After Hope Dies

by Lilly Haraden

  ‘Oh Hugo…’

  ‘What is it?’ Suddenly concerned, the man shifts his weight and realigns towards the girl. She says with her eyes firmly on his, ‘It’s not the fault of the gift, Hugo.’

  Her face tells him the bad news before the words. ‘The only thing keeping your hand together is the gift, and it’s doin’ it tough. See…’

  What Hugo thought was simply a natural state...he begins to see in new light. The daemon arm crawls and shivers like a sad flame in wind. A fight for survival. No feeling, no sign of discomfort beyond the visual. How very strange. Para continues, ‘Something is very, very wrong with the bones in your arm…I see it b’neath the surface, like little bubbles of black all stuck through the bone.’

  ‘Like a cancer?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ the girl murmurs low. ‘It ain’t from a supernatural cause.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Can you help me?’

  Para tilts her head to the side and says without much confidence, ‘Hmm. I can try. Wait here a tic.’

  Pop. Vanished. Gravity takes his arm where Para once held on. And the change: Hugo looks down at his regular old arm with the magic all gone. Flicks the wrist out. Little pain. Sighs. His nerves dance. This is not what he wanted to hear. Cancer, really? It doesn’t bear thought – let her work her magic. Still, to have a friend here…makes it all better, no? It’ll be ok. Distraction:

  It’s good to see Para again. She too is immutable but in a different way from a static image. After death, she has grown up inside, alongside Hugo. It’s a comfort to his heart to know that she means something even after her death. All those years ago on the camping trip out here with both their parents. Back when Dad was working; Hugo remembers him fishing with Para’s Dad. When Shaun came out with them and brought cigarettes and alcohol and they got drunk by the shoreline, watched the stars fuck each other, watched Para get undressed and bathe in the black water like an oily ghost, Hugo stripping down and joining her…

  ‘Back! Sorry to keep you waitin’.’

  Para kneels beside Hugo. She’s collected an armful of equipment from the backstage of reality. The child spreads a blanket out over the jetty and asks Hugo to make himself more comfortable because that jacket is too small and they’ll be here for a while. Hugo does so. He lies down and turns on his side to watch his childhood friend work; she’s bought a mortar and pestle and a bottle of red liquid. Inside the bowl rest scissors, bandages, and a strange collection of plants and flowers that Para dutifully begins to grind up. Add a dollop of red goo from the bottle to the mixture and work it in. Clank clink clank. Strangely comforting sound. The girl kneads the mixture into a paste – kind of smells like lavender – and then uses what looks like a cooking spatula to scoop up the red-white remedy.

  ‘Hold out your arm.’

  Hugo does so and the girl begins to coat the boy’s hand from finger up to wrist, then adds another patch from elbow down to just before the wrist. That sense of doctor comfort once again tickles the front of his mind but before Hugo can relax, Para asks the boy, ‘Some’n else on your mind, ain’t there.’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  Eyes up to the world’s ceiling where blue and yellow and white battle for supremacy in cloudy warfare. Para works on a second coat. Without looking the girl in the eye, Hugo chooses his words carefully and begins, ‘Is it possible for you to remove a part of my mind?’

  Para stops midway through a stroke of paint. Continues, finishing the gap and putting the spatula down. Picking up a roll of bandage, she replies, ‘Not impossible. Removin’ some’n’s thoughts or way of thinkin’ ain’t too complicated but the problem’s that it’s imprecise. What do you wan’ removed?’

  ‘Everythin’.’

  ‘Everythin’.’

  ‘I don’t want to think how I think any more. I want it all gone. I’m drivin’ myself crazy.’

  Para doesn’t say anything for a little while as she rolls the bandages over paste and skin, pressing the cool elixir into Hugo’s flesh and bones. At the fingers, she wraps each individually with separate threads and asks, ‘There are elements within all of us that we don’t desire, but part of bein’ alive and human is that we deal with these best we can.’

  ‘What if we can’t deal with them?’

  ‘Please, be honest with me.’ She clips a metal latch on the bandages and they hold. All done. He is a mummy now. Para cuts a little slice of red ribbon and ties it to Hugo’s wrist, making a beautiful bow. She stops, holding the man’s hand in her own and pleads with her eyes. Hugo shifts his weight back upright and sighs the deepest sigh of his life. Looks the kid in the eyes and says, ‘I’m a paedophile, Para.’

