by Jane
The whole time his partner is watching, enjoying the show no doubt, as a pool of blood collects beneath me, my face torn open, lips split in two. His clenched fist is the only thing keeping me up. After glancing back at me, he simply releases the cloth, letting me crumple to the ground. My head smacks the wood with a hollow thud. The room fades and I pray they will leave me now, to suffer in the silence and anguish of a man busted in his private addiction, his deviant joy. Just like that they are gone, the room quiet, not a sound to be heard. A wheezing drifts to my ears, fighting the buzzing in my head, a humming all around. It is my own labored breath and I don’t recognize it. Downstairs a gentle jingle as the exit the shop.
2. MARCY
//
ID: MarcyDescartes
MEMBER: #298631
PASSWORD: Fellatio
DIARY ENTRY: 2148 - 05122024:1251
begin transmission
REPORT:
The mail room continues to function on a
rudimentary level. Luckily we have a handful
of talented artists that can pull off most
any con. Under my watchful eye the synthesis
of old behavior and current state of the
“world” is flawless. Herbal issues are still
prevalent, but what can you do. Lock them
up? HAHAHAHAHA. Sorry, LOL’d there. Village
behavior has been moderate. The usual
drunken escapades, and revolving door
whores, but that’s nothing new. Thank god
they’re all sterile, or we really might have
some population issues. HA. New “citizen”
arrived today. Checked him out, and he seems
fairly worthless, but that’s the quality of
the stock you get today. When I left he was
being retro-fitted, but you know those
monkeys down at water’s edge, he’ll be lucky
to have functioning limbs when they’re done
with him. Crops are on schedule, and as long
as there is no more water loss, we should
meet or exceed expectations. Corn especially
looks good, which is fantastic news, since
its multifunctionality is so essential to
every aspect of life here - food, fuel, etc.
The hemp is also coming along nicely. Why
they continue to smoke the male plants, I
don’t know. Idiots. They might as well smoke
banana leaves. Oh, right...they do. We can
discuss these variables more at the next
board meeting, but as far as my end of
production and security, things are fine.
end transmission
//
//
begin transmission
DIARY:
Dear Diary,
Met the cutest guy today, I think I’ll fuck
his brains out in the big house up on the
hill this afternoon. He likes it when I wear
the lacy undergarments and he has a fetish
for sweaty women, their natural musk is his
own aphrodisiac.
Seriously, aren’t you tired of these by now?
First I have to bow down to you in a formal
capacity, and then, often in the same
session, bare my soul to you here in my
daily fucking diary. You know everything
that’s on my mind anyway. What do you want,
more online porn? It’s getting old,
especially since I’m coming to see you later
anyway. Oh right, sorry, we’re not supposed
to talk about that. Except you don’t seem to
mind it when I’m sucking you off. What is
it, out of sight out of mind? I’d say you
never take me anywhere, but HA, where would
we go? Even if you could. Seriously, you’re
a creative guy. Why don’t you utilize those
powers to cook me up a diamond or something
pretty? And I don’t mean a handful of those
lame ass flowers that you yank out of the
garden while I’m climbing up the hill. A
little foresight? Hello? You can’t bring me
something back from your little trips to the
cities? Yes, I know ALL about them. Don’t
act so surprised. You talk in your sleep,
asshole.
Much like things were back on the mainland,
women still like to be adored and listened
to. We still like gifts, and gestures of
your love and affection. We still like oral
and we still like to be taken care of.
am I kidding, what else do I have going on?
I’ll see you this afternoon, honey.
At least follow through on the oral. :-)
end transmission
//
3. JIMMY
Down the tunnel, dark except for the shaky beam of my flashlight, water drips and the musty smells welcome me home with a quick kiss on the mouth. My hole in the ground waits for me to burrow back under and hide from the world. Or what’s left of it. Maintenance it says in yellow blocky type, 125-STL/CC on the olive metal door. I grab the cool handle and pull it open.
“Hi honey I’m home...” gets me an explosion and a flash of light, her pale face contorted in the dark corner of the room.
“Jesus H. Christ, what the fuck...” I yell as the concrete bunker sprays my face with sharp chips, the bullet spinning off the surface, bouncing God knows where. My hands shoot up, and a ringing filling my ears with what had just a moment before been the loud, angry cry of death.
“Oh shit,” she yells, dropping the gun to the ground with a heavy clatter. She’s at my side in a second, her tiny hands on my pulsing shoulders as I squint my eyes and double over in pain.
“I’m sorry Jimmy. I didn’t know it was you. You were supposed to knock,” she babbles. “You were supposed to knock three times...you know, on the ceiling if you want me...” she says, her voice fading into nothingness, every other word lost.
“What?” I yell, standing up straight, taking my hands off my ears. A trickle of blood escapes.
“I’m
sorry!”
Looking at her filled with anguish and fear I ease from angry soldier about to meet his maker into concerned boyfriend in love with his pale angel.
“It’s okay,” I say. “You just scared me, that’s all.”
