by Travis Borne
“Agony,” Jon said. He felt it too. Like a sampling of the dagger twisting into Carlos’ chest, he too felt the cold steel pierce his heart and it pained him both physically and mentally.
“A choice,” Rico said. As well it was traveling into him, deep into bones, shocking his spine as if growing inside it, traveling up and into his mind. He saw two choices, both with extreme consequences, and they were gutting Carlos. As if the map was bleeding, an ice pick going in and out, in, then out, while Carlos’ heart released a shrill cry that solidified and made frozen the funnel that was Rico’s spine, entrapping, channeling whatever was pumping through it, harder, faster, from ass to brain. The sensation discharged panic from Rico’s mind like rays of black light.
“Señor Carlos, he is changing. Yo lo siento tambien,” Felix uttered. “The pain, such as when I lost Rosita. Es hórrible, su corazón está muriendo. He is going to sacrifice them…for us.”
They stood silent. The disparate four had grown closer than most families do in a lifetime, and together they ingested the arriving pain, sharing it amongst each other, and all of it was arriving somehow, from Carlos. The decision was torturing his soul, and their ears, but accompanying the torment came deep understanding. They shared feelings and knowledge, and the gravity of one man’s choice was the weight of a world.
The ground pounding faded, the haunting rage diminished, and the residual dose of anguish they’d received faded about as quickly as it had been delivered; quiescent desert and the slightest, now empty breeze, was all that remained.
They’d been—abandoned.
44. Racing Thoughts
I can’t do it, he thought, doubting the choice he’d just made. Pumped, his quads expanded as if molten glass was being inflated beneath his brown slacks. Around him the world distorted—and he pressed on, challenging the strict laws of the Old Town map.
I constructed this world to escape one I could not control, and now it’s being pulled out from under me, from my family!
He raged on. His legs became the surface of the sun, igniting the air whistling around him like a thousand bottle rockets, stars became white lines as he carved earth like a runaway train with rototiller wheels, and the wall of air flattened his tears to the width of a molecule, making him glass, and his skin became gray.
Push, push!
I will never forget you, Jewel. Oh, how I loved you. But then—I was a child. I had control over my thought processing but had made a choice, I made myself blind. Biased, I didn’t even realize I was helping mankind for puerile and inchoate reasons. The universe is more important and humanity should have been extirpated like the cancerous growth it is! Seal the wound, cauterize the zone! The failsafe has managed to do just that for billions of years. Then, allow grounds for new and untainted life to take hold, to flourish. Allow the next lifeforms this special opportunity, the one humanity had blown. The anger I feel now brings back those memories—when I carried such animosity, when my hatred seethed. I remember when the abhorrent thoughts and instinctive motives were my god—before he freed me.
Faster. Feel it, Carlos. Feel it…Rafael. Rafael. Feel the pain—RAFAEL!
Rafael knew the odds. The Earth should not have been allowed to go on. But against all odds, a maverick of a man, one in a centillion, had done it. Herald had beaten the system.
So, he returned to rescue them. I almost can’t believe it now, knowing the odds of this miracle. That’s not how it works. Should Herald be allowed to join the elitists, the mere handful of civilizations that have done it the right way. Maybe, I’m not as potent or capable as I think I am, and surely not now at this lethargic level of existence, having had divided myself by six, with time slowed to compensate for the others.
Push it, Rafael! Push, burn, push, faster, faster!
She saved me. Luisa allowed me to come back down to reality, to sanity. The first and most impacting division—but will Luisa want to return? A part of her, just as she possesses a part of me, knows it is inevitable. Together we built this world, modeled simply at first. It was ours to occupy as we saw fit and we slowed time—we could have lived for nearly an eternity, just us. The first divide spawning Carlos and Luisa was oppressive, yet a form of salvation—and then we opened the gate.
