking down at the scrap of paper the boy had been writing on when he'd caught him unaware, the invader wondered what the indecipherable scribblings meant, if anything. He debated taking it along with him back to the command post, but thought better of it in the end. The cleaning today and tomorrow would take care of any evidence of their arrival.
He had to hand it to the leaders, disguising an invasion with a series of natural disasters was brilliant. Too bad the next one wasn't scheduled to occur for another 1804 years. He'd counted on bringing his family with him to settle on this planet. But took solace in the fact that they'd be well taken care of from the work he was doing.
As he pulled the night vision glasses, and the environmental hood off his face, revealing not the the face of an alien, but a human being, he wondered to himself what kind of name was Earth for such a beautifully unspoiled planet?
He knew the inhabitants hadn't done any better naming his home world after a god of war, but to name a planet after the ground underfoot was just lazy.
He'd spend the walk back to the command post coming up with much better suggestions, he thought to himself as he watched the scientists setting up the cleansing devices in the mountain above the silent and now nearly empty village.
Any stragglers he and the others manged to miss would be taken care of by that, he thought smiling as he went back to coming up with much better names for this new world.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Friday Challenge Entry #2
For the Friday Challenge
"The treatment”
Bruce, you need to read this idiotic proposal I got back from those two “writers” you had me submit spec scripts to. What did I ever do to you?
My notes are scattered throughout, and I will remember this next time you need someone to polish a short story or manage “The Friday Challenge”.
From: The offices of P. T. Haack & I. Rouen
To: Henry Vogel
Re: Southern Knights Script notes
Henry, P.T. here, we're so glad to be working with you on this exciting project. Ignacio and I just have a few small tweaks we'd like to make in regard to some of the characters, and the script you submitted.
I believe, and Ignacio agrees that with these insignificant changes we can all put out the best possible finished product.
Electrode - A scientist whose love of comics caused him to give himself super-powers. Can generate electricity—up to and including lightning bolts—and can fly.
We'd like to change the character of “Electrode” from a scientist who gains superpowers to an alien visitor who is born with his powers. More along the lines of Superman, but different enough to avoid possible litigation. Also we'd like to remove his love of comic books and replace it with something more culturally relevant like perhaps internet webisodes, we have an arrangement with FoxWarner Studios. And we'd really like to leverage that if possible.
As to casting of the character our short list includes Jason Statham, Shia Labeouf, and if you're amenable to changing the gender of the character, Megan Fox, or Charlize Theron.
Connie Ronnin. A former Olympic fencing silver-medalist. She can create a 'psychic sword' which can cause people struck by it to react as though it were a real sword, but leaves no lasting damage. Being a projection of psychic energy, her sword is not at all inhibited by armor.
For the character of Connie Ronnin, we see a skintight bodysuit and possible nude scenes, tastefully done of course. We feel the concept of a “psychic sword” is a little too highbrow.
Could we possibly change this to an actual sword, a family heirloom passed down thorough the generations along with the secret identity. Ignacio and I have tossed a few ideas around about that, feel free to go over the included sketches, and choose the one you'd feel appropriate.
(Note from Henry: The attached sketches are all bikini clad supermodel types, with large breasts, and vapid smiles. Dear lord what have I gotten myself into?)
Kristin Austin. A petite graduate of Clemson University who is strong enough to destroy a tank and tough enough to withstand at least .50 cal. machine gun rounds.
Kristin was somewhat of a conundrum with us, but after a few days of brainstorming we think we stumbled upon a perfect solution. Combine her character with the character of Connie Ronnin.
With that bit of creative writing we found the pool of available actresses to play the role much easier to fill. We'd like to invite you to come to the next casting call and give us your unbiased opinion on the subject.
(Note from Henry: No, just no. And don't tell my wife.)
Aramis Merrow. A young sorcerer from the 17th century who was placed in suspended animation by his parents when their coven was attacked by witch hunters. He was awakened by Kristin while she was exploring the new house the team had moved into. His magical powers allow him to do almost anything. Flying, scrying, summoning illusions, protecting himself and others with mystical shields, and firing bolts of magical energy. His major weakness is trying to adjust to modern-day life.
We've done some research and found what we think is a new take on this archetypical character. Young hot blonde woman, English accent, and we know this is old school, but all of her “abilities” will be done with practical effects. Just to give it all that hokey old-timey feel, that has been lost in this age of CGI.
