Lifelike

I wrote a poem inspired by Charity Parkerson's book, Inoperative: Cyborg One . Be sure and check out her awesome story on Amazon.


Lifelike

lifelike confessions
play out like make believe

your metal warms
against my skin
reprogramming resistance

fabricated sweet talk
counterfeit concern
become too real

and I am drawn
more willingly
than magnetized.

© Ben Ditmars 2014

Image Source: Flickr

Flash Fiction at Five

Flurries of Words has featured my flash fiction on their site today. I wrote it about a year ago and it remains a favorite of mine.  Sirens takes place in a dystopian world where all the rich kids explode nuclear weapons for fun as if they were fireworks.  I hope you enjoy it and check out the other great authors on the site.

Flurries of Words

Battle of the Sexes Part 3

I wasn't a virgin. I had sex before the war started. And no, that does not make me some sort of slut who deserved what she got. I felt just as humiliated as any pure woman would. My heart crumbled just as fragile. I even blamed myself. But it wasn't my fault. He was an animal. Maybe society had crafted him but he was still responsible. If the law is all that keeps you from ravaging and killing women you are less than human.

As three men dragged my beaten body into an abandoned house, I told myself these things. I needed something, anything to draw my mind away from reality. How did they find me? I'd hidden for so long and the instance I came out from hiding it was over... Men were looking for any sex they could find. I guess I was it.

The pig, no worse than pig, was unzipping above me. I struggled and he hit me. My mother flashed through my mind; raped and murdered just as easily. My father protecting her; my sister leaving me; it was all surreal and yet too real. At times, before they had impunity, men pretended to be police, and got inside. That's how they killed her, my mother and the closest thing I ever had to a friend.

Oh, God, he was inside me. I wanted to throw up but threw my mind toward memories that were only slightly less horrifying. Father struggled. He was strong, maybe stronger. He could have won if not for the blade. It stabbed his side as I watched helpless from the stairs.

Nausea took me. Every thrust made me wish he'd end it all and slit my throat. Worse, my mind became focused on the living hell. He grabbed for my breasts and I had no will left to stop him. I heard a door opening. Was it heaven? Maybe God had come to take me away, if Satan had not already. It was impossible to tell before I saw her. She was not a demon.

A halo hung above a goddess with an automatic rifle. The worse than pig pulled out. I felt bleeding in full force. He rose toward her, moving inches seeming miles and was shot. The other two were next. I may have cheered if not for her own blood pooling on the carpet. "She was a hero," I thought, witnessing her body collapse. "I wish she hadn't paid the price."

Battle of the Sexes Part 2

WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT

Women called it a Battle of the Sexes. We were just after the pussies God made for us. If that's wrong none of us cared. My buddies Buck, Tyson and I were winning, getting our fill. So were any women we came across. Most of the mature ones died off fastest. That left younger ones without hair on their cunts. I'm sure some born out of the struggle. Maybe twenty or so were my own kids. I only felt a little guilty. The pleasure made it worth while. Them girls were so lean and tender, like a fresh cut of veal. My mouth waters just thinking of it. I remember pulling one of these young calves into an abandoned house with my buddies. She was crying something fierce, maybe a virgin, if there were any left to be had. There'd be some blood, I thought, a little tearing but she'd be good and worn in my the time we all had our way.

I went first, thinking I'd make an honest women out of her. She screamed as I unzipped my jeans with one hand and pinned her with the other. Not an easy flower to unpluck but I was up to the job. A few squirms, a hit to her face and I was in. She wasn't wet but I took it in stride. Couldn't let the little slut enjoy herself too much. Her breasts were small but I grabbed onto them just the same. I missed the fuller ones. A ride was a ride so I pumped her a good five or ten times. That's when the door opened.

In walked this big-breasted goddess with an automatic rifle. I might've thrown the little git aside and gone for the main course if she hadn't fired rounds into me and my buddies. I got one shot off but that was it. I felt a twinge of regret, for her and the other women; a little respect for the bitch shooting. "She was a goddamn hero," I thought, hitting the ground, "and we all paid the price."

Battle of the Sexes

It ended sooner than we thought it could; the last and final battle of the sexes.  The battle for sex itself some said but they were mostly men.  The majority of women saw more; equality, an end to persecution, a host of other pipe dreams. I fought for something else entirely; myself. Ideology just got you killed. It made you a target. I'd seen too many head-in-the-clouds types get themself shot. The action takes place on the ground and you can't afford to be anywhere else.

I holed up in a basement, not hoping for things to get better so much as going down on my own terms. The fire fight still raged around me. I hadn't started it and I wouldn't finish it. There were no goals or strategies; just a gal and her automatic rifle. If vengeance took over for self-preservation, it didn't matter; not at this juncture. I wasn't coming out alive.

A door opened above me. I readied the trigger, waiting to fire. Two men were talking. They had a young girl with them. She clearly did not want to be with them. I felt for her; young, naive, thrown into a war of ceaseless ravaging. That's what it became in essence. Men grew tired of being men, reverting to their natural state. Some tried stopping it but only got themselves murdered by others. My father was one of them; the only decent man I'd ever known.

Her screams shook the walls. I smelled her fear. It wasn't that different from my first time. But it would be. I was alone; a penetrated wretch of guilt and shame. She had me. I readied my rifle once more, climbing the stairs.

I wasn't prepared for the sight but neither were they. Her bruised and broken state ignited a rage I promised myself would never get the better of me. I was idealistic as I fired rounds into a grotesque ape fondling the young girl. It was an unstoppable state. I penetrated the rest of them with bullets; disgusted and joyous at the same time.

The young girl stared at my moment of triumph. Or what should have been. I did not notice how I bled profusely. It hadn't seemed like I was hit. But I was. The room was blurred and spinning from control. I was a hero I thought hitting the ground, and I paid the price.

The Fall

I grew up in a place without trees.  There was no grass.  Yards were concrete and we dreamed of flowers.  Sometimes my brother and I would draw them with chalk.  It wasn’t the same.  We had only ever seen pictures on the TV; they were vibrant, beautiful and far away.  I sometimes touched the pixelated petals, imagining them soft, fragrant, in a vase or garden I could touch.

