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Writer
Join Date: Nov 2004
Posts: 5
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The Cycle
The Cycle
Her eyes were glazed over and colorless, matching the decaying glow over the rest of her. On the floor below her hanging hand was the bottle of pills she kept by her bedside every night. Her body was twisted and mangled amidst the waving white sheets, as if the nightmares she kept in waking life had found her in her dreams. The rain had stopped pounding for that moment, as if in silent, somber recognition of her passing. Arthur spoke not a word, nor screamed, or cried, because in the deep depths of his heart, the voice he would not listen to, he had seen this coming. But he never knew how to stop it, and he should have before it started, he thought to himself looking at the papers tossed about the room. The contract agreements, the lab testing dates, the readout of her blood and cells, and that of her unborn. So he held her in his arms one last time, whispered a plea of forgiveness silently into her ear, and kissed her on the forehead before letting go of her forever. He wondered what would have become of her had she been happy, had her eyes been the color they once were.
He looked around the room and saw the mirrors, the pictures, the walls and their scars of memories; it all needed to disappear with her. He couldn’t let them find her, couldn’t let them harvest what they could of her; he realized he had to burn her and the house down along with it. Finding cans of kerosene, he emptied them throughout the house. The streaks of fluid flowed out in waving curves, drenching the glowing wonder boxes spitting out their idiot rants and the empty picture frames he let overrun the house. He took great joy in constructing the house’s destruction, the beaten memories buzzing in his head like a mad orchestra. He was nearly dancing as he thrust the canisters until every drop had been distributed appropriately. He found the unused matches hidden in a place he had forgotten until this moment, and walked out the front door, the rain starting again. Turning around with the match in his hand, a sudden sadness weighed down on him as he looked at the walls for the last time. With a heavy hand, he flung the stricken match into the eager liquid ready to ignite, and watched the first flames rise to life.
The fire’s first victim was the front door, nearly closed, but not yet fully. The flames quickly spread like spilling water across the floor and up the walls, crawling over everything in its way. A spark of a match had become an engulfing tidal wave of fire, charring and smoldering what had once been a thriving palace of childish dreams and hopes, squandered and strangled by the tentacles of flame and reality. The consumed walls crumbled to the ground and with bitter and tortured eyes he could see Abby, but even as he watched her burn, he kept their ring wrapped tightly around his finger, meaning more now than it ever did before. When finally he tore himself away from the desperate sight, he leapt into his hovering car and fled down the urban streets. Every house appeared the same, lined and rowed the same order, none with any scar or mark to bless it with character. The windows gleamed with color from the wonder boxes every family was glued to. He looked through the window up into the black sky, something he hadn’t done in a long time. It was filled with clouds, or smoke, and no stars could be seen anymore. Soon he could see the tip of the skyscraper jutting out of the clouds, defeating all limitations of height and gravity. His eyes followed down its black window glass curtain until they met the double door entrance at ground level. The building seemed to shimmer fluorescently with what he thought was moonlight, until he saw the spotlights and glowing signs atop the many buildings surrounding it.
Leaving the car, he slipped into the nearly empty front hall; only a few patrons left vying for prices with the remaining employees and those guarding the steel labyrinth. Bright inducing pictures lined the walls, all masking the malevolence that lingered inside the corporation. He entered the elevator at the end of the hall, and the doors shut, encasing him in its black steel. It swallowed him whole and took him to the highest floor before spitting him back out again. The doors closed and he walked through a different hall, this one with different images along the walls. Through the glass lab windows he saw images of his holographic self, duplicated to unnecessary numbers. Graphs and charts, cross cuts of his cells, and poor Abby’s cells, and the people she had carried; life that hadn’t yet been awakened. A sick and horrible family tree display, with the piles of papers in investments stacked on the tables in admiration of their test subjects. The exciting and wonderful future was nearing the present; a new era of healing with a simple dosage of cells had arrived, and Arthur’s bloodline had for some reason struck a desirable combination for his superior. And as he paced the marble floor, all the while was in front of him the man who controlled everything. He who saw and then conquered, and now was leaning back docile in his chair; a pile of sheets and papers scattered across his desk. The balding scrawny mongrel leapt from his seat in joy at his arrival, and welcomed him in a charming fashion, though still behind his wooden barrier.
“What a pleasant surprise! What are you doing here?” he asked nervously, noting the cold look on his opposite’s face.
“Give the investors their money back, shut down the labs, I’m done.”
“What do you mean you’re done? Nothing is done yet, it hasn’t even begun. The tests will be starting soon, so go home and get some sleep.”
“It’s over, I’m walking out of this building tonight, never to come back, and you’re going to ensure I never see your face again.”
“I thought it was simple, I thought it was explained to you. We have a contract; there is millions of dollars waiting on this, you’re not leaving anything. Didn’t you see the politicians smiling and clapping and smiling some more, paving the way? There is money to be made, and you’ll even see some of it, if you still want to cooperate. You are a rat! A rat in a cage, and there’s no getting around it now. You sold her, and once you sell something, you can’t get it back.”
“She’s dead.”
“What do you mean she’s dead?”
“She killed herself.”
