Choices

You hear a phone ringing. It's yours. You look over and see your son's face. He hasn't called you in such a long time. It'll be nice to hear from him.

It's not him. It's the police. They ask you to come down to the station.

Your heart is racing. What did he do?

You arrive at the station. A nice gentleman leads you to a quiet room.

Your son is dead.

Wave upon wave of sadness hits you.

Tears leak out of your face.

There is a hole in your heart.

Your world is no longer in color, but a monochrome gray.

All of the happiness you experienced is gone.

Your child is dead.

Words are coming at you from all sides.

Who are these people?

You demand to see him.

They tell you that wouldn't be a good idea.

You DEMAND to see him.

They begrudgingly accept.

There is a corpse where your child should be.

There is a CORPSE where your CHILD should be.

THERE IS A CORPSE WHERE YOUR CHILD SHOULD BE.

You collapse. Hot tears are peppering your face. Someone is helping you up and into a chair.

Your wife is on her way to pick you up. Everything is blurring.

You're home. Sharp edges are appearing in your vision.

You want to punish the person responsible for what happened to your child.

A wave of sadness hits you again. Your child killed himself. He is responsible for his own death.

You momentarily wanted to punish him, for killing himself.

You cry again until your body is dehydrated.

Your work suffers.

Your family suffers.

You are suffering.

Someone goes on a long tirade about the second amendment. You wish you had a gun so you could shoot them in the face.

You start drinking.

Your wife is talking to you. She's asking you about the funeral.

Her words are a hot poker poking you in your tear ducts.

You can't hold on to this feeling. It's burning your eyes, and destroying your life.

You put your child in the ground. You place a flower where his body is.

Your child will never wake up again.

Years go by.

Your wife leaves. She can't stand the drinking.



More years go by.

It's his birthday.

Your coworkers are throwing you a party. It's your retirement day.

You're so happy.

Then you remember.

You say nothing.

Your party goes well.

You go home.

You drink until you can't remember anything.

Your retirement starts.

You drink all day.

You cry when you drink.

You stop going out.

You wake up one day, and it's the day after your son's birthday.

Nobody called you.

You waste away, alone.

You fall down. Nobody is there to help you get up.

They find your body a few days later.

The Magic Beggar, Part 1

"Your total comes to $13.24" he said.
I unfolded a small piece of paper, and showed it to him.

"Here is an appropriate amount of currency. Please keep the remainder for yourself and do not distribute it to your masters."

He looked at me like I was crazy.

"Have a nice day to you too." I responded to his staring. After the transaction, I gathered my supplies and headed for the door. As soon as I stepped outside, I removed one sandal and began to recite the incantation.
 

"From Dust you were created and to dust you shall return, follow in my footsteps or the world will surely burn."

The second level transaction complete, I resumed my walk. That cashier had been a mindless zombie in a system that devalues human thought and emotion, but at least he had been capable of providing me with goods. I could have simply taken them and hurt his masters directly, but I wanted to give him an opportunity. He didn't take it, but at least I tried.

A bird whistled at me from a bush. I could hear its song plain as if it was speaking English. "My baby, my baby" it was crying. I couldn't do anything for it, I knew, but I sent out a tendril of good vibrations to it, just in case.

How many days would I spend on this street before a single human lent me their space? So far, it has been 25 years. I can't tell anyone that I'm testing their species. That's one of the conditions. I have to remain in character for the whole test. We had to put that condition in. There had been a lot of murder before we did that. Now we have ignorance instead. It seems better on the surface level, but dig one layer down and it's pretty obvious it's worse. With murder, the answer was clear. With ignorance, we can't tell if it's malice or lack of vision.

Oh, well.

"Excuse me, ma'am, I'm very hungry and haven't had anything to eat for several days, could you spare a coin for a lowly beggar?"

She looked at me like I was a pile of shit she didn't want to step in. She walked more briskly, hoping I would fade away. I lowered my voice to almost a whisper and directed it directly into her mind,
 

"Help me, I am starving. My stomach growls with pangs of hunger. I will die without you."