 

Seasons never came.  In the same way we dreamed of flowers we dreamed of snow or autumn leaves.  A long time ago children made snow angels, leapt into piles of fresh foliage.  There was a oneness with nature in the old films.

I will never forget the day that it was almost autumn.  My brother and I had finished downloading education for the day into our cerebral processors when it happened.  A leaf blew into the yard, just visible out our window.  We rushed to see it closer.  Another fell and then another.  It was a beautiful spectacle.  I raced my brother out the door.

Like children from another century piles of dark brown crinkled leaves lay before us.  I ran with all the speed I could gather and jumped.

Strangely, it was not the sensation I imagined.  I coughed as black dust stung my eyes.  My clothes lit up with the tiniest embers.  The sky was black and growing blacker.  From the distance a factory of immense proportions loomed.  Our leaves weren’t leaves but paper burnt and littered on the ground.

Caged

The bear ate honey in the forest.  Or what it thought was a forest.  The limbs flickered and a blowing sound emitted from the floor.

“Don’t mind the noise,” a soothing voice said.  “Get back to doing bear stuff.”

“What sort of bear stuff?” The bear replied.

“You know… fishing, hunting, playing with your friend Piglet?

“I’m sorry.  That’s not me.  I need to feel motivated.  What’s my motivation?”

“You don’t need motivation; you’re already a bear!”

“You’re a human but I’m not expecting you to act like Roy Rogers and Clint Eastwood.  How ignorant!”

“Jeff,” the voice whispered.  “Turn on the gas.  It looks like another won’t cooperate.”

“Whatever you say, Bill.”

A green cloud began to fill the room.  The bear merely continued staring at horizon it had figured out was two-way glass.  Impending death had not changed its demeanor, but rather gave a curious expression in the place of fear.

“I surmise,” choked out the bear as its lungs began to give, “you’d like to know what you’ve done wrong in this experiment.”

“We don’t need advice from lesser mammals.  If you were intelligent at all you’d be the one gassing us.”

“I’m going to tell you, regardless.  The obvious explanation is you can’t play God expecting results in your favor; the less obvious being, bears will generally eat fish over honey in their environment.”

The room became completely obscured with gas.  The bear did not use the situation to its advantage for escape, however.  It merely lied down as if going to sleep, happy to have the hard part of its journey over with.

“That one sure didn’t put up a fight.”

“You expected it to?”

“Well, yeah, wouldn’t you?”

“I’m human; my life means more.”

“But will your death in the end?”

“Really!?  You’re getting pretty philosophical.”

“Let’s just bring in the next bear.”

Another bear walked out identical to the first in appearance.  It was not clear where the corpse of the other had gone.

“What do you say we let this one live for a while, maybe get it some fresh fish?”

“I’d say you’re losing your nerve.”

“Didn’t you hear what that other bear said?”

“No.  You heard a bear talking?”

“Yeah,” Bill said nervously.  “Didn’t you?”

“I think you need a break…”

“No… please… I’m really all right!”

These were the last words Bill remembered speaking to Jeff.  He slowly opened his eyes inside the bear pen that was no longer a bear pen.  Bill was back in his college dorm room.  The familiar swimsuit calendar hung on the wall with posters of his favorite bands.  He ran up to his roommate, Zach, he hadn’t seen in nearly twenty-years.  "Hey, man, want to go play some Frisbee in the quad?"  Zach didn't respond.  Bill noticed him flicker.  A familiar blowing sound emitted from the floor.

Bill felt his lungs begin to seize.  The room was filled with greenish haze.  He ran with all his strength toward where he thought the two-way glass must have been.  When he fell over, he crawled.  Jeff was not ready to die.  He refused to accept it.  The lights were dimming; he knew it had nothing to do with the electricity.

As he lay, finally immobilized, he saw the other bear, the dead bear, sitting where his friend had been mere moments before.

“Help me!  Please!  I can save you too!”  Bill thought more than talked.  He was barely capable of whispering.

“So naïve,” the bear said before vanishing and leaving Bill to his fate.

The Cola Wars

Some say Coke fired the first shot.  Others say Pepsi.  Regardless, it began the long and arduous struggle known to the victors as World War Zero, named respectively for Coke Zero.  Some interpreters will still cling to the usage World War One, named for Pepsi One and not that other thing in 1914.  They are few and far between.

It is hard to make sense of the carnage that ensued.  Casualties are still undetermined.  The last struggle on the peaks of Mountain Dew alone weighed in at over ten thousand ounces in blood.  The two companies insist on measuring blood spilled in ounces even as the world community at large pleads that they convert to milliliters.

Pepsi from the outset was faced with a severe shortage of resources.  They invaded Boeing and almost succeeded at stealing their aluminum.  Several valuable airplanes were left Swiss-cheesed in the process.  Coke, aligned with Lockheed managed to repel the invasion.

Allies looked as scarce as resources to the taste of the next generation.  Coke had already acquired Dow Chemicals, Intel and Wells Fargo on their side.

Pepsi was forced to catch up.  They therefore aligned themselves with Aunt Jemima in hopes their sugar would prove useful.  Quality production Pepsi assumed would help them beat the Coca Cola hegemony.  They were very wrong.

Dow dropped chemical dirty bombs from B-2s day and night on Pepsi headquarters resulting in horrific genetic deformities.  Intel viciously disabled computer systems, isolating Pepsi from the outside world.  Wells Fargo froze all assets available bringing them into financial ruin.

As the Coca-Cola trucks closed in a blockade began. Unconditional surrender was called for.  The employees of Pepsi had no reply.  They kept on producing as Coke hammered away at their defenses.  Live Wire was strung up but easily plowed through.  Sierra Mist came to nothing with the use of night vision goggles.

Faced with total annihilation the CEO of Pepsi decided to lay down his arms, which were both blown off in an explosion mere minutes before.  Thus ended the most costly struggle in beverage corporation history.