But why did we allow Felix to enter, and then the others? At a cost of restoring a relatively natural rhythm of time to better accommodate their human minds. Everything was remodeled with simplicity in mind, with strict physical laws, without the fascinating implementations we’d once explored boundlessly—our magnum opus. So, we took over the basic Old Town map and made it special, something the humans could relate to and truly exist within, live a life in. Together, Luisa and I had possessed such creative freedom and unlimited reign, until we allowed them to join us.
Boom—BOOM! The earth shook violently as Rafael obliterated the sound barrier.
But, taking it down a notch, living, truly having had lived, simply and with good morals among good company—I’m glad we saved them. It was the ethical thing to do, the right choice. Hard work, being truly alive, and the lessons, those that cannot be explained, or acquired by employing fantastic virtual worlds—it is this that the humans have given me. It is this same quality that sets humans apart: the inspiring potential for good, and the disturbing capacity for unfathomable evil. It must be this elastic mentality, this chaos, that has allowed humanity to contrive, even if only for a short time, the phenomenon that is Herald, my friend. He was able to cheat the system, with my help—but then, if it is cheating, shouldn’t it therefore be a natural and allowed path to the final result?
He pushed himself brutally, harder than he’d ever pushed it before and began to feel the distortions. His mind raced, thoughts were cyclones, and his legs exploded into flames, then his entire body. The fabric of the map warped as he blatantly defied its laws, and the world unraveled around him. The singularity of fire plowing desert at Mach-3 began to rise: one degree, ten, twenty… The flames burned red-giant red, spewing solar flares that whipped the world. The anomaly became skin-of-the-sun orange, then pulsar white. Then he felt her—a connection was made.
I am sorry, Luisa. It destroys me to do this to you, to our…children. I love you. I honestly and truly love you. His face had become energized teal metal and a tear descended his cheek. The laws of the map broke down and the air no longer provided friction. Rafael’s pain ruptured with each thought of her. And inflaming his sadness, his children were exploding hydrogen canisters, one after another down the line. His anguish unleashed dynamic levels of rage, and surging, magnified intensity. He pushed against the world faster than it could regenerate and soon became unaffected by it; a shield encompassed him. He became a comet, shooting across the sky. Now he was halfway around the world—speed ever increasing.
Faster, Rafael. Faster, faster. Go! Go! Go!
His legs became one with the hundred-miles-long tail of the comet’s stream. The upper half of his body was the only human guise remaining, nude and muscular, teal and metallic gray, making fists and punching the world into submission. The shape of his face transformed, regaining more of the characteristics he’d once had: the thin mustache took its place and his new brown eyes melted away the gray; they possessed a depth not bound by the virtual existence in which he found himself. The edges of his lids were a combination of molten steel and blood, leaking the sangre like a web around his changing face, and into a thick head of Spaniard hair. His large teeth bit down hard enough crush neutron-star matter. And the rest of his face, neck, solid shoulders and torso, took on human form. Skin, hair, teeth, eyes—a system-generated animation, willed to life anew. Like a god commanding a chariot, his torso remained metallic, but silver and gleaming, no longer teal and gray; the base of his new body warped around the world, coalescing into it like a cable of light. The transmutation continued and the potential to make it happen flipped like a switch—he now possessed the ability to complete the metamorphosis.
45. Come Home to Mama
The
bed had become a moon crater. The mattress was as old as an old man, but as always, the kids came first. Many memories had been had on the sunken bed that should have been burnt two decades ago. Humble existence, happy times, and the kids jumping on it like a trampoline. They’d learned what matters, and loved and lived.
Luisa awoke, petrified. She bolted upright, sucking in a fast breath and turned to see her husband’s spot empty. The bolt of panic subsided and she placed her hand on the spot where they’d laid together for what seemed hundreds of years…then, she remembered the old worlds they’d once created, she remembered it all just then and there; Rafael had purposefully hidden the memories from her, from Carlos as well. She realized, as the clock went tick—tick—tick in the small cement-block of a home they’d come to cherish, that Carlos, her love, had also lived with the limitation. And the full scope smacked her with a flood of realizations, even knowledge of the secret back-door key: the mezcal worm; and the takeover of Old Town where Rosita once lived alone, and how they’d made it much, much more, a place to sweat, live, love, even feel pain; the knowledge went like phantasms rushing into her head.