“Oh, I am most deeply sorry.”
“Don’t bother sending anyone. I burned her and the house; you can’t get anything from her now. There’s nothing left. She found out, you swore to me she wouldn’t, and she did, and I want out of it now!”
“Don’t you see? There’s nothing to worry about, everything can continue as planned. We can make more of you! Look at those faces in the holograms; look at those damned happy faces! Look how thrilled they are! They’re just like you! We can make more of you, and they will meet and marry Abby’s of their own, and their offspring will be our new subjects. Let our Mother Science take us by the hand and shape our future. And in turn, let us take the reigns from her and be in charge of our destiny! We can start over, build more of you, and soon we won’t need you anymore. But not now, no, you aren’t going anywhere yet, you aren’t leaving. My daughter is going to live, and because of your children! She doesn’t need your cells Arthur; she needs your children’s cells. And isn’t that a wonderful thought? You’re children will be saviors, Arthur!”
“And who saved Abby? Who!? Neither of us are saviors; we’re not stopping any death or suffering. You made me sell her, you took advantage of our poverty, and you made me sell her, and them, and then you let them die. You killed Abby so you could save one of your own. The blood is on your hands now. You’re nothing but a murderer.”
“No! They are my lives! They are mine to kill, and I am just! I am God! I am the creator now!”
All he could think of was Abby. Poor Abby, why had he done it? He loved her, and he loved those people growing inside of her. Maybe they would’ve looked like him, had his eyes, his smile. Where had reason gone? What terrible instinct had taken hold of him while paralyzed in hysteric blackout, being swayed by the old scientist that night on the street corner? Where had the future gone, what had he done with it? A terrible sickness must be inside of him, he reasoned, and in everyone, and it couldn’t be fixed with cells and pills. But now it was too late to be righted properly. The gun almost seemed to glide into his hands as he pulled it from his waist. Though not as proper, this justice would do; yes, it would do fine.
“Don’t think I didn’t see this coming,” the old man cackled with a clever grin. “They’ll be here any minute.” He laughed, but could not hide the hopelessness from his face, the same face Abby had carried for so long. But Abby had wanted to die; the old man was like a squirming child, who would do all and anything to keep a mark from his body and a penny in his pocket.
“My wife is dead.”
“As far as I’m concerned, your wife can go to hell.”
The cold steel barrel gauged its fiery eyes on the old man. “I thought you didn’t believe in hell? Isn’t that right!?” Arthur yelled with vigor.
The old man cautiously nodded, “That’s right.”
“Then why are you afraid? What do you have to be afraid of?” And the old man’s eyes were glazed over with a dull tint, matched by a motionless face, the soul inside lost in a bewildered fray before passion and heartache pulled the trigger of the gun, leaving behind only smoke. Almost immediately, the tall windows towering over them burst into thousands of tiny fragments, and five black shadowy figures emerged from the broken crystals and swept into the hall. Like locusts they swarmed around him, dark servants obeying their master’s will and doing his work. Dark shafts of death were slung over their shoulders, ready to be used on the old man’s disobedient property. Arthur dropped the now useless gun and sprung away while the black clothed servants casually turned to follow him, being in no rush at all. Arthur could feel their aim fixed on his back as he sprinted towards the open window panes, the rain blowing inside. Jumping out, he heard the whizzing of an electro dart chasing him. When his feet met the stone ledge outside the window, he looked up to see the dart pass over him, fizzing and sparking underneath the pounding water before being pulled back into the dark shaft again by its string.
With no other choice left to him, he leapt from the ledge and plummeted towards the river below, his stomach churning inside out and his mind swirling into disarray. He watched the black sheathed windows flash past him, one after the other, again and again, until he felt the cold surface of the water, slamming into it as if it were concrete ground, and then letting its icy fingers wrap around and envelope him. The shock and rush of the liquid deathtrap forced him to gasp in the frigid water that spread into his lungs like a growing vine. With the awareness that remained with him, he pushed down on the water until his lungs took in air. The river was gurgling and churning, being carried away under the building to be processed and managed. With great strides he fought the current, struggling against the tide that seemed overwhelming; its swift pull attempting to drag him down with it, even as he kept with his persistence. Steel bars announced safety, and he felt his way up the ladder until his hands slapped onto smooth and level ground. Though the weight of his drenched clothing was gradually slowing him, he ran down the street lined with the river until he crossed into a section of suburbs. Rows of identical houses were on each side of him again, and five shadows were growing larger in front of him. Running down the street he screamed for help, but none were listening. The windows glistened with the glow of the wonder boxes casting their spell on their willing victims. None left their air locked prisons, none came to aid him, and as he ran, like the old man he too became as a child, running with his arms flailed open towards a mother whose arms were not reaching out to comfort him. Soon he felt the sting of the electro dart pulsing through his drenched clothes, and he saw his face rush up to meet the ground. He became alone and cold, and let his mother’s arms take him to a place he never could before reach.
One of the security personnel turned over Arthur’s dead body, and slumped it over his shoulder. The circle of death was completed, and he would be taken back to the labs to be processed and harvested. His death would not be a meaningless one; his life had to be taken to ensure another’s could live more comfortably.
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