by Tony Evans
Divergen Dreams
Tony Evans
Copyright © 2010 by Tony Evans.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
The Pyre
A young man collects the dead and delivers them to 'The Pyre' oblivious to the truths of the dying world he lives in.
Body Farm
Oake discovers that there is more to his meager existence and the path to truth is through a fruit.
My Soul to Keep
Burying a body in the woods is difficult when you’re being haunted by a doll.
Grinders
There’s a new underworld of humans upgrading their bodies with inexpensive electronics.
Sailing Away
Saying goodbye is hard when you'll probably never be back again.
Savior
Everyone deals with grief in their own way. Adam deals with it by escaping into his imagination.
The Evangelical Doors
A series of unfortunate events leads to the discovery of an auxiliary entrance into heaven and hell. But which door leads where?
The Vengeful Poppet
A poem about an unassuming poppet with cruel intentions.
The Station
A couple stumbles upon a derelict space station. They go aboard to look for help. They never get out.
Other Books by Tony Evans
To my wife, Priscilla.
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The Pyre
The wheels of the cart creaked slowly and methodically as they rolled, keeping a rhythm of Glim’s slow march through the empty city streets.
Glim’s arms and legs were tired from pulling the cart through the uneven streets since daybreak, but every ache was a blessing and every blister was a gift, so he cherished these.
He searched through the falling grey snow for the next house with a porch light on; a sign of the dead that needed to be escorted. In the fading light of dusk he had to strain his eyes to see the next house up ahead. Slowly he pulled the cart through the foot of soft snow coating the street like a divine gray blanket.
At the porch of the house he announced, “Bring out your dead!” and felt paramount again, as every time, that he was the one to make the declaration.
A sallow woman emerged; grey flakes of snow catching in her curly hair. Glim knew her well, this being the third time he’s been to the house. The first two times were to escort her two daughters who died seven days apart, which was considered a blessing to be separated by such a lucky number.
“The husband this time, Mrs. Thatchet?” Glim asked, knowing it was, as he was the only other in the family.
“Yes, yes!” She said. “Got sick logging the last of the forests. Stayed this long and passed it on to our daughters. He was a good man that way,” she looked down fondly at the corpse of her husband at her feet. “Couldn’t find it in him to pass it on to me though.”
Glim knew what he wanted to say, but found it difficult to give voice to those words, which vexed him. He gave the standard aphorism instead which was taught to him when he was first handed the cart, “The body will save them.”
After loading Mr. Thatchet onto the cart atop the other bodies, their arms and legs hanging off the sides, Glim moved on to the next house.
At the porch he made his declaration again and felt no smaller amount of pride.
“He’s here, daddy!” a girl’s youthful voice emanated from inside the house.
A burly man burst from the door with a pleasant smile. “Finally, you’ve come,” he said. “It’s my wife and young son. They went the same night, hand in hand. My wife couldn’t wait to go since her job at the coal mine ended. With all the coal gone our bodies are the only things left and she couldn’t wait to give hers. Bless these divine days.”
Again Glim gave his best smile and delivered the standard, “Their bodies will save them.”
He loaded the body onto the cart and went on his way with the man shouting after him, “You’ll be back soon! My daughter and I found ourselves sick just this morning.”
He had one last stop to make before the pyre. A home Glim had not yet visited. It was a lonely split-level house that seemed untouched by life. Snow covered every surface of the house, even collecting a bit on the door knob. The porch light flickered faintly above the door as it struggled to stay alight.
For the first time since taking up the cart Glim was afraid to give his declaration. Frightened that he might somehow disturb the snow that graced the home. He stood a minute admiring those blessed ones that painted the house with their bodies until he decided to put away his foolish fear and give his declaration as proud as any other time. “Bring out your dead.”
The door opened slowly to a dark void where a man emerged carrying a woman in his arms. Tears streaked black lines down his cheeks where the snow touched his face. Glim was shocked to see the man in such a state and again words failed to emerge although they were clear in his mind.
Why was the man so sad on such a joyous occasion?
The man laid the woman down on the cart and kissed her forehead. The man looked sick himself and sad beyond anything Glim had ever witnessed.
“You’ll join her soon,” Glim assured the man. “I’ll come back for you.”
The man shook his head in dismay. “Our sickness is not a gift,” he said in a voice so hoarse it frightened Glim. He took up the cart again and hurried on, glad to be away.
Glim pondered the man’s words as he took the road that led to the pyre, but failed to come to any conclusion.
The gray snow grew heavier and the sky transformed into an illustrious red as he came closer to the pyre.
Glim had many family members that gave their bodies to the pyre and he hoped that they were the snow that settled on his shoulders now.
The road to the pyre was long, but Glim always enjoyed the trip as it gave him time to reflect on all those glorious dead that he escorted to the pyre before and all those he might one day bring. And in those moments he felt melancholy as he wondered why he was lucky enough to escort the dead, but had not grown sick himself.
He knew he was getting closer, besides the heat, the entrance was marked by mounds of raw ore that sat on either side of the road, like massive pyramids, waiting to be smelted by the heat of the pyre.
A thought occurred to Glim. With all the fuel in the world gone, the dead were their only recourse, but if he never became sick… Glim shook his head. He resolved to one day throw himself onto the pyre if he found no other alternative.
Quickened by the thought Glim continued on knowing that one day soon he’ll join the glorious dead and give himself to the pyre.
Body Farm