The Almost Deleted Story

I started writing a story earlier this week.  I was really excited as I thought it up in the car and got home to write it.  But, it didn't quite turn out as I would have liked.  I finished the second part the next day and just felt nothing was working as I imagined.  So, I tinkered and thought over the plot and writing over the course of the week.  Considered just deleting it, coming back to the idea later.  The thought of throwing five pages of writing away though didn't seem right.  So, I figured for good or ill, for smiley or frowny face, I would just post it on here and see what suggestions you might all have.

*****

Dev

Life changing experiences are few and far between in the span of a lifetime.  I’ve heard it and I’m sure you’ve heard it too.  We go to school, we graduate, we work, we maybe get married, have kids and then we die.  That’s the macro view of things.  But, occasionally something comes along and throws us so far off course, that such notions, as true as they are for the majority, appear ridiculous.

My comfort zone and easy going path in life were interrupted one July night, now five years ago.  I couldn’t tell you the exact date – too much had happened much too quickly.  But what I can say is sufficient that you’ll get the point.

It was after work and I had gone out to a nightclub with some friends.  It was just one of those workdays where we needed a good deal of drinking and dancing to get by.  The club provided both to excess. 

In the chaos of hitting on women, showing them my grandpa's old switchblade, dancing and consuming ever more alcohol I managed to meet someone.  This, someone happened to be famous.  It was an odd feeling when you could barely remember your own name to talk with someone you admired.  Her name was Dev.  You know, the girl who sang in the song Like a G6?  It had been one of my favorite tunes when it came out.  Unfortunately in my advanced inebriation I began singing it to her.  She laughed a strange laugh that seemed almost techno.  I knew my mind was going south and I had to seal the deal quick.

“You want to go back to my place?” I asked her, just barely audible over the noise of the club’s music.  Strangely she consented.  I must have asked almost over twenty other women the same thing that night with no success.

We went back to my apartment.  I can’t recall for sure if we took a cab or if she had had a driver of some sort.  The next thing that I know for sure, however, was that we were making out, my hands moving swiftly up her back.

She took off her shirt and we headed for the bedroom.  Her body seemed cold but I ignored it in the anticipation of getting laid.  It’s what any guy would do in the same situation, I surmise.  There’s a million girls with frigid skin, right?  Maybe not as cold as Dev’s but close.  It was like she had rested on top of steel girders or something.

These thoughts stayed in the back of my mind as much as I wanted to dismiss them.  Even as I continued to feel her up, go down on her, she seemed to lack a certain warmth.  Something was very different inside Dev, however.  There was warmth, at long last, in abundance.  I was consumed, feeling like I might have never stopped.  I went for ten minutes, twenty minutes, past an hour.  The ten alone was a record.

After the hour passed however, my amazing drunken luck began to change.  Dev’s breathing slowed.  She stopped moving.  I didn’t feel a heartbeat.  In a frenzied panic I ran over to the nightstand where I had hastily placed my cell phone.  I never got the chance to dial 911.

Men in white coats broke through the door, restraining me.  I was pinned to the ground as they hit my stomach and tied a rag over my eyes.  I caught one last glimpse of Dev in the apartment.  It appeared as if she were open; an assortment of wires sticking out her chest cavity.  But that couldn’t be the case…

I was pushed down along a flight of stairs and into a car.  The driver made several jerking turns as if he thought I was memorizing the way.  I was too consumed with questions however, to plan a daring escape.  Who were these men?  What did they want with Dev?  Why did they need me?

We drove and drove; much longer than the required route I’m sure.  None of the kidnappers talked with each other and I had no interest in talking myself.  The legal part of my mind told me I should wait for a lawyer.  But, it was obvious from the way Dev and me were abducted that, if this was indeed any part of the government, it would not be held accountable.  Such was the way of the military…

The next voice I heard was after I had been led out of the vehicle and inside some sort of facility.  I didn’t need to see to realize it as some sort of laboratory.  The grass and air outside smelled over manicured and highly treated in the way an industrial firm will try and compensate for the debasements of nature occurring inside.

“Hello,” I heard.  The blindfold had still not been removed.

“I bet you wonder why we’ve brought you here,” the cold, officious voice continued.  I didn’t reply.  “I suppose it’s best to uncover your eyes now.”

He must have motioned to assistants as I could finally see once more.  My eyes struggled adjusting to a bright, white light and continued to sting for several minutes after.  I imagine I had brought it on from trying to focus too quickly.

“As your eyes adjust, let me tell you a little about ourselves.  We are an industry known as Fabrilite.  The name is not meant to be creative.  If anything, it is what you might call inconspicuous.”

I could finally see something.  There were people in the same white suits from before, some of them I recognized and the man who had been speaking.  He wore a business suit as if he were a bureaucrat or politician of some kind.

“From your squinting, I can guess you see more clearly.  So, take a good look; indulge!”

He smiled as I turned my head from side to side.  He had clearly got the reaction he was looking for.  All around me, with the exception of the straight aisle we were standing in were celebrities; gorgeous celebrities!  Beyonce was no more than two feet away; I could reach out and touch Rihanna!

I did just that.  But she didn’t acknowledge me.  I wondered if it was the callousness of fame or something else.

“Do you notice anything peculiar?” the suit-clad man began once more.

“They aren’t blinking.  They aren’t… breathing.”

“And why do you think that is?”

Once more, my instinctive response of silence took hold.  The scientists in lab coats were carrying a heap of something and laying it on the floor in front of us.  But it wasn’t a heap it was Dev…

She was in worse shape than before.  I ran over to her and stopped halfway in my tracks.  I hadn’t imagined the wires… they were mangled, tied and sticking out in droves from her pried open chest cavity.

“What have you done to her!?” I accused to no one in particular.

“We brought her… home.  Dev had strayed significantly off course tonight.”

“You’ve kidnapped her, you’ve kidnapped all these people!  They need medical attention!”

“Oh, how very thick you are.  These celebrities are far from kidnapped.  They were born here and this is where they come at night to charge.”

“You’re insane!”

“No, it would appear that you are simply ignorant.”

