by Matt Shaw
Sister turned to me, the same smile on her face, “To be continued!”
I smiled back at her just to keep her happy. The more I thought about it, the more I couldn’t help but think I was better off taking my own life. Pity I was too chicken shit. I can’t go back to the real world, I understand that, but I’m not sure I can live like this either.
Sister hurried across the room to where her clothes had been thrown on the floor the previous night. She started to put them on and I did the same with my own clothes. Best not keep Father waiting.
* * * * *
A Family Meeting
“Still here then,” Father mocked me as I walked into the dining room where he was sitting. I didn’t bother answering him back. There was no point in making him angry. I should just be thankful he let me back into the house in the first place. Can’t rock the boat now. Now I know, for a fact, that there is nowhere out there for me. For us. “Sit!” he ordered us.
I walked in and sat down in my usual seat. Sister sat opposite me, still smiling. You could see, in her eyes, that she was still hungry for more of what she’d received this morning. Insatiable. Hadn’t seen her like that before. Clearly a fan of the kinkier side of life.
“Where’s Mother?” I asked Father in an effort to distract myself from the fresh images of Sister’s arse being penetrated by my penis. On cue Mother walked into the room with a tray. On that tray were four cups of water. Pints no less. The first breakfast for a while now where there hadn’t been any meat waiting on the table for us. Mother put the cups down and took her seat next to me. Her hand under the table gave my leg a little squeeze. I turned to her curious to see what she was doing. She wasn’t paying me any attention. She was simply staring ahead at Sister. A smile on her face which mirrored the smile Sister had given her earlier in the bedroom. Great. Piggy in the middle.
“The good news,” Father said, his voice breaking the sudden awkwardness I was feeling, “is that the water still works and it’s plentiful. The bad news is that the same can’t be said for food.” Hardly surprising the food is starting to run out - considering the state the ‘facility’ was in, on the other side of the fence. “I think it’s fair to say,” Father continued, “that you may have been right about the lack of help coming,” he was looking directly at me, “and that we could well be alone...With the exception of those things out there...” I squirmed on my seat. I didn’t like where this was headed. “I checked the car you brought back - there’s a little fuel left. Now we have a choice...” and here it is, “we can stay here, as originally intended, or we can go out and see if we can find somewhere else...Somewhere with food - maybe even some survivors.” I knew I shouldn’t have come home in the car. I knew I should have parked it up somewhere out of sight. The temptation for Father to take us away from here and towards the uncomfortable truth of what really happened to force us into this godforsaken nightmare in the first place. Can’t let this happen.
“I’ve seen what’s out there waiting for us,” I butted in with my opinion before anybody had a chance to go with his idea of leaving the house, “and there’s nothing out there for us. At least here we have sanctuary.”
“And the possibility of starvation.” Father argued. It was clear from the look on his face that he’d already made the decision for us. He wanted to take the car and drive off to whatever he believed was out there waiting for him (us). I’m not entirely sure where the sudden change of mind had come from. Before I had left to see what was out there, he had been adamant that staying in the house - and waiting - was the best decision. Now it feels as though he can’t get out fast enough. A small part of my mind wondering whether the sudden turnaround in thought process is because he doesn’t believe what I said - when I told him there was nothing out there for us. Maybe he wants to try and prove me wrong just as I proved him wrong when he said someone would be coming for us? “It’s because you’ve seen what is out there, or to be more precise what isn’t out there, that we need to move on from here. If there really is nothing out there, just as you stated, then we will die here.”
“There’s a forest out there....” I went to argue.
“With those things running around it,” he countered before I had a chance to finish my sentence.
A quick lie, “You think they’re confined to the forests? They’re not. They’re everywhere. If anything - there are less in the forest than in the nearby town.” I continued before he had a chance to say anything back, “We can stay here - live off what we find in the forest whether it be animals or even berries we find growing on bushes. We have more chance of staying alive if we stick to your original plan: Wait here and see who comes to find us.”
“You said it yourself there’s nothing out there for us,” Mother said - clearly her mind was swaying towards the same thought process as Father’s damaged mind. I could tell them the truth about what I had found out there. I could tell them that we’re nothing but a fucked up government experiment; designed to satisfy the curious minds of the sick bastards who dreamt it up. A big game of ‘what if’. What if the end of the world happened? What if people were stranded? How would they react to the situation? What if we threw this into the mix? What if....What if...I could tell them but then how’d they react? There’s no way back to a normal life for us. There’s no way to reverse the damage of what’s happened out there. We’re changed for the worse and we’re stuck like this until the day we die. At least here they can live their life in what they believe to be a normal way. If I let them out there - not only will they be suffering like I am but it can only end badly. Not just for us either. For people who may happen to have the misfortune to bump into us or cross our paths. Once a killer always a killer, right?
“You’re wrong anyway,” Father said. I turned to him. “Something is out there. You just didn’t find it.”
“I saw enough...”