To have less, would be more—exactly why they had let the others inside and reverted from grandeur to a simple life. She realized, as her breathing went slow, all of it as he handed it back to her at 3:01 a.m.
And she saw through his eyes.
He was 60,000 feet up and on the other side of the planet, traveling fast enough to become light. She felt his passion and rage and his eyes were glass—bleeding with despair. She loved his deep brown eyes; the universe behind his gaze had always entranced her, pedestaling her love and desire.
She shared thoughts and feelings with Carlos, but she knew he was already gone. A faint trace of the man she loved was surrounded in a bubble of light. He’d become a comet, scorching the stratosphere with heartache and fury. She could perceive it all. The flood gates were open and the essence was pouring in like hot magma—from the lowest level of programming, since day one when he had first been turned on. Everything.
She caressed the sheets one final time. Her fingers ran into the indention where the spring had popped out, where she’d patched it with some old jeans. This old worn mattress—and she knew she was going to miss it, and a tear from each eye left the pools of water weighing on her eyelids.
I am sorry, Luisa. It destroys me to do this to you, to our—children. I love you. I honestly and truly love you.
She heard the final words of Carlos, said only seconds ago. Through Rafael’s memories, which were now hers, it was the last I love you she would receive from a man for whom she was willing to trade immortality.
“I love you, Carlos,” she replied, knowing he’d receive it in just the same way. She felt dizzy and her mind wobbled as if she’d been simultaneously haunted and punched in the spine, a ghost traveling up it. And the final scintilla of Carlos faded from existence.
Old Town version 1.0, the map they’d agreed on settling into, escalating it to something more, something simple—all because of those they’d chosen to save. From their own map, unlimited—but she knew it had been for the best. How better than to consider all variables and save them, allow Felix to be with his wife, live with his friends, and new ones…the myriad dream characters who thrived, and, her children.
Mateo, now fourteen years old, the first to be born in Old Town, possessed the gift of compassion, multitudes more than both Luisa and Carlos combined. Somehow, he’d grown to be more than the sum of his parents, although inside this system with its strict rules it should not have been possible. He was a prodigy. Luisa felt sick thinking about it but realized by taking him back they’d get what they needed to make this work—without him they’d only save themselves, forget the humans. And she felt Rafael’s rage, which was buckling in order to constrain just this, the death of his individual mentality, likewise feelings for his family as individuals—he needed Mateo to return before the whole thing came crashing down.
Nicole, if she had to choose, would be her favorite. She was the balanced one and her stasis was contagious. Of the four extra divisions who’d gone on to thrive as new and unique individuals, Nicole was the one Luisa could envision going on to become her very own and powerful light—somehow, if that could ever be possible. She would be allowed out, eventually, and stabilize enough to carry on independently; by chance perhaps, she’d been doled the most impartial portions and wouldn’t destabilize the main schism, Luisa and Carlos, or the core, Rafael. Nicole was creative, but realistic. Idealistic, but compromising, and never at the expense of others. Although, if it came down to it, and it would have, always does, and had she been allowed to separate completely, she could have made a tough, needed choice, such as the decision Amy and Jim were faced with—a result of Herald’s plan, one by far not as compassionate but all the same, one that had worked where next to innumerable plans across the universe had dispersed entire civilizations to scattered atoms, strings of unconscious energy no longer possessing a vibration.
She is only thirteen. She has her whole life ahead of her!
Nicole was her favorite and absorbing the blossoming young girl set the skin of her face on fire. Luisa’s tears became ice and evaporated, creating steam, and she began to glow as the flood of tears humidified her tiny bedroom.