I’m breathing heavy, drenched in sweat. Her dirty white tank top is stretched taut across her small breasts, and I laugh at myself. In my final moments I still have the energy and desire to stare at my girl’s nipples as they strain against the tattered fabric of her war torn survivor ware.
“I’m
okay.”
She disappears in my arms as I hold her close. She begins to cry, quiet sobs, fast and muffled. Her shoulders shake and I’m reminded again of how tiny she is. And yet so full of life. Sitting in the dark with that huge revolver in her hands, staring at the door as the noises drift down to her from above, every clank and rattle a tribe of Blisterheads, every drip and rush of air Ethereals on battered wings. In time, your imagination builds on itself, so that the tension becomes palpable, until the knob finally turns. It hasn’t been imagined, you haven’t lost your mind. They’re finally here.
I push her away to arms length and brush the long black hair out of her eyes. Even in this faded light her shimmering teal eyes leap out at me. Wide open, they accuse, a grimy tear stopped halfway down her dusty cheek. How can I continue to leave her here alone and scared as I forage alone out on the streets? I just want to protect her. It’s cruel. She’ll have to come with me next time. I can’t protect her if I’m not here.
�
��I have hash. Corned beef hash,” I mutter. I sigh and am lost in her gaze, my mind a thousand miles away, plotting the city above, making our escape, dissecting the rumors from fact, a plan slowly coming into focus.
“Thank God, I’m starving.”
4. X
Sitting in the garden behind my humble abode the flowers mist the lush greenery with a subtle perfume. I treasure the scent of the white jasmine, as it mingles with the freshly cut peach of the plumeria. My bare knees are firmly planted in the dirt, as I work my way around the flower bed, trimming and weeding, planting and embracing.
Few on the island know the history of my flowers. In southeastern Asia the locals believe that the plumeria provide shelter to ghosts and demons. The scent has been associated with vampires in Malay folklore, the pontianak. The white jasmine is associated with temples in both Hindu and Buddhist cultures, though Hindus do not use the flowers in their temple offerings. They fear the connotation and hesitate to summon that which they cannot control.
Holding my hands over the ivory buds, fighting the oppression of heat and drought, I squeeze my hands into tight fists, the flesh swelling red. White knuckles scream as I close my eyes, cool drops of water dripping out of my hands. A singing fills my ears, every macaw and honeycreeper magnified and rapturous, enveloping my head as my vision swims behind clenched eyes. Sparks fly, showing the insides of my skull, brilliant lightning strikes pummeling my spine. The flow of liquid continues, bathing the flowers in the refreshing stillness. Green shoots ease open and the colors push up expanding into adult form. The flow stops with an abruptness and my eyes bolt open.
“There you are my dears, no need for us to wait.”
I wipe the residual dampness on my khaki shorts and stand up to admire my handiwork. What had been wilted and beaten down this morning was now lush and alive. The seedlings and buds are now fully in bloom, a cascade of maroon and white, with spatters of orange. I ease back to the wrought iron chairs exhaling with effort as I reach for a drink. Iced-tea in a tall clear glass, the cubes tinkling as I lift the moist cylinder to my lips. Gulping it down I devour its every essence. Chewing on the lemon rind I smell her musk as she works her way up the hill. She forgot the offering.
“Marcy is here,” I whisper to myself.
A chipmunk pauses at the edge of the yard, up on his hind legs, nose twitching.
“Move along, Raymond. Nothing for you today.”
The tiny brown creature with a white stripe down his back, nods quickly twice and darts into the undergrowth.
Overhead blue silk yawns while a stray cloud drifts by at a meandering pace on the back of a gentle breeze. There is a swelling in my lap as I envision her hungry mouth open wide, upper lip dotted with sweat, eyes locked on mine. She is a willing servant and a good one at that. She has her agenda and I have mine. It is safe today, she is not in her cycle. But her mind is easy to shift, to confuse. To her, it is right. Because she has no vision for my deception. She doesn’t entirely trust me, but she knows what side her bread is buttered on. She needs me more than I need her. I will more than make up for any of her shortcomings.
5. GORDON
I awake to the sound of a drill in my ear and darkness all around. The microchip didn’t work. I’m fucked if they know. The smell of smoke and charred meat fills the air and it makes my stomach growl. Until I realize it’s my own flesh burning. The high pitched whine coming from the back of my head is a familiar sound. Of all the square footage on my bony skull, I pray that they don’t find the implant site. It may have only been damaged in transit, still functional, if not reliable. The previous owner had suggested we tuck it in behind the left ear, and who was I to argue. I was no doctor or surgeon. I trusted them when I had no choice. The promise they made to me either hasn’t been kept or has plain old failed. I won’t know until I get my stuff back. Until I have some time to do a personal inventory, and see what my status was. I need to get these jackals off of me and contact my inside position.
“Easy, damnit, don’t pierce the brainpan. Jeezus, just under the skin, you retard.”