Foremost among our concerns for this character was finding a believable young woman capable of playing someone with this much raw seething power.
We think you'll agree with our choice, Dakota Fanning. She's coming off of that remake of "Jaws", so we'd better strike while the iron is hot.
Dragon - Moranderin/Mark Dagon. The last of the dragons (or so he initially believes). After his mate and child were slain by men, he found that he could take on the form of a human male. After having his revenge on the slayers of his family he wandered the world for a thousand years until meeting up with the Knights. In dragon form he is immensely strong and tough, can fly and breath fire. In human form he is no tougher or stronger than a normal human.
Now we saved this until last for a reason, Ignacio and I have the most controversial changes in mind for this character, and we were hoping to wow you with our other improvements before getting to him.
Instead of a powerful dragon who can shape-shift into human form, we saw the one missing component in this series, humor. We planned almost from the day we received the wonderful script you sent us to find a way to work in a subtle bit of humor. And the character of “Dragon” seemed almost written just for that.
With a few modifications, obviously.
Now in our version of Southern Knights, “Dragon” will be a childlike being, an easy audience surrogate for the always popular 6-12 year old market.
Add in the fast food tie-ins and action figure possibilities and you'd have to be a fool to say no to our minor changes.
(Note from Henry: Jesus wept, I'd have to get a frontal lobotomy to work with you jackasses in the first place..)
Sincerely,
P.T. Haack and Ignacio Rouen
P.S.
Henry, the groundskeeper, who wears a high tech suit of armor? Yeah we had to cut him at the last minute. You understand, what with “Iron Man 4” coming out this summer. It's a logistical nightmare, and we'd hate to be accused of swiping a popular character from someone else.
(Note from Henry: What?!? You mean again right? I looked these two up on the WGA website, they have over 100 complaints against them. Seriously check it out for yourself.)
"The treatment”
Bruce, you need to read this idiotic proposal I got back from those two “writers” you had me submit spec scripts to. What did I ever do to you?
My notes are scattered throughout, and I will remember this next time you need someone to polish a short story or manage “The Friday Challenge”.
From: The offices of P. T. Haack & I. Rouen
To: Henry Vogel
Re: Southern Knights Script notes
Henry, P.T. here, we're so glad to be working with you on this exciting project. Ignacio and I just have a few small tweaks we'd like to make in regard to some of the characters, and the script you submitted.
I believe, and Ignacio agrees that with these insignificant changes we can all put out the best possible finished product.
Electrode - A scientist whose love of comics caused him to give himself super-powers. Can generate electricity—up to and including lightning bolts—and can fly.
We'd like to change the character of “Electrode” from a scientist who gains superpowers to an alien visitor who is born with his powers. More along the lines of Superman, but different enough to avoid possible litigation. Also we'd like to remove his love of comic books and replace it with something more culturally relevant like perhaps internet webisodes, we have an arrangement with FoxWarner Studios. And we'd really like to leverage that if possible.
As to casting of the character our short list includes Jason Statham, Shia Labeouf, and if you're amenable to changing the gender of the character, Megan Fox, or Charlize Theron.
Connie Ronnin. A former Olympic fencing silver-medalist. She can create a 'psychic sword' which can cause people struck by it to react as though it were a real sword, but leaves no lasting damage. Being a projection of psychic energy, her sword is not at all inhibited by armor.
For the character of Connie Ronnin, we see a skintight bodysuit and possible nude scenes, tastefully done of course. We feel the concept of a “psychic sword” is a little too highbrow.
Could we possibly change this to an actual sword, a family heirloom passed down thorough the generations along with the secret identity. Ignacio and I have tossed a few ideas around about that, feel free to go over the included sketches, and choose the one you'd feel appropriate.
(Note from Henry: The attached sketches are all bikini clad supermodel types, with large breasts, and vapid smiles. Dear lord what have I gotten myself into?)
Kristin Austin. A petite graduate of Clemson University who is strong enough to destroy a tank and tough enough to withstand at least .50 cal. machine gun rounds.
Kristin was somewhat of a conundrum with us, but after a few days of brainstorming we think we stumbled upon a perfect solution. Combine her character with the character of Connie Ronnin.
With that bit of creative writing we found the pool of available actresses to play the role much easier to fill. We'd like to invite you to come to the next casting call and give us your unbiased opinion on the subject.
(Note from Henry: No, just no. And don't tell my wife.)