“Something is out there. Someone. Survivors. Otherwise - who else is flying the planes we see?” Father raised an eyebrow. I hesitated for a moment. Planes were proof enough that someone was out there - whether it be the military or pilots who’ve just taken a plane to get them out of the danger zone. Someone was out there. How’d he react if he knew that, chances are, they were actually commercial flights? Most likely some happy family off on their holiday; somewhere exotic with beautiful sunshine and white sandy beaches and not a care in the world other than which of the all-inclusive restaurants they should masticate in tonight.
After the hesitation I responded, “Then they’ll find us.”
“We are a family,” Father said in a tone which revealed his irritation towards me for all to notice, “so we will put it to the vote. If you want to leave and see what we can find out there - raise your hands...” Father raised his hand before he’d even finished speaking. A second later Mother put her hand in the air too. No doubt the two of them had discussed this plan before bringing it to the table anyway. Wouldn’t surprise me. Father turned to Sister - a disapproving look etched on his weary face. He (and Mother) put their hands down. “And if you want to stay here for a while longer and possibly starve to death in the process?” I raised my hand, as did Sister. I smiled at her and she smiled back. I wonder whether she even wants to stay or is just keeping me happy? “Okay - well as the head of the family - I get final say in the event of a draw and I say we leave. Today.”
“What? No. Not a fucking chance!” I spat back. “We give it a couple of days, two days, and then we cast the vote again depending on whether opinions have changed. That’s the fair way of doing it.”
“He’s right,” Sister finally piped up. “What harm will two days do?”
Father sat there a moment in silence whilst grinding his teeth. “Fine!” he hissed. Without any further words he got up and left the room. Mother got up and followed - no doubt going to offer her cunt as a way of softening Father’s darkened mood. I turned to Sister and smiled at her again; letting her know that, despite the foul mood of our parents (yeah right) I was there fo
r her (just as, I presumed, she was for me). She smiled back again as my mind turned to thoughts of Father (and the way his mood was so quick to sour). I wondered whether I was protecting them from the reality of what really happened to us or whether I was protecting the outside world from us. The more I think about it, really think about it, the more I can’t help but think it’s more to do with the latter. It’s not that I’m worried about us going back to society. I’m worried that we’ll do more damage. I’m worried that we’ll kill, or hurt, more people unnecessarily and then - just as Father’s mood was quick to darken - so was mine as thoughts reared their ugly head in the forefront of my mind. Thoughts which hinted at the distinct possibility of having to kill my make believe family. Maybe that’s the only way forward. Kill them and pluck up the courage to take my own life. Put us all out of our misery. A cold shudder rushed down my spine at the mere thought of suicide. The same reaction I’ve had before when my damaged mind drifted towards taking my own life. Funny how people consider those who commit suicide to be cowards. I don’t. They’re the brave ones. They’re the ones who are able to stand up and say enough is enough. They’re the ones who’re able to do something about the hatred they feel for their own lives. I’m envious of them.
I was pulled from my dark thoughts by a hand rubbing my groin. I shook the thoughts off and looked down to notice Sister’s hand on the crotch of my jeans. She was still smiling at me, “So - do you think you can go for a second run?” she purred. Insatiable.
CHAPTER TWO
BEFORE
The Interview
I was sitting opposite the pretty technician lady who’d come and fetched me from the dismal waiting room (seriously - would it have hurt them to put some current magazines out for us to read whilst waiting...Maybe ).
“We’re going to ask you to confirm some details before we continue, if that’s okay.”
“Sure.”
“Can you confirm your name?”
“John Burley.” I flashed her a smile but she paid it no attention.
“And your date of birth?” she asked.
“September 30th, 1980.”
“Mother’s maiden name?”
“Osborne.”
“Thank you. Can you confirm why you’re here?”
“I was hoping you could tell me. I’m just replying to an advert.”
“Can you confirm the advert and where you saw it?”
“I saw it online. It mentioned a series of scientific tests but not a lot else. Other than a substantial payment for those who completed it.” I laughed. Driven by money and nothing else. I wasn’t always like this but recent bills (and sudden unemployment) forced my hand. The way it stands, waiting for benefits, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to pay the debts back that I owe but this - this advert - if I complete these tests...I can pay them back in one. No more phone calls from debt collectors, no more stress, no more worry. Just a clean slate. Show me where I sign!
“There are a few forms to fill in and a few interviews to go through but the whole process should move fairly swiftly,” the lady continued, “we’re hoping to make our decisions as to who progresses by the end of the day.”
“That’s great!” I smiled. “The sooner, the better as far as I’m concerned.” My heart was pounding heavily. Interviews have never been my strong point - even when I’ve had a chance to swat up on the subject matter I was being interviewed for. Somehow I’ve always managed to get it so very, very wrong. Usually by filling in the awkward silences with mindless dribble.