If it is Tweedledee and Tweedledummer, I’m in big trouble. But I don’t recognize the voices. Luckily there is no pain. At least not in my head. Bruises and lacerations are scattered across my naked flesh. My wrist burns from rope or handcuffs and my right knee is swollen. A chill runs over my bod, as my sweat drips to the floor. I can’t move, and considering there is a drill in my head, that’s probably a good idea. I have to wait. Whatever has happened, whatever she’s done to me, it can’t be good. Passing out while people undress around you is not exactly my idea of a good time. My asshole doesn’t ache, so that’s a plus. They’ll be done soon. Whoever that Marcy bitch is, if she thinks she can orchestrate this rape and defilement, she is mistaken. She just moved up my to-do list.
Concentrating all of my attention on my right pointer finger, I’m able to raise it slightly. Ever so gently, slowly I move it, tapping down in succession. Tap-tap, pause. Tap, pause. Tap-tap-tap, pause. Tap, pause. Hold count 1...2...3..., pause. A burning in my fingertip ensures me that at least something is working. Contact has been made, so I can breathe for a moment. And as hard as it seems, surrounded by the hot, dusty mud walls I relax. While I am being worked over by grunting, sweaty men, as they drill another hole in my head to secure my global positioning system, I drift off to a blissful sleep. Contact. Good. My equipment is recharging now. Signals are being sent. Confirmations made. Complex maps and logarithms run across the inside of my eyelids, green text on a black screen. Numbers scroll by as data unfurls at a rapid clip. Names, locations, occupations, sentencing, biographies, home movies. As soon as I come to, this shit is on.
Coming for you X.
6. ASSIGNED
//
start
daily requisition
access requested
id: assignedrebel
password: noman
access granted
searching
desirables..................................
..............................found
jacob.......................................
...........work
marcy......................transition
jimmy.......................................
.............stlouis, coordinates 38°38’53”
N, 90°12’44” W
x..............home
gordon..............................detained
roland.......................transition
t-minus 23:00:12.02 to audio video sync
program: hypnosis activated
software: running
merge to location “A” denied
merge to location “B” denied
merge to location “C” approved
//
//
::12345678910987654321
test
testing
acquiring
signals....................................
chip 298312 working
chip 298631 working
chip 299112 working
chip 000000 incomplete
chip 300021 installing, :35.03 remaining,
67% complete
chip 298632 signal fade: 86% capacity
end system test
END
//
//
incoming signal acquired
alphachip 1: beta warrior
..........newyork
..........stlouis
..........losangeles
..........mexicocity
..........cuba
..........unknown
home
HELLO GORDON.
END
//
7. ROLAND
Stomping through the jungle with my pack slung over my shoulder, I know it will be different now. I have crossed a line. If I turn around right now, and go back. If I apologize to my mother, and the men
she is fucking. If I tell the dickwads in charge that I am only kidding and don’t know what I was talking about, it’ll be over. I’ll get beaten down, put in the cage, and humiliated for awhile. But I’ll be able to stay. I don’t want that.
I start to head for the caves, thinking I’ll have time to go there first, but that’s wrong. There won’t be time. I didn’t think this through as far as I should have. I gave them just about every direction that I could go and then told them I wouldn’t head to any of those places. That only left one or two paths to take. Can I take one, hoping they believe the lie, or avoid them, knowing they saw through me? Neither. I will follow the creek. It will take me to the edge, as far as I have ever been, but not in any conventional path. It will have to work. I have heard rumors. Portals. Tunnels. Cars and planes, boats and trains. Saber toothed tigers, and giant boa constrictors. Vampire bats and syphilitic monkeys. All kinds of nonsense. None of it has been confirmed. I haven’t so much as smelled gasoline or heard an engine fire up. Or seen any life beyond the flies and earthworms. There is always the cawing and chirping of birds deep into the jungle, but never the actual birds. You never see them.
One final glance back at the village over my shoulder. Same shit, different day. Women milling around, stoking fires, carrying water, yelling at kids. Men stomping past looking important, violence trembling in their fingertips, impatience fluttering behind their eyes. It could have been easy, I could have resigned myself to a life of this. But no. My mind is shot, tired of the games, the lies, the world existing around me, but not within me. I feel separate, and yet, a part of the framework. This is a community of walking zombies, storefront mannequins, soldiers in a war I don’t want to fight. I’ve grown up fast here, I know that. That’s what happens when there is no TV, no video games, and nothing but manual labor, bonfires, and strange grunting in the darkness.
As I part the broad leaves and descend into the damp undergrowth, off the path and towards the creek, a pang of uncertainty stabs at me. I will miss her. She is my mother after all. I will always miss her. I have to remember that she brought us here. Memories were shadows, filled with cigarette smoke kisses and rough calloused hands. I will take that hatred, that neglect and abuse, and bring it to the surface. I will use it to survive. And when the time comes, I will use her weaknesses against her. And she will pay. They will all pay.
The flies buzz around my head, sweat dripping off my brow. The jungle is filled with noises now, more than ever before. The snapping of branches, the rustle of small animals. The blades of strange plants slice at my exposed arms and I curse myself for not dressing properly. When I get to the creek I will change into better clothes. It will be hot, but not nearly as painful. I can hear it in the distance, a bubbling, a rush of white noise. My ticket out of here.