Aramis Merrow. A young sorcerer from the 17th century who was placed in suspended animation by his parents when their coven was attacked by witch hunters. He was awakened by Kristin while she was exploring the new house the team had moved into. His magical powers allow him to do almost anything. Flying, scrying, summoning illusions, protecting himself and others with mystical shields, and firing bolts of magical energy. His major weakness is trying to adjust to modern-day life.
We've done some research and found what we think is a new take on this archetypical character. Young hot blonde woman, English accent, and we know this is old school, but all of her “abilities” will be done with practical effects. Just to give it all that hokey old-timey feel, that has been lost in this age of CGI.
Foremost among our concerns for this character was finding a believable young woman capable of playing someone with this much raw seething power.
We think you'll agree with our choice, Dakota Fanning. She's coming off of that remake of "Jaws", so we'd better strike while the iron is hot.
Dragon - Moranderin/Mark Dagon. The last of the dragons (or so he initially believes). After his mate and child were slain by men, he found that he could take on the form of a human male. After having his revenge on the slayers of his family he wandered the world for a thousand years until meeting up with the Knights. In dragon form he is immensely strong and tough, can fly and breath fire. In human form he is no tougher or stronger than a normal human.
Now we saved this until last for a reason, Ignacio and I have the most controversial changes in mind for this character, and we were hoping to wow you with our other improvements before getting to him.
Instead of a powerful dragon who can shape-shift into human form, we saw the one missing component in this series, humor. We planned almost from the day we received the wonderful script you sent us to find a way to work in a subtle bit of humor. And the character of “Dragon” seemed almost written just for that.
With a few modifications, obviously.
Now in our version of Southern Knights, “Dragon” will be a childlike being, an easy audience surrogate for the always popular 6-12 year old market.
Add in the fast food tie-ins and action figure possibilities and you'd have to be a fool to say no to our minor changes.
(Note from Henry: Jesus wept, I'd have to get a frontal lobotomy to work with you jackasses in the first place..)
Sincerely,
P.T. Haack and Ignacio Rouen
P.S.
Henry, the groundskeeper, who wears a high tech suit of armor? Yeah we had to cut him at the last minute. You understand, what with “Iron Man 4” coming out this summer. It's a logistical nightmare, and we'd hate to be accused of swiping a popular character from someone else.
(Note from Henry: What?!? You mean again right? I looked these two up on the WGA website, they have over 100 complaints against them. Seriously check it out for yourself.)
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Friday Challenge Entry #1
For the Friday Challenge
This is my first try at actually writing a story. Be gentle...
"Methuselah unbound"
Dateline May 16, 2024
With the advent of nanotechnology, medical breakthroughs seem likely to become an everyday occurrence. Foremost among them the possibility of nearly limitless healing, and the extension of human life. - Dr. Janice Ghant, Interview published in New England Journal of Medicine June 1, 2024
Some time later...
Gabe sat at the edge of his cot, trying desperately to think of a way out.
But none came, at least none that he hadn't already tried.
Over and over...
To look at him, you'd never guess he was the oldest living natural born human. His salt and pepper hair gave him the appearance of a man in his early forties, a maddening effect that bothered him every time he caught his reflection in a shiny surface. Not that he'd had a mirror, at least not since they took his last one away after his final attempt, a couple decades ago.
He had known it was fruitless the second he began slicing at his wrists and forearms.
But it was the only method left to him. He'd put off trying it for so long. Mostly because of the pain.
But still he watched helplessly anyway as the nanomachines in his body were quickly undoing his latest failed effort at suicide. Easily repairing the deep gashes in his arms before he had even finished cutting.
After that the warden moved him into isolation, so as not to be a danger to himself or others.
Gabe had long ago resigned himself to the fact he'd likely never see the outside world again, other than on TV, or through the fine mesh of the windows of his cell, but in his deepest desires, he kept alive the hope that maybe just maybe one day he'd be free.
It was a surprise then, that a few weeks later Gabe got a visit from his attorney. Or more accurately his last attorney's great-granddaughter or something.
He'd honestly lost track, but the important part to him was that she'd taken on his case when her father died.
Gabe sat silently listening to her speak, glad to hear a human voice not barking orders or threatening to hurt him. He drank in the very sight of her, the fact that she came from the outside world was so distracting he hadn't heard much of what she had been saying, but a key phrase immediately caught his attention.