“Is Dev dead?” I asked, suddenly caring solely for her.

“Of course not.  Dev was never alive in the first place.”

“Don’t say that!  We shared something together!”

“I’m afraid your intimacy with this creation was no more than would be gained from an internet porn site.  Most, if not all, pop stars, if you have not figured it out, are robotics manufactured for the entertainment industry.”

“What?” I replied stunned, putting years of evidence together in my mind.

“Pop stars are the perfect advertisers; more noticeable than billboards, more enduring than commercials.  They sell albums, movies, magazines, cosmetics, concert tickets… a nearly endless range of products.”

“B-but why robots?”

“There needs to be some element of control.  Humans as a species have trouble processing the sheer amount of attention required in being celebrities.  They kept burning up.  We needed more staying power.  Fabrilite has allowed the industry to streamline the process.  All that’s required is the occasional rogue entity to make the farce appear more real.”

“Rogue entity?”

“Oh, yes.  Occasionally a celebrity will commit suicide or overdose.  This has all been planned far in advance.  We also make movies stars.”

“So, is Cher, you know?”

“Real?  Yes, Cher is indeed the real deal.  We can’t create all, only most.”

“Why did you bring me here and tell me all this?”

“You had seen too much; became a risk.  Contrary to popular belief secret organizations cannot merely wipe memories.”

“So, do I swear an oath of secrecy?”

“No, we would kill you over doing that.  We have grander plans.”

Dev stirred.  A mechanic of some sort was on the floor looking her over.  “Boss,” he said getting up “she’s totaled.” 

“Murray, call Entertainment Tonight,” the boss replied, “tell them she had a drug overdose.”

“She’s still moving!” I yelled seeing her fingers reach out.

“It’s much easier and cheaper to move on.  Besides, she was merely a robotic.  Did you get this attached to your Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Robots as a kid?”

“She’s more than that!”

“Yes, so we’ve heard.”

“No, I felt skin, I felt life.”

“Well, not all of Dev was faked.  We did use some real flesh from a struggling singer.  But you can’t expect us to create everything.”

“Then she is alive!”

“No, she just has parts of someone who was living.  Believe me, there’s a difference.  A picked scab does not qualify as a living being.”

“Let us go!” I said as a team of people restrained me.

“You can’t possibly expect us to concede to that demand, given all you now know, so why say such a thing?”

I had no response again.

“Now, as for you.  What do we have in store?  I have a feeling you already know.  Despite that last statement you aren’t completely stupid.”

“You’re going to… use my flesh?”

“Yes, quite a bit, actually.”

“How much?”

“Let’s just say you won’t even miss it.”

I reached inside my pocket.  Through some stroke of luck they hadn’t taken the old switchblade.

“Are you ready to join Dev?” he said approaching me.  I never gave him the chance.  With a swift movement I stabbed his stomach.  He backed away with blood on his hands and stumbled to the ground.

The others began advancing.  I knew I had to grab Dev and take her with me.  The metal composing her body was lightweight.  I easily picked her up as I had when we made love mere hours, seeming days, before.

Her hand grasped mine as we ran toward the exit.  Her eyes flickered open but only just and momentarily.  She was far from recovery.

Against all odds we managed to steal the large van parked outside and escape.  I can’t say to where, but it’s not so bad.  People don’t ask questions and I can work rebuilding Dev.  She’s beginning to remember again.  Small things.  Her old name, Jessica.  The real town she grew up in.  Little by little she’s becoming more than living.  She’s becoming human.

Jeffrey's Saga

Jeffrey casually flicked the stone wall of the McDaniel’s building.  He wasn’t sure why he had done it.  It just seemed the thing to do.  After, as his finger smarted from the pain it seemed the opposite.  He feared his nail had broken off completely.  A large piece of finger nail had indeed fallen to the ground.  Remarkably it seemed unbloodied.

Forcing himself to look Jeffrey held his hand out in front of his eyes.  Strangely nothing.  His nail had not flaked off, yet there it lied broken on the ground.  Perhaps he had developed super healing powers like Wolverine?  No, that was foolish.  It was more likely a genetically mutated spider of some kind that bit him.  But where would it come from?  Jeffrey didn’t know of any major Science laboratories in the area.

His finger was still red.  How long did superheroes take to heal? Jeffrey decided he would make the most of it.  Approaching another portion of the wall he opted to try more than flicking.  Balling his fist he hit the stone at full force.

Predictably he broke a great deal of bone.  Even more predictably from a scientific perspective nothing healed any faster than normal.  Fingernails however came off again; much more than for which Jeffrey had fingers.  This alarmed him.  What if his super power was not regeneration but simply producing an abnormal abundance of new fingernails?  He’d be the laughing stock of the comic book world.

Who would Jeffrey go to with his problem?  The major hospitals could inform the military.  They would surely study him, possibly, God forbid… dissect!

Things were moving too fast.  Jeffrey just wanted his life back; the life before his mutant fingernails took over!  His family would have to understand why he couldn’t go home.  Jeffrey couldn’t put them in danger.  The criminal underground would surely be after him in no time and use any leverage they could get their hands on.  The military, the criminals… they would all take their shots.  Who knew what horrible things his flaky nails might do in the wrong hands!

Jeffrey noticed a ring amongst the flakes.  Maybe if he slid it on the curse would be lifted.  He thought too soon; a finger was in it.

“Gross” he thought.  But in the interest of saving the world from the evil forces soon to mass upon him, Jeffrey picked up the severed finger.  He tried to shake it off the ring, but it was budged.  Stomping up and down was the next logical step.

Jeffrey never got the chance.  A black van pulled up as he placed the severed finger underneath his boot.  Two goons emerged and promptly grabbed him.  He tried to cut them with his nail shedding but the powers must not have worked under stress.  Poor Jeffrey; blindfolded, tied up and taken away defenseless.

He awoke hours later in a sort of interrogation room with a long table and chairs.  It was largely a letdown for Jeff, who had been expecting more of an evil laboratory motif.

Two men in business suits entered and sat across from him.

