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Adept Writer
Join Date: Nov 2005
Location: Ohio.. blehhhh
Gender: Male
Posts: 905
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The Kitten and the Dagger (part 1)
Ignore the periods at the beginning there, pretend they're just blank spaces
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Day
.......after day
......................after day
...................................after day,
Milo thought, watching the instruments. Milo always thought visually, in words arranged into hypotenuses of right triangles- it was just how his brain worked. Had worked for the last third of his three decades.
Milo lived in a cottage in the woods all alone, nobody to talk to, just checking the instruments the government told him to check, going into town occasionally to buy his food, then back to the cottage to check the instruments. All day he sat there, one eye watching the instruments as he ate his sandwiches, thinking up great things, solving world issues in hours, then thinking up entirely new solutions, then thinking up ways to make the problems worse, then solving it all again. All this potential, and the government had him sit here in the forest and watch instruments.
He had only agreed to do it because of what they had done in his brain, the poking and prodding that had unleashed this ability in him. He was afraid that if he didn’t do what they told him they would fiddle around in his brain even more, unleashing even more of what the rest of the world safely hid in the backs of their brains.
He knew that the reason the government wanted him out here was because they couldn’t figure out what to do with him. He could solve most of the world’s major problems in a year or two, and the smaller ones within a few years after that. Milo had unbelievable power. But the government, with its red tape and secrets, hid him in the forest to rot, watching the instruments make tiny dots and flashes on a screen.
Milo had long ago begun talking to himself, reasoning out all his solutions and problems verbally. It helped to have the walls soak it all in and spit out what he needed when he needed it.
Six days ago, while in town to buy more bread, he had bought a kitten.
It was a cute kitten, orange and brown and gray, with stripes and boots and spots and a black mask. Tiny little pink pawpads, green and blue eyes, and a mew that would melt Hitler’s heart. It was the perfect kitten.
Milo loved his new pet. He named it “Winks” and made it a little bowl out of a rock, and it sat with him as he watched the instruments. He began watching the instruments less and less, playing with the kitten instead. Eventually we checked the instruments once when he woke up and once when he went back to bed, the little kitten at his side.
He started exploring the woods outside of the cabin with his kitten, not venturing much beyond the path that led from the cabin to the road, but going deeper and deeper each time.
The kitten, of course, grew rapidly. All this exercise and attention helped it grow faster than normal, and in around a year it was nearly as big as a full-grown cat. Milo was now in the best shape of his life. After spending years sitting in a chair, this exercise was doing wonders for his body. Both he and Winks were in great shape all-around, physically and mentally sharp. Milo bought camping equipment, and they spent entire weeks out in the forest.
One day, coming home from a long hike, Milo found a note just inside the front door. It was written on yellow paper in short brisk letters. It read:
MILO
BE HOME TOMORROW
WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT YOUR JOB
PS WE CAN TRACK YOU SO THERES NO POINT RUNNING
It had no signature.
Milo almost shit himself when he read it. He could remember feeling like this only once in his life, when his mother found his pot when he was sixteen. The only punishment then had been two months grounded and no allowance ever again. This time the punishment could be insanity, or death, or hell- anything. An government acting in secrecy had unlimited power.
He didn’t sleep well that night. Winks felt his friend’s anxiety and didn’t sleep well either. It was a really beautiful night outside, but neither Milo nor Winks noticed. Winks prowled the corners and Milo rolled over and over, trying to sleep, trying to think up lies, trying and failing to prepare for tomorrow.
In the morning, the first ray of dawn landed on Milo’s open eye as he stared at the ceiling. He calmly got out of bed, made an egg and bacon sandwich, and stepped outside for a piss. His doom was constantly on his mind as his body went through the routines he had practiced so much it no longer required conscious thought.
Around noon a knock hit the door. Milo jumped in his chair, almost falling over. He walked slowly to the door, took a deep breath, and exhaled as the door opened.
There was a woman there.
A woman in all blue- blue bra, blue panties, blue hair, blue eyes, blue fingernails- everything blue except her skin. Even her lips were blue.
Milo gasped. A woman in undergarments? What was the government playing at? He looked away, stuttered- “He-he-heeello uh-”
The woman slapped him full across the face, bright blue fingernails whipping through the air to leave five shallow scratches on his cheek.
He bent over in pain, screaming, “Shit! Fucking ow shit! What the fuck!?!”
He heard rapid footsteps receding into the forest, and looked up to catch a glimpse of the firm rear of the blue bitch. He stepped out after her, then thought better of it and turned around to walk inside.
He kicked something metal on the ground that clattered into his house, landing on the wooden floor with a thunk. He shut the door and bent down to examine the metal thing, still holding his face where there were fives tiny drops of blood trickling down his cheek.
It was a bold red dagger, red everywhere, a simple red handle and a long metallic red blade that . It didn’t reflect any light as he picked it up, didn’t show his reflection, didn’t show anything. Just a weird red dagger.
Even Milo’s super-brain couldn’t figure this out. Nothing about this made sense. A half-naked woman with blue hair comes out of the forest, slaps him, and leaves a red dagger that reflects no light. There was no logic in that, no reason, nothing. There was nothing anywhere in there that Milo could make sense of. He put the dagger on his desk and cleaned off his face. Winks leapt onto the desk to look at the dagger. He scrutinized for a long time as Milo watched, until Winks licked the blade. He licked it for a little while, then jumped down and went to sleep.
Milo shook his head. “Fucked UP!” he said. He sat on the bed and watched the instruments.
There was another knock a few hours later. Milo jumped up from the bed, grabbed the dagger and hid it under his pillow. Winks leapt on top of it and curled into a ball as Milo walked towards the door. He opened it a crack and peeked through, desperately hoping to see any color but blue.
He saw black and white. He opened the door all the way and let in the small, turtle-like man from the government without saying a word. The government man sat in the chair by the desk and Milo sat on the bed, nervously stroking Winks.
The government man set his briefcase on the desk and cleared his throat. Milo was trembling.
“Milo, you have not been doing your job,” the government man said, emotionless.
“Uh- uh-uhm, yeah, I know but uh- I mean, I’ve never uh- understood this job, You know, I don’t um- don’t know why I have to watch those instruments. They never change,” Milo said, grasping for something, anything to delay his punishment.
The government man responded instantly. “You watch those instruments because we tell you to watch those instruments. Why haven’t you been watching the instruments?”
“Well, I’ve been you know hiking and uh, uh, I go out in the woods and just walk around and stuff, you know, and uh, this job seems really useless, and uhh- uh- I like the forest a lot more.” Milo was twitching, trying to think of something, for God’s sake think of SOMETHING ANYTHING, to get out of punishment.
The government man crossed his spindly hands in his lap. “Milo.” He opened the briefcase, pulled out a tiny silver gun, and shot Milo straight in the chest. Milo felt a tiny sting in his sternum, then blacked out.
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If I make it as a writer, I'll write for the hobo, not the professor.
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