  Para doesn’t reply. Her face registers no outburst of discomfort or anger or anything really. Her ears remain open. So Hugo continues, ‘I like the girl next door, the one I saved from a monster. My mind goes to her when I don’t want it to. Happenin’ for months on end. And the things I think make me sick. But I can’t stop. Tonight, I let it all come out. That Mirror I saw yesterday came to me, an’…’

  Hugo stops and changes words, ‘I’m…I’m terrified, I’m fuckin terrified that one day I’ll lose my control and do something bad to hurt her. I don’ want that. I don’ wan’ be alive if it means facing this. I just want to end. Man…’ Hugo sniffs and wipes away an angry tear but he holds his emotions back. Pushes them down. Silence for a moment, turning once more to Para and finishing unsteady, ‘Even if it means erasin’ who I am completely, I want you to remove the perversion from inside a me.’

  He’s not sure how she’ll react. Disgust? Anger? Para shuffles in beside Hugo and pats him on the shoulder. ‘You know, ain’t that many people in the world with enough integrity to admit to what you just admitted. Whole lotta men harbour these feelings but let ’em fester and fester inside. Some end up exploden and commit a crime on an innocent. Ain’t just talking sex stuff. All things. They ain’t honest with themselves. They lack something you got in spades – and that’s a good heart.’

  ‘My heart is the problem.’

  ‘And the solution. See, I could take your mind away. Sure. But sexuality is an innate part a who you are. It’s fundamental. Cutting that out ain’t like excising a bad habit or putting in a daemon that can make you play video games at light speed. I can’t lobotomise you; I won’t do it.’

  ‘What can I do, then?’

  ‘You need help. Go to a doctor and you can see a psychiatrist.’

  Hugo shakes his head. ‘Can’t afford it, kid. Where am I gon’ get the money for a shrink? Public health benefits? I may see someone maybe once a month but I’ll be on a waiting list as long as the day is dark. And if they give me pills, we have to buy them. Compulsory. What if the shrink reports me to police? What then; all Shaun’s old friends come and run me outta town. I can’t…’

  Silence for a long while. Broken: Para looks away and says in a little voice, ‘You could use me.’

  Hugo turns to her. Little Para, little friend. She? Floodgates open and the possibilities arrive in a deluge. Hugo stands in the river of his thoughts and tries to keep them back but for every one he stops there are dozens more that trickle through to make horrid images and feelings.

  She’s a spirit girl; she doesn’t technically exist; she’s the same mental age as you; what does she feel like; never considered her before; she does have a nice body, remember when you swam naked together? Would she ride you and suck your cock; is she as good as Janelle? Will she do dirty things with you?

  ‘We could do it out here. Nobody’d see. I-I could help you, if it means that you’ll at least have some sorta release from your desires. Hey–’ Wet eyes like the lakes. Possibilities so sweet and so dark. Hugo reaches out to her with his good hand, wanting to taste the flesh of her cheek. Ruby red and soft under his fingers. Para leans into the touch like a cat, saying ‘ok’ with her eyes. I will do this for you.

  ‘Don’t be fuckin’ stupid, kid. You’re like my sister. And i
ndulging in this’ll only make the desire stronger.’

  Para closes her eyes and smiles, touches Hugo’s hand. ‘See. You do have a good heart. There’s hope fo’ you yet.’

  A test, then.

  ‘So will you erase me?’

  ‘No.’

  Hugo lies back down on the blanket and stares at nothing. He feels the silk of another join his side; the two make space together and lie in the glory of God’s daylight.

  ‘I won’t erase you. Instead, I’ll lay here beside ya, listen to whatever you wanna say, be an ear for your heart to heal on. I’ll advise and correct and help ya reshape your mind until you comfortable with who you are. I’ll give you the keys to your desires so you know how to lock and unlock them when need be. Most important, I’ll be your frien’. Always, kid. Always. No matter how dark you think you are, no matter what’s goin’ on inside that head a yours.’

  Para leans in and kisses Hugo on the cheek.

  They join, free hand in ghost hand, and bask in the sunlight together.

  Hugo murmurs, ‘I wanna die.’

  ‘You caynt die. I get to decide when you die – that was our deal for the reflex daemon, ’member?’

  ‘Yeh.’