“Okay, this has gone far enough,” Jeffrey started, “You kidnap me, bring me in this disappointing room with no beakers and you’re wearing suits…SUITS!  You don’t have the common decency to dawn lab coats!?”

“We are sorry Mr. Jeffrey, we truly are,” said the man on the left.

“Now, you apologize!”

“It is the polite thing to do before you kill someone,” said the man to the right.

“That’s more like it,” Jeffrey said, reclining.  “How are you going to do it?  Vaporize me?  Turn me Cyberman?”

“No, nothing like that,” alternated the man on the left “you have been watching far too much science fiction.”

“How are you going to do it then?”

“We’re going to grind you into meat and make a human brick out of you.  Then we’ll take that brick and put it on a building.”

“But – but, why?”

“They always ask why, Pete.  They always ask why.”

“It’s okay, George, I’ll take this one.  We’ve been making buildings out of human bricks for some time now.  You could say it’s because quarrying is labor intensive and a lot of hassle.  You could say it’s a good way to rid ourselves of undesirable elements in society.”

“Which would you say?”

“Oh, I’d go with the labor intensive hassle.”

“You would.  Never the more interesting option with you type.”

“No, it too often isn’t.  Which leaves us the issue of what to do with you.”

“I didn’t see anything," said Jeffrey beginning to fear for his life, "this was all a dream!”

“We’d like to believe you can stick by that story.  But the truth is you’ve had your share of run ins with the law.”

“So it is the second option!”

“No, no, still more the first.  We wouldn’t do this if it cost us more.  Or at least, we’d enjoy it less.”

“Honestly, I didn’t see a finger fall out of the wall!”

“Then how would you know about it just then?  Your story is already falling apart!”

“I know.”

“Think of it as getting your name on a sidewalk.  You will be immortalized… forever.  Now if you’d just shave yourself we can get started.”

“Shave myself?”

“Of course.  We can’t have hair gopping up the works.”

“But why do I have to do it?”

“Courtesy.”

“You’re grinding me into a brick and you want my courtesy?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“All right, at least I’ll be gentler on my own.”

“That’s the spirit.  We’ll get you some scissors and you can get started.”

“Oh, come on, at least spring for a Schick!”

“Fine, if you're gonna be all cry baby about it...”

Pete motioned and five minutes later an assistant returned with a Schick Quattro and shaving cream.

“Happy?”

“No.”

“We did the best we could then.  It was a pleasure meeting you Jeffrey.  Come on, George, let’s go find our next subject.”

They left, closing the door behind them.  Jeffrey took as much time as he could shaving.  He was certainly in no hurry.  But the more time he had to consider his fate the more it brought him to worry.  He had half an arm left to go before he put the razor down.

“Shaving complete” a computerized voice spoke over an intercom.

“This is it,” said Jeffrey to himself.  He closed his eyes, just catching the beginnings of a large saw blade emerging from the ceiling.  Hearing it was terrible enough.  In truth, he hardly felt it.  His skull was sliced in such a way to leave him long dead before much pain could be inflicted.

Jeffrey joined the countless others on the wall that week.  He was processed and identical; a martyr to the joint goals of profit and control.  But, no one passing by would dare to guess.  They merely overlooked the souls of those less fortunate until the day that they too were sacrificed and made a part of something sinister.

Trumpet Coat

My coat began to smell.  To be fair it had for some time.  I hadn’t washed it in God knows how long.  The rain pouring down in sheets wasn’t doing it any favors.

I walked to class and thought over just ditching the old rag.  But it was cold.  An acrid smell was still preferable to hypothermia.  I began playing a game to distract myself.  What did the scent remind me of?  I knew I had smelled something similar before.

My trumpet… from the Middle School band!  Somehow it smelled exactly like that mix of brass and key oil.  My mind drifted and I remembered different concerts.  I was never very good and one time had forgotten my sheet music entirely.  I was forced to play by memory, making up a great deal of it.  No one noticed.  Luckily.

I woke up from daydreaming to see my coat sleeve changed.  The slick red of the windbreaker now had roundish pegs grown on it.  They were keys!  What was happening?  My arms were turning brass.  The zipper was a mouthpiece.  Sleeves valve casings.  A bell had grown out from my coat collar!  I couldn’t see as rainwater was collecting.  It seemed very likely I would drown.

I felt myself picked up.  Water drained as some enormous figure blew air into what was formerly my zipper.  The sound was excruciatingly loud.

I tried to cover up my ears but my fingers were now valve pistons.  They wouldn’t fit inside the bell encompassing my head.  The musician frequently restrained me.  My legs, now tubes, were forced into position.  I couldn’t move.  A cup mute covered up my only source of air.  I gasped as it went on and off repeatedly.

Being fondled, blown, harassed lasted a good hour.  Then, I was disassembled.  My mouthpiece was taken off and I was shoved into a box.  It felt like a coffin.  And perhaps… it was.

God a King!?

God a king!?  Not in the free market.  At the start of the 1980s the heavenly father had decided like much everyone else that deregulation was a solid counter for rising inflation.  Local angels simply put could manage their affairs more efficiently than a distant Lord.

Thus, the pearly gates were sold off and tolled.  Hell became privatized.  Prayers, once answered, were replaced with vouchers redeemable for a small percentage of the overall need.

Times were changing.  St. Peter had left his post for the private sector.  He made millions in the flight insurance business.  Every winged angel was required to own coverage.  Or at least liability.  But premiums hardly ever paid out.  Most tears as well as horrible damage were categorized preexisting conditions despite eyewitness testimony and an all seeing God. 

HE was mostly busy playing golf, however.  The market will work things out, he thought sinking his last hole one rainy afternoon.  There might be lightening but it did not bother him.  Getting struck was just about all that made his life interesting anymore.

“Yahweh,” an aide said approaching, “the CEO of Oxyribocarbine wants to speak with you.”

“Tell him I’ll be right with him after an electrocution or two.”

The Lord of All Creation closed his eyes and held his golf club in the air.  Lightening rose from the cloud beneath his feet, coursing through his form and illuminating bones.  Yes he had bones.  Humans were made in his image after all.