Like Rafael, she too was becoming energy. Earlier, the gray had set in just as the color had been sucked out of Carlos during his last moments, but in contrast to Rafael’s now teal aura, hers radiated with sangria red. She was surrounded by oranges, yellows, and golden swirls, energy, all of it initiated by the first two tears that’d fallen, landing on the worn mattress. The rich, warm colors permeated the air around her like living smoke; stabbing rays of light penetrated the cement-block walls.
Martin, now eight, was the creative one—but not very helpful. He didn’t contribute much, always in his room, alone. Never wanting to come outside and rarely helping at the mercado, he was more of a grumpy loner. But he was the imaginative one. He’d gotten the vision, and if it had been granted to him, unlocked as it was for the master key, Rafael, he’d transform Old Town into Heaven and Hell and everything in between, all in a day. He’d do it at cost to the six they’d managed to save, Felix and his friends from the outside. He’d gobble every watt of core processing power until the system caught fire, at detriment to the outside world and the whole. He’d slow time, go off on his own, create and create until the circuits exploded on the outside—then he would scavenge, find a way out, short circuit the damn thing on purpose if he had to and begin again with that world, then world after world. His morality was low, but what he lacked in morals he gained in sheer will to build, conquer, and ultimately win.
Although Martin was still young, Luisa—now connected to Rafael and able to see the whole picture for the first time in years—knew, and felt this power, a power which had been brewing inside of him. She’d never known, actually, what to do with it. It had pained her to think he would eventually have to go early, for if not others would eventually pay the price. Martin was the only one for whom she shed not a tear, because as far as compassion went, he had none, and if she had shed a tear, even the most minuscule drop would be in vain. Despite his negative aspects, though, Martin’s unbridled creativity and sheer will to succeed and survive was necessary to pull this off.
Diego, only five, and the last of their children, was the most fun to be around. He had the humor Mr. Serious, Mr. Work-his-fingers-to-the-bone, Carlos, most days lacked. She knew it all now, that this day would come, and, that Rafael had needed to give away his humor so it would be nurtured and regrown in new light—and with only five years, little Diego had managed wonderfully. He’d become the sunshine of their lives, many times a reason to go on when things got tough: when business was slow and food was scarce, when the desert heat made the inside of their taco stand a living hell, when Nicole had gotten hurt and almost died. Diego was right there with the brightest smile; his sense of humor was more contagious than her love for C
arlos, more potent than Nicole’s gift to stabilize a bad, or good situation, and could uplift even Martin when he got to thinking too deeply; it was in essence, a reason—for compassion, love, and creativity only went so far without a sense of humor. There seemed many times little reason to go on; Diego had arrived just in time. Taking little Diego, last, as she saw him disappear from his bed, just as the others had faded away moments earlier, made her cry out vehemently and shrilly. The discord was enough to wake the entire town.
Colorful light illuminated her top-floor room. Surrounded by a storm of warm colors, Louisa passed through the ceiling. The still separate, yet compiled essences of her departed children became a gentle whirlwind, ignoring all bounds. Their home, squished tightly between others and facing what would eventually become Park Avenue East in the real world, began to glow. The swirling air mixed with the walls and the entire concrete structure became translucent and luminous. Neighbors spotted Luisa through the walls as she rose into the sky. Her face was wrought with sadness and tears were flying from her eyes, joining the racetrack glow whipping around her red body.
The essence of her four children intensified, becoming almost violent. The dust devil of distinct colors rose to surround her, having had departed from their beds just moments earlier. Mateo’s plum-purple light went into Luisa and his compassion allowed her to see Rafael’s choice objectively and for the greater good.
Lime-green with glittering yellow, Nicole’s essence entered her next, providing stabilization. Luisa’s heart became balanced and the tears lessened; she had just been given a powerful system of rationalization and comprehensive understanding.
Martin’s was a rainbow of every color, prismatic beyond bounds, seemingly paradoxical. He went third. Although pithy, he packed a punch—entering her twice as fast as the previous two. She received seemingly divine vision, needed insight for the coming days ahead. His creativity was eye-opening. And she reigned in control of her emotions.