Lost many a job opportunity because of that. They ask you to give an example of a time you worked well in a team. You gave them an example. They just sit there and look at you as though they’re waiting for you to say something else so - to avoid disappointing them - you spout out more examples with each one getting progressively worse. Not all interviews are like that though. In some I don’t say enough. I give a quick example, without giving it much thought, and the interviewer nods and goes straight to the next question. By the time they’ve finished asking it you find you’ve remembered a better example. You can’t back-track though. You just need to keep answering their questions as you know - deep down - it would be worse to back-track to the previous question. Yep. I hate interviews.
“Tell us about your strengths?” she asked. She opened up a clipboard, on her lap, and poised her pen ready to take some notes. I felt my heart sink. These are the questions I hate. Normally you’re able to cheat. Say something you think they want to hear but when you don’t even know what you’re going interviewed for - it’s hard to guess as to a correct answer.
“I’m a team player,” I told her. “I enjoy interacting with others and pushing forward with suggestions. I find I work well in a group,” the technician paused a moment as she held my gaze and then she started jotting down notes. Was that the right thing to say? “I don’t have to be part of a team though. I mean, I enjoy it, but I’m more than capable of working on my own if the task calls for it. So, yeah, I’m good with either.” She stopped writing and looking at me. There goes that sinking feeling again. Feels as though my heart is in the pit of my stomach now. I beg my brain to stop but before my pleas have finished I find that I’m yakking on again, “I’m a hard-worker too. I realise most people say that but I am. I enjoy it. Nothing worse than sitting around with nothing to do. Boredom sets in. Not that I sat around in my old job that much. Used my own initiative a lot, you know? Went off looking for things to do.” I realised what I had said and tried to correct myself, “Not without telling people what I was doing though. I don’t just disappear. Leave it for people to ask where I am before they start sending out the search parties. They know I’m around and working.” Please shut up I kept screaming (internally) at my brain. I sank back in the seat with an overall feeling of despair. At least I made it through to this round, I thought. Some people didn’t even get to this stage. In my mind I couldn’t help but recall the time the job centre offered me an appointment to go through interview techniques. Sitting here now, feeling like a mug, I kind of wish I had taken them up on their offer.
“Thank you for that,” the technician said as she scribbled the last of my rant onto the pad. She then proceeded to tick a series of boxes. Much to my frustration, I couldn’t make out what they were for and whether it was a ‘no’ box or ‘yes’ box. My heart told me it was a ‘no’ box. My stupid brain told me I was in with a fighting change still. She stopped writing and looked me in the eye. Man she’s pretty. Such blue eyes. I feel like I could go swimming in them. And then my mind lowered the tone by making me contemplate offering her some of the money, I’d get for completing the tests, just for a night with her. One night. One night to bed her as my mind took a further detour into ruder territory. “Tell me about your family,” she asked.
“What family?” I said abruptly. I startled myself at how abrupt I actually was. I have family. I just don’t tend to speak to them as much as other people may speak to their family members. More to the point - they don’t tend to speak to me. The black sheep of the family.
* * * * *
NOW
Family matters
I was sitting in the living room with Sister. She was sitting next to me, nestled into my chest whilst I stroked her greasy hair. A comfortable silence between the two of us allowing my memories to dance their dance in my mind. I was the black sheep with my real family and here I was again - the black sheep with my new family.
“What’s the matter?” Sister asked. She looked up at me. A genuine look of concern on her face. No doubt she doesn’t want me rocking the boat again like I did last time, in the lead up to leaving the house. I couldn’t tell her exactly what was on my mind. She had backed me up with regards to staying putt and not venturing out into the outside world but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t run to Father and Mother if I said something slightly controversial - like the truth! I couldn’t forget the way she had treated me before I left the house the first time; one minute she was close to me, e
ven fucking me, and the next she was telling Father of my displeasure at being stuck in the house with them. Perhaps not those words exactly but she still told Father…
I thought on my feet, “Does it bother you?” I asked.
“Does what bother me?” she asked.
“This.”
“What do you mean?”
I thought I had been pretty clear but I explained, “This. Where we are. Not knowing what happened to the world. Not remembering who you are. Does it bother you?”
She hesitated a moment, “I prefer not knowing,” she said. “Why’d I want to remember who I was when it’s only a life I can no longer have. At least this...This is all I have and this is all I know. It’s simpler.” Which is exactly why I chose to keep the truth of our situation a secret from her when I first came home. Not just from her - but from all of them. “Does it bother you?” she asked.
I didn’t answer her. I pulled her back down onto my chest and continued to run my fingers through her hair. The truth bothered me. What those sick bastards did to us to get us here in the first place. But had I not known the truth - had I simply known as much as my pretend family; a bomb went off and supposedly wiped out humanity…Had I known nothing but the basics - bomb, humanity gone - then it would have bothered me. I would have wanted to know who dropped the bomb, I would have wanted to know why. I would have had so many questions and I know I’d be curious as to who I was before the end of the world.
“You overthink things,” Sister said. She was right. I do. I wish I could switch off and just go along with the situation but I couldn’t. This isn’t a new trait either. Remembering the broken memories from before all of this - I have always been an over-thinker. “You’d probably be happier if you switched off from time to time.”