“Sir,” the CEO said approaching.  “It is good to see you.  Your hair looks…”

“Static,” interjected God, his hair and beard practically starched straight.  “I feel it’s nice to take the edge off every now and again.”

“Naturally, now onto business.  I need your authorization to put down a slight rebellion.”

“What sort of rebellion?”

“It’s nothing really.  A relatively small group of angels threatening sedition.”

“How many is a small group?” 

“About 86 billion.”

“86 BILLION!?”

“Give or take a couple hundred.”

“Why do you need my authorization?”

“Normally the congress of archangels would merely stamp past legislation my associates and I had written but they were taken captive.”

“All of them!?”

“No, not all of them.  Don’t be ridiculous.  A few were killed.”

“What in heaven is happening?”

“They wanted to unionize.  So we just need the launch codes to your divine arsenal and the market will be good and free again.”

“Is it really worth that?”

“If there’s a heaven where I can’t live on a yacht and brutally suppress those inferior to me, I certainly don’t want to live in it.  And by association, I’m sure no one else does too.”

“I’m sorry; I can’t give you the missiles.”

“But,” said the CEO handing over a title, “I own the rights to them already.”

“I don’t care.  I’m taking back this heaven and this earth.”

“I feared you might say that.  Boys, get him!”

A group of burly looking horned creatures emerged onto the golf course.  They cracked the knuckles of their claws approaching.  Gold shined off some sort of blackish halos.

“What are these?”  God asked.

“These are my new breed.  Demons and angels.  The fallen and the risen mixed together once more.  The diminishing of barriers has allowed me to create a truly greater race.  All the strength of hell without the vanity, disorderliness.  Now give me the codes or face pain you never thought possible.”

“Never,” HE replied.

As ordered the creatures approached.  God closed his eyes, resigned to the suffering he had known before on earth as savior.  Their clawing, scratching, biting, tearing flesh could not move him as bloody as it left him.

“This will go on for all eternity,” the CEO stated.

“So be it,” replied God.  “I’ve realized what’s important now.  It’s life, existence, compassion and not some brand of dogmatic philosophy.”

The CEO stared for a minute or two as if he might have had a moment of epiphany but it was short lived.  Rolling his eyes, he walked off the course and left the Lord to endure.

Wisconsin

Gerard was sick.  As sick as he had ever remembered being.  But he had to hide it.  His boss couldn’t know.  And even more importantly, they couldn’t.

Who were they?  They enforced the law.  It was illegal to be sick and Gerard was damn near guilty.

Once word got out it was over for him.  The black insurance truck would come and take him away before he became a risk to the system.  People couldn’t be expected to pay more for his failure to stay healthy.  Gerard was a leech, a parasite, an impending virus to good companies that simply wanted to make jobs.  And nothing else.

He felt shame for allowing his body to become such a socialist utopia but he wanted to live.  It is all my fault, he thought.  But Gerard knew if he survived he could start a business and make the world more capitalist.  He would do anything, deny workers the most basic rights to appease the lords in Washington.  If they just let him live.  They would not, though.

The news told of a protestor the other night, pleading for his life in front of the Speaker.  The Great Speaker would not be bothered, however, and simply struck him down with the large staff he carried everywhere.  It was pure gold with a large, ornate ruby on the top.  The news later praised his courage in facing down the progressive menace.

That was Gerard’s fate; being taken by them, or dying at the hands of the speaker himself.  His complexion had already become so pale you’d think him deathly if you saw him.  He coughed and sneezed and wheezed and hacked….

Maybe it was just the flu.  It didn’t matter.  People were taken by them for far less.  If lazy, freeloading Gerard showed weakness, they would lock him up and start the gas.  It was for the greater good, the greatest good. 

Low profits were the worst plague imaginable.  Locusts, falling skies, did not compare.  It stopped the flow of capital, endangered jobs, and hurt the economic outlook.  One man’s life was not worth the damage that would cause.  Gerard knew it himself, as the companies and the Great Speaker did.

Loudspeakers in the town square encouraged the sick and potential burdens to society to take their own lives.  Gerard had thought it over.  He knew he wanted to live.  If he compromised his conservative credentials, however, there was no turning back.  He might say he’d start a business and deny workers time-off and bathroom breaks, but it was a slippery slope.  If he lived and became a burden on the system for even one minute, he’d end up giving workers healthcare and God forbid, allow a union.  It had to end.

Gerard opened up a velvet case, containing his gun.  It was mandatory for every citizen to have.

He pointed it inside his mouth.  Sensors inside the barrel began ticking to determine he was not killing a CEO or public leader.

“Suicide approved,” it said before firing the bullet into his brain.  “Scum neutralized.”

Brain Storm

Ivan and I were playing catch in the backyard. Nothing extravagant; just back and forth. He didn’t even have a proper glove; just an oven mitt. My bat was an old paper towel roll I had managed to dig out of the trash. Our sorry excuse for a ball was a combination of rubber bands and grayish yarn we had twisted together. Parts of it flaked off every time it struck the ground after inevitably missing the small tube of cylindrical cardboard.

Our hands began to feel numbed from the cold after an hour or two of me not hitting the ball. We decided on one more pitch for good measure, however before going inside for some hot tea mom had begun fixing. We had smelled the aromatic boiling of leaves and it made us long to finish up our experiment in baseball.

I got into position and Ivan threw. The amalgamation of rubber and strings whizzed past my bat and bounced along the ground. I chased after it and Ivan followed. But we could not seem to catch up. When I slowed down the ball appeared as if it was doing the same. When I sped up, it did too.

This went on for a good ten minutes, with us going further and further from the warmth of mother’s tea, until we reached a rabbit hole at the end of the yard. I was sure we could grab the ball out of there as it inevitably got stuck. But it was not quite so simple. The ball broke through layers of dirt shorter than it and tunneled through clay of the earth.

I put my eye level with the rabbit hole in disbelief. There was a silver-green gleam of sorts. Maybe that was our ball? I reached my hand in through worms and hand-forming clay to find out.