“Wait, what do you mean free?” He asked incredulously as she flipped through the stack of papers she'd brought along with her.
His lawyer flashed him a quick smile as she handed him a single sheet of paper, densely packed with legal jargon.
“Mr. Kinross, the firm has had your case since day one, and quite frankly I can't believe I'm the first to find this obscure legal loophole.” she said as she pointed to one line in particular on the document.
“What's cruel and unusual punishment?” he asked handing back the sheet of paper.
She again smiled and pulled out a small palmtop computer from her pocket. Its screen quickly flashed to life as a thin beam of greenish light tracking her eyes sent the information directly to her optic nerves.
“Yours is a special case Mr. Kinross. You were incarcerated back before the great digitization of 2103. Every piece of information about your case is only available on hard-copy. Like these files.” she said resting her hand on the small stack of papers on the table.
“When I tried to go over your case it made me wonder what laws were in effect at the time of your incarceration. And that's when I found this.” she said as her eye movements activated the projector function of the tiny computer.
Hovering above the table's surface was a document Gabe only had faint memories of, but had never actually seen before.
“The Constitution of the United States?” he said still wondering what this had to do with the other paper she'd already shown him. As far as he knew the Constitution had no such thing written in it, but he was working from vague childhood memories of the document.
His lawyer pulled another sheet of paper from the pile which was an exact replica of the one floating in mid-air. She'd highlighted the passage she'd shown him in the brief for his case, but now there it was, smack dab in the middle of the Constitution.
Eighth Amendment– Prohibition of excessive bail and cruel and unusual punishment.
Excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted.
“What does this mean?” he asked feeling that hidden sliver of hope grow as she began to speak.
“It means they can't keep you in here for more than the term of your natural life. Which you've already served, quite a few times over.” she said gathering the papers and materials on the table and placing them back into her briefcase.
“As of this afternoon at 3:20 p.m. you are a free man. Congratulations Mr. Kinross.” she sad holding out her hand and shaking his as the news sunk in.
Once she had everything packed up, and was ready to go, Gabe finally worked up the nerve to ask her a question he was afraid to know the answer to.
“How..how long have I been in? I honestly don't know anymore.” Gabe said, his voice trailing off as he mentally prepared himself to hear the answer.
“Mr. Kinross, I've been told by both the prison psychotherapist, and an outside panel of experts not to answer that. At least not outright with a number right now.” she said as she turned to signal the guards they were ready to leave.
“You have an appointment with a special therapy group, with others like you. Men and women who've served especially long prison sentences.” she said, the tinge of compassion clear in her voice.
That worried Gabe more than anything. He'd long ago given up counting off the days of his sentence. But the thought that finding out how long he had been in here suddenly became his prime concern.
He'd long known about the others like him, men and women who'd received the “treatment” before committing a capitol crime. They had been among the minority, but he supposed that effective immortality or not, human nature was human nature. And he was among the last of them to be freed.
Gabe of course had heard of the rumors of people opting to reverse the treatment, happily going back to aging and dying as humanity once used to. The news of which was especially unnerving for him, since his generation of nanomachines were completely impervious to this new cure.
He'd found the decision he had made in haste so long ago had trapped him in a new prison. One he could never get out of. One of his own making.
His own body.
As they walked down the long corridor towards freedom, Gabe wondered if anyone he knew was even still alive. Where would he go? What would he do?
And most importantly to him, could he ever die?
Or would he be forever known as what the media dubbed him upon news of his release, the modern Methuselah?
This is my first try at actually writing a story. Be gentle...
"Methuselah unbound"
Dateline May 16, 2024
With the advent of nanotechnology, medical breakthroughs seem likely to become an everyday occurrence. Foremost among them the possibility of nearly limitless healing, and the extension of human life. - Dr. Janice Ghant, Interview published in New England Journal of Medicine June 1, 2024
Some time later...
Gabe sat at the edge of his cot, trying desperately to think of a way out.
But none came, at least none that he hadn't already tried.
Over and over...
To look at him, you'd never guess he was the oldest living natural born human. His salt and pepper hair gave him the appearance of a man in his early forties, a maddening effect that bothered him every time he caught his reflection in a shiny surface. Not that he'd had a mirror, at least not since they took his last one away after his final attempt, a couple decades ago.
He had known it was fruitless the second he began slicing at his wrists and forearms.
But it was the only method left to him. He'd put off trying it for so long. Mostly because of the pain.