  Boy smiles and closes his eyes. He really doesn’t want to die. (Nobody ever does – I truly believe that.) All we need is…

  The Arcade, or, Shout out to the blerds

  (Nice Childish Gambino reference)

  Awake now. Late afternoon left her colours on the world as she was passing by. No sight of Para, but her bandage sticks firm to Hugo’s right hand. Ribbon in a bow. Sleepy, the man rights himself and cradles his healing fingers. Wonder. What does he owe the girl for her kindness? He owes her more than he can ever imagine.

  Hugo’s stopped by the same official at the border between civilisation and home. A quick glance at the man’s hand all done up with the pretty ruby bow tied at the wrist. Question marks in the raising of eyebrows.

  ‘Grandma’s doing. Thinks I don’ cut my hand. What’s the harm in playin’ along?’

  ‘You have yourself a nice evening, sir.’

  You good, good man.

  Dark now in the streets of District of Bellingham, Washington. Hugo stops at an intersection after scanning the sidewalks – nobody will disturb him as he makes up his mind. Home? Arcade. He hasn’t slept in twenty-four hours, yet it’s too early in the night for rest. And he’s got the time to burn even if money is running low. Actually, no money. Just time. Most important – he’s got a restless mind that only video games and lights and drugs and alcohol can sate. Ten minutes’ drive and he’s at the den. Ties the front wheel of his cycle to a pole out back, walks to the rear entrance through the pool of nightlight. White niggas stand against the back wall trading cigarettes laced with caffeine or ice as casual as lollies. Hugo ignores their oh-so-tempting offers to get high on third-rate drugs and makes his way into the club, past a bouncer who acknowledges him with a tick of the head. Like a spasm.

  Wall of sound would be an understatement. It would be better to consider this mass of writhing vibration as sound in a pure form, fading out all other memory of what sound is and replacing it wholesale. He stands at the top of the stairs and overlooks the banks and banks of computer consoles, screens, arcade booths, VR spaces, and the bar directly in the middle to oversee the madness. There: some familiar faces, so he makes his way down. A layer of smoke sits above the banks like clouds on a mountain; Hugo descends through the layer and fills his lungs with the spice. A few people notice him and wave happily (it’s hard not to notice a two hundred and fifty pound mountain squeezing through the lanes). Mostly whites and Chinese here, but the black kids come too (See, Hugo? You’re not alone, what the fuck were you complaining about before?) Regardless: friendly guys and gals clumped together.

  ‘Hugo!’

  These three Chinese in particular he’s fond of. See them at the bar with their noses high and sniffing the air for conflict or hints of high scores. They wave him over: three siblings – two brothers, one sister, although it’s difficult to tell them apart. Not in an ‘Asians all look the same’ kind of way – each wears the same hair, similar hoodie over the school senior shirts, same flat bodies and faces. One is definitely a girl, remember. Hugo ain’t no racist – look, he’s got three Chinese friends! Carrie looks a little distracted tonight. As Hugo nears his friends, another Chinese brushes past the man on her speedy way out. Unfamiliar. Hugo notices Carrie’s gaze following that creature to the exit. Not sure what to make of that, he approaches the trio.

  ‘Darth Vader’s back!’

  ‘Haven’t seen your fat ass here for a while.’

  ‘Grab a seat, let me buy you a drink.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Get him a coke and rum.’

  ‘—Get him a cig with macha fire.’

  ‘—Get him a light!’

  Hugo sits his bum down on the little circle of a neon barstool and says to the bartender nearby, ‘Yeah that all sounds pretty good.’

  Guy nods and fetches drugs and drink. Hugo turns to his friends and screams to the eldest: Carrie. ‘I wonder sometimes. I’m supposed to be a recluse but you guys never leave this nerd den.’

  Carrie replies, ‘Isn’t a nerd den here – there’s some genuine sporting competition going on all round us. And hey, adults outnumber kids ten to one. Wherever there are adults, there is money and gambling and drugs and babes. Maybe not so many babes here but I spotted a couple of good ones I wanna take home. Just need a bit of liquid courage.’ She rattles her glass around. How on earth did she score liquor at her age?

  ‘Thought I saw you giving that girl from before an eye-over.’

  Carrie dismisses Hugo with a wave. ‘Not my type.’ She’s a shit liar.

  Brother number one leans into Hugo’s sphere and shouts, ‘Carrie’s a lesbian, Hugo, did you know that?’