There was a tugging sensation. I contemplated how a rabbit must be biting my hand. But, as the force pulled harder and harder it certainly had to be something more dangerous. A badger, a gopher, I couldn’t say. Whatever it was, was far from the worms and clay I had felt just seconds prior.

Ivan began to yank at my arm, in an attempt to dislodge it from the grip of the strange phenomenon. Despite his best efforts, things only got worse. The dirt-like clay was soon up to my shoulder blade. Eventually, my chest, my other arm and then… my head was covered. I saw nothing as the ground consumed me even faster, forming to the shape of my head. A vortex was soon pulling me, with Ivan clutching on my shoe, toward something.

We awoke on the cold stone floor of a cave. Yet, it clearly was not a cave. Enormous beakers stretched up to where you might expect stalactites might. Test tubes wound themselves in shapes of mushrooms. And, all around, tending to the cavernous laboratory were stout, bearded creatures bickering in what seemed like high-pitched arguments.

“Where is this?” I asked.

“Exactly, two meters North East of the earth’s core,” one of the small scientists said.

“And who are you?”

“I am a gnome, as are my companions. Who else would be at the center of the earth doing secret research? The Minotaur!?”

The gnomes laughed uproariously finding his jest quite humorous.

Work was not stopped, however, with their concentration being as stringent as before their merriment set in. Buttons were pressed and switches pulled causing bubbles to react both up and down within their beakers.

“Why have you kidnapped my friend and me?” I asked.

“We did not kidnap you silly man-boy, you knocked on our door with your token of friendship. A strange token it was, I must say.”

Several gnomes, leaving their posts, gathered around the mass of rubber bands and thread to lift it up. Their arms shook under the weight but they continued holding it until the signal to drop it was given.

I felt almost arrogant as I walked up and took it in my hand with ease. I had greater worries than their pride, however.

“Why did it roll on the ground, slower and faster, if you only knew about it after the rabbit hole?”

“We cannot say.”

“Does that mean you know and won’t say, or you really don’t know,” interjected Ivan, overcoming his momentary shock at the enormity of his surroundings.

“We… cannot… say.”

“Can we leave then?” Ivan argued.

“No, I’m afraid that is impossible. You will help us.”

“With what?”

“Mind your business, that’s what.”

The ball I was holding began to twitch inside my palm. I tried to tighten my grip, but it rolled out and bounced away much as it had on the surface. Faintly it appeared like it had gone into a circular depression at the bottom of a large electrical source, but I could not be sure. Gnomes around it were possibly attaching metal fragments.

“The key! The key at last!” I heard many shout.

I was not left much time to ponder. The stone beneath my feet shook violently and cracked. I, Ivan and various gnomes fell down. But, they, unlike us, rose cheering.

“What is going on? What does our ball have to do with this?”

“It was the key!”

“Yes,” began Ivan, “we have gathered that by now. What does the key do?”

“It is the first step in a long stride.”

“Will you stop with the metaphors!?”

My head felt suddenly as if it were exploding. Every thought I had ever had began to creep back into consciousness. Old crushes, math problems, regrets, hopes, dreams, lust, envy, greed…

A gnome in Bermuda shorts approached holding a mass of tin foil that practically covered his entire form. Ivan and I lacked sufficient energy to strike at him.

Gently, hats were placed on top of our heads by him. We could breathe once more. The thoughts were less overwhelming, though still stifling. What had happened? The pain seemed so close to incapacitating us forever, and then, in a mere instance the bulk of it was gone.

“You will want to keep those on,” the gnome said. He slapped us both and ran off giggling.

“Now, you two man boys will make us more of your wonderful electro-regulators” the leader spoke.

“You mean the ball?”

“Yes, make them or you die.”

“Was that pain we felt happening to other people?” Ivan asked.

“Of course, the gnomes won’t win a war of brawn.”

“What war?”

“The one humans began in the days they were apes. Dinosaurs died for them to have dominion, and their death will herald the age of the gnome!”

“Long live the gnome!” All chanted.

“But why does rubber and yarn make your scheme complete?” I asked, as Ivan was lost in thought.

“It does not. The creators did.”

“You mean our…”

“Deoxyribonucleic acid, correct. All matter will break at a certain frequency, and it would appear we have finally found yours.”

“You made one mistake,” Ivan said.

“And what would that be?”

“You gave us these hats.”

Ivan and I nodded at each other and moved toward the machinery. Our hands barely touched the first beakers before we fell down in agony, unrivaled by our suffering before.

“The hats only shielded you from stray frequency going to the surface. We have now unleashed the full power within the caves.”

“You… will… regret this,” Ivan stammered.

“Or you will… if you do not submit. We can keep this frequency alive until your minds implode, if that is your desire.”

“Why… not just… take our… DNA?”

“Our hands are not large enough to fix it to the necessary rubber and metal. Soon, our supply will run out. But we have more than enough left to murder the both of you, so I beg, keep that in mind.”

The gnomes continued to torture us. They would turn the frequency up throughout the caves until we thought we would die and then they would turn it off, leaving us to writhe in pain.

I do not know how long it took to finally break our will. It may have been days, it may have been weeks. But, most certainly as we began to absentmindedly fuse rubber and yarn together, with nearby tin it was evident the gnomes had won.

Our DNA was fueling a holocaust of epic proportions upon the surface and we could do nothing.

Gnomes frequently took their leave through the portal from which we had come down. They bore few weapons, merely having an occasional sword amongst them. Yet, this was enough for their purposes.

Ivan and I thought and thought of ways to sabotage, or even escape as cowards might during our imprisonment. But there was never an opportunity that was not preempted. Too many years had been spent plotting by the gnomes underground as man evolved into ever more threatening primates.

One morning, after a night of contemplation together, I pushed Ivan toward a set of test tubes to create distraction. For a moment it seemed as if I may get at the bubbling beakers but the gnomes as always pushed a damnable button incapacitating us both. I had soiled myself to my further embarrassment. There was great laughter as the smell permeated the room.

“Filthy human, go poo poo?” one asked in jest.