But still he watched helplessly anyway as the nanomachines in his body were quickly undoing his latest failed effort at suicide. Easily repairing the deep gashes in his arms before he had even finished cutting.
After that the warden moved him into isolation, so as not to be a danger to himself or others.
Gabe had long ago resigned himself to the fact he'd likely never see the outside world again, other than on TV, or through the fine mesh of the windows of his cell, but in his deepest desires, he kept alive the hope that maybe just maybe one day he'd be free.
It was a surprise then, that a few weeks later Gabe got a visit from his attorney. Or more accurately his last attorney's great-granddaughter or something.
He'd honestly lost track, but the important part to him was that she'd taken on his case when her father died.
Gabe sat silently listening to her speak, glad to hear a human voice not barking orders or threatening to hurt him. He drank in the very sight of her, the fact that she came from the outside world was so distracting he hadn't heard much of what she had been saying, but a key phrase immediately caught his attention.
“Wait, what do you mean free?” He asked incredulously as she flipped through the stack of papers she'd brought along with her.
His lawyer flashed him a quick smile as she handed him a single sheet of paper, densely packed with legal jargon.
“Mr. Kinross, the firm has had your case since day one, and quite frankly I can't believe I'm the first to find this obscure legal loophole.” she said as she pointed to one line in particular on the document.
“What's cruel and unusual punishment?” he asked handing back the sheet of paper.
She again smiled and pulled out a small palmtop computer from her pocket. Its screen quickly flashed to life as a thin beam of greenish light tracking her eyes sent the information directly to her optic nerves.
“Yours is a special case Mr. Kinross. You were incarcerated back before the great digitization of 2103. Every piece of information about your case is only available on hard-copy. Like these files.” she said resting her hand on the small stack of papers on the table.
“When I tried to go over your case it made me wonder what laws were in effect at the time of your incarceration. And that's when I found this.” she said as her eye movements activated the projector function of the tiny computer.
Hovering above the table's surface was a document Gabe only had faint memories of, but had never actually seen before.
“The Constitution of the United States?” he said still wondering what this had to do with the other paper she'd already shown him. As far as he knew the Constitution had no such thing written in it, but he was working from vague childhood memories of the document.
His lawyer pulled another sheet of paper from the pile which was an exact replica of the one floating in mid-air. She'd highlighted the passage she'd shown him in the brief for his case, but now there it was, smack dab in the middle of the Constitution.
Eighth Amendment– Prohibition of excessive bail and cruel and unusual punishment.
Excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted.
“What does this mean?” he asked feeling that hidden sliver of hope grow as she began to speak.
“It means they can't keep you in here for more than the term of your natural life. Which you've already served, quite a few times over.” she said gathering the papers and materials on the table and placing them back into her briefcase.
“As of this afternoon at 3:20 p.m. you are a free man. Congratulations Mr. Kinross.” she sad holding out her hand and shaking his as the news sunk in.
Once she had everything packed up, and was ready to go, Gabe finally worked up the nerve to ask her a question he was afraid to know the answer to.
“How..how long have I been in? I honestly don't know anymore.” Gabe said, his voice trailing off as he mentally prepared himself to hear the answer.
“Mr. Kinross, I've been told by both the prison psychotherapist, and an outside panel of experts not to answer that. At least not outright with a number right now.” she said as she turned to signal the guards they were ready to leave.
“You have an appointment with a special therapy group, with others like you. Men and women who've served especially long prison sentences.” she said, the tinge of compassion clear in her voice.
That worried Gabe more than anything. He'd long ago given up counting off the days of his sentence. But the thought that finding out how long he had been in here suddenly became his prime concern.
He'd long known about the others like him, men and women who'd received the “treatment” before committing a capitol crime. They had been among the minority, but he supposed that effective immortality or not, human nature was human nature. And he was among the last of them to be freed.
Gabe of course had heard of the rumors of people opting to reverse the treatment, happily going back to aging and dying as humanity once used to. The news of which was especially unnerving for him, since his generation of nanomachines were completely impervious to this new cure.
He'd found the decision he had made in haste so long ago had trapped him in a new prison. One he could never get out of. One of his own making.
His own body.
As they walked down the long corridor towards freedom, Gabe wondered if anyone he knew was even still alive. Where would he go? What would he do?
And most importantly to him, could he ever die?
Or would he be forever known as what the media dubbed him upon news of his release, the modern Methuselah?
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