  ‘No, I did not, James, I did not know that, I had no idea, none whatsoever. Absolutely none. Wow, colour me fuckin’ surprised.’

  Xun cuts in, ‘You should have seen Dad’s reaction when he found out. Ooooooh man.’

  James: ‘Think of the ancestry! Haha.’

  Xun: ‘Your mother would roll in her grave if she were dead. “Tongzhi? Ni Tongzhi? Unacceptable!”’

  Hugo muses, ‘Xun, when your parents were naming you, did they just get lazy with the English names after a while? Havin’ to struggle with Carrie and James, so they just dumped whatever on you?’

  Xun, exuberant: ‘Yes, exactly! No, just kidding. My English name is Roger. We all have double names because Americans are too fucking lazy to learn how to pronounce “Jun” or “Xiao Leng” or “Yunqi”. Say Xiao Leng five times without stuffing up and I’ll buy your entire night’s worth of gaming.’

  Hugo takes his drink from the bar, slips the cigarette into his left hand and forks out cash he shouldn’t be handing over. Says to his friends, ‘Dad told me to never bet unless I could guarantee a win.’ And he recites the name to perfection.

  ‘Ohhhhhhhh!’ the three croon and Carrie says, ‘The accent and everything.’

  Xun: ‘I’m not paying you. Xiao Leng is easy. For my reward, you must recite “Lion-Eating Poet in the Stone Den”.’

  Hugo takes a sip of acid and muses, ‘The fuck is that?’

  ‘A poem.’

  ‘How hard can that be?’

  ‘It’s an ancient poem that goes like this.’ Xun perches on his seat and recites with his hands:

  ‘Shíshì shīshì Shī Shì, shì shī, shì shí shí shī.

  Shì shíshí shì shì shì—’

  ‘Fuck that. You’re just saying the same word over and over.’

  ‘Raaaaaciist!’ the three croon and Carrie says, ‘Fucking ignorant American monkey! It’s the tone that makes the words mean different things.’

  ‘Sure thing, kid. You guys are like caricatures of yourselves, you know?’

  ‘No, I think we’re just like ourselves. Warts and all. Here, take a light.�
��

  Hugo catches the zippo lighter from Carrie and sends a jet of flame to the tip of the cigarette. His body is going to fucking crash and die without sleep soon. Fuck that. From the corner of his eye Hugo gives Carrie the once-over, taking special note of her school skirt flowing short and pleated over her thighs. Maybe he lingers a moment too long…but her eyes are unfocused on the distance as if she’s still trying to find someone. She’s different tonight, usually not so acerbic. Hugo hands the lighter back to his friend and takes a puff of the sweet-smelling paper.

  Carrie pockets the lighter and spies Hugo’s bandages, says over the noise, ‘Eh, what’s up with your hand? You crush yourself when you roll over in bed?’

  James: ‘Who tied that gay bow, your little sis’?’

  Hugo replies blunt, ‘Don’t knock my li’l sis’, ’kay? She loves me very much. So, anythin’ new this past month?’ Hugo looks at the banks, continues, ‘Wasn’t here to see if they’d fixed the Vive setup yet.’

  Xun instructs, ‘There’s a new Cirno bullet-hell game from Japan. Nobody can read what it says ‘cos it’s all in hiragana but everyone seems pretty taken with it. There’s a Hatsune Miku rhythm game that’s just like all the others, and something called Heavenly Crown from Southern China – another rhythm game that’s been very popular on WeStream.’

  ‘Worth a try?’

  ‘Oh, I think so. Finish your drink and I’ll show you.’

  Hugo complies and with the fresh burn of alcohol in his belly he follows the three seniors to Heavenly Crown. A little crowd’s formed around an adult white guy wearing a bathing ape hoodie (ironic 2000s retro meme); they stand and watch, Hugo drawing deep on the green tea extract cigarette. The game seems to be played by tapping falling blocks in time to a song, but the catch is that there’s no screen to tap. Instead, the player must poke fingers in the air at specific depths corresponding to the size and colour of the bauble on screen. There must be some sort of laser grid system used to calculate the depth of the player. So it’s a bit like Osu in 3D. Jesus, the never-ending march of technology. What a time to be alive. What’s the music like? Maybe a typical mix of C-pop, K-pop, anime songs, but this guy’s rocking out to a happy hardcore beat.