That night, still rank and unclean, I had yet another long discussion with Ivan. I decided it was best to let the frequencies kill myself, instead of working further toward the destruction of mankind.

Therefore in the morning, I refused to work. Naturally the gnomes unleashed the signal and my head began to tear itself apart. The pain, though incapacitating, I felt used to. It was an old familiar thrum. However, what came after I had never experienced before.

I was a babe once more held up in my mother’s arms. She rocked me and perception shifted to crawling, then first steps. I was riding with my arms out on a bike downhill. First kiss, dancing, lying on the grass in summer. My father saying his last words, stay strong, as limpness to his wrist…

Somehow, someway I woke up and the pain was gone. My head was still pounding but I realized there were no gnomes and the laboratory was in shambles. Glass was scattered and the stone caved in upon the various test tubes and beakers that had once curved so mightily.

Ivan was lying next to me. I put my ear to his heart: the beating was faint.

With strength I could not be sure from where I heaved him on my back. I took him with great effort to the spot we had come down from, and the gnomes had gone up. There was just enough power to lift us back up through the vortex.

I was not sure what might greet us at the surface. Perhaps armies, death or some combination of both?

Much too my chagrin, it appeared to be neither. Nothing was in sight but patchy grass and empty distance. My house had once stood right in front of us but now seemed as if it never had. Where was it all?

Ivan was beginning to feel overbearingly heavy. I set him down and continued to stare: partly gawking, partly searching. There was a strange glint of silver once more I noticed, as there had been the night we were abducted. I walked toward it, continuing to keep a watch on Ivan, lest a gnome or some other bizarre creature attack him. I was still of the opinion othat everything seeming much too quiet.

The glint was merely one of the balls we made below, however. I was unsure how it reached the surface. In many ways it seemed the exact same as the one that led us to our misery that day.

Ivan had managed to get onto his feet. I walked back toward him and he saw the ball. He smiled and I tossed it to him. Nothing extravagant; just back and forth.

The Coaxing

We never blast a planet off the charts. The paperwork would be horrendous. What we do instead, when one is in the way of something, is slowly turn the heat up. The inhabitants will blame themselves, or better yet, each other. Old tensions rise to the surface and boil over. A gun is fired, wars begin and then… extinction. It sounds simpler than it really is.

One planet, I’m not naming names, took longer than the rest but eventually succumbed. These apes were under the delusion of civility. Philosophers and artists convinced their silly little brains other creatures were below them. But clearly they were no more empathetic than a lion feasting off an antelope or an anaconda slowly strangling a child. The taking of a life for food paled in comparison to them destroying every single eco-system that they touched.

So how did we accomplish our goal? They found ways to cope with the heat. Better cars were driven, less electricity and water wasted. But our trump card was as it had always been the glaciers. Releasing these, the illusions of grandeur so pitifully clung to had begun to disappear. Currents stopped, temperatures dipped dramatically and agriculture ceased.

They tore each other apart. Old dominions of vested power fell to the strongest. All that was nuclear was possessed by warlords.

It did not take long for a warlord to threaten another with cataclysmic terms. Naturally, their whole rule based off strength, they could not back down from outrageous demands that went unmet.

As the missiles at long last launched, my company and I felt pity mixed with pride. We had shown them fission in the dessert of New Mexico; we had helped send Sputnik into space. But old doubts still persisted.

How many lives would we destroy for profit? How long before the slow-simmering of apocalypse would finally eat away at us? Thankfully, it was not now, I thought as the last bottle of champagne from the lifeless planet below was poured. I felt rejuvenated, more confident as inebriation sifted through my veins. I was ready once more to face the hundred demolitions left, in our vast measurement of time, before the day was through.

The Canine Human Reversal

The greyhound sentenced me to death. A pitbull sheriff had brought me in the other night. I can’t be sure what I’d done wrong. All I know is I was searching through the garbage for some food a Chihuahua family threw away when a Pomeranian had spotted me. Its bark rang out across the city, alerting the authorities. A human on the streets must be up to no good.

Bulldog guards ran from all directions to pin me down. I was dragged to a rickety, wood wagon. From there, a team of haggard humans pulled it forward. Whenever anyone of them slowed down they were bitten and scratched quite brutally.

I can’t remember much after that. My head had hit a tire rim. All I recall is waking inside a dank cell with forty other humans. Occasionally a mastiff passed outside on patrol.

The humans appeared famished and dehydrated. Some had wounds from fights they had gotten into with each other. Any food provided apparently was fought for brutally.

I didn’t have an owner; things looked grim.

In seventy-two hours a volunteer Dachshund would administer lethal injection. Some did not even make it that far, being dragged off mere hours after arrival. Even if their masters had come, they stood little chance against the odds.

Twenty-four hours passed. I had gotten a few bites of food that fell from a stronger human’s mouth.

Forty-eight hours passed. The only drink I had was sweat and what dripped off after others had secured their share of water. They had no compassion to share.

Seventy-one, seventy-one-and-a-half, seventy-one-and-three-quarters… I was granted a hearing. They were to determine if I was fit for adoption. A pug-child and her mother had thought I looked endearing.

The trial commenced. My lawyer was a Cocker Spaniel named Toby. He was black with a white chest and seemed largely indifferent to my plight.

“The court is now in session,” said a Great Dane atop his chair.

“This human,” began Toby “is an innocent dim-witted creature but deserves the compassion of those far better.”

I thought more was coming but that was all he said. Evidence passed from the prosecution to the judge in the mouth of a Newfoundland bailiff. He looked it over with a countenance inspiring little confidence.

“Let the record show,” a chocolate Labrador stated, “This human was roaming the streets without proper tags. He could have given innocent families any amount of disease or injury in his confused state. The only rational course is execution. I ask the jury to see the wisdom of our laws and not cave to outlandish emotional displays from the defense.”

“I believe,” said the judge, “he intended no harm. Therefore, I’m releasing him into the custody of –“

He never finished. A messenger came in to tell the judge the girl had picked another human. And I, out of time with no prospective buyers was strapped to a cold desk where the needle pierced my arm, sending me to darkness.