She stops for a moment and scratches her ear, thinking a bug had gotten on her. She continues ignoring me, and turns the corner. It went on like this for five hours. Everyone who was asked, ignored the pleas for help. Then, a young man happened by. He was wearing a new suit. You could tell because it didn't fit him quite right and he was pulling at the places it didn't fit.

"Excuse me, young man, could you spare a coin for a lowly beggar, I'm quite hungry and haven't eaten for several days."

His face lit up and he reached for his purse, but before he could pull a coin out, his eyes lit up again, but with a darker light inhabiting them, like a demon's.

"If you are hungry, I will gladly feed you. Come with me and we shall dine at my house."

I agree.

Upon arriving at his home, he bids me enter first, and I understood the signal.

"Brother," I said, "we seek not to be first, but to be great."

He looks at me with borderline contempt.

"Leave. Now." He hisses directly into the foam.

I hold my hands together and gather the good vibrations around me as a shield. His words echoing around me seem to warp the very air. My shield stops the negativity from hitting me, but it drains my soul.

"You are a disgrace among our people" I tell him in the common vernacular. I leave him and return to the shop for a small pittance of food.

"Hello, again, dear shopkeep. Have you been keeping well since last we met?"

He looks at me much like everyone has been, but something in his eyes is a bit different today.

"Hey, I shouldn't ask this, but I know you sleep on the streets. Do you want a real roof to sleep under for a few days?"

His eyes betray his inner turmoil.

"Yes, dear shopkeep, that would be lovely, but first let me procure this spiced meat from you."

He charges me less than the value of the meat, but I refuse to sell him short, and perform what to him could be nothing other than magic.

"My name is Matthew. What's yours?" The shopkeep, whose known as Matthew, asks me.

"I don't have a name. Call me whatever you want."

He gets a suspicious look on his face and ponders this a bit.

"Well, you've pretty much singlehandedly been keeping this shop alive, so I'll call you Profit."

"Profit I am, then. Shall we go to your home?"

We journey to his home. It's a quaint cottage on the outskirts of town. Small, wooden, lived in. There is a picture of his wife and two small children hanging on the wall, but the house is too small for four people, and no trace of them are to be found.

"Quite a lovely home you have here."

"Thanks, built it myself for my late wife. She died of consumption and took the kids with her to heaven."

His eyes carry no hint of sadness, only longing.

Innocence

Cold day, shadows grow long early, crop harvest soon:

The lady with the water hasn't come by yet. She usually comes by this time of year. If she doesn't come soon, we're all going to die from lack of water.

My name is Santerik, and my village is small. There's my family, and two other families. We live on the remains of an "overpass" as my mother's mother called it. I don't see it passing over anything, but many words are like this. I don't accept this. Words can't just change like that. My father's brother told me I shouldn't think like this, but that doesn't make any sense. Should, shouldn't. Those words are devoid of meaning. If something is, it is. If something isn't, it isn't. How things should or shouldn't be are meaningless.

There is water all around us, but it is glowing poison. I drank from the lake once when I was small, and the vomiting didn't stop until my father gave me the old medicine. I don't understand how it could do that. I don't understand how the water could make me vomit, and I don't understand how the medicine could fix me. My father's mother told me 'some things are best left unknown'. I think she is wrong.

Warm day, shadows grow long early, crop harvest today:

The lady came by a few days ago. She didn't have as much water as she did last year. She said the source was growing drier. I hope we don't all die. We can use the poison water on the crops and they turn out fine, but we can't drink it day to day. There aren't as many crops this year as there were last year. I hope we can all stay fed.

Freezing day, shadows stay long, games being played:

Today was great. My brother won the winter festival games! He let me have some of the candy. He's a great older brother. Two more people died today, though. Lazarus and Marcurio. They were good friends, but, like dad said, "we gotta eat, honey." I don't know what he meant by that. Mom won't let me help with the cooking yet. I have to stay inside while the adult women cook. They look like they wanna cry every time they see me eat. I'm not fat. Why do they look at me like that?

Cool day, shadows growing shorter, crops being planted:

My family is the only family left. The winter seemed longer than usual this year. My mom and dad, and my mom's brother, and my dad's sister, are the only adults left. As for the kids, there's me, my brother, my dad's sister's son, and my mom's brother's daughter. My dad said everyone else ran away, but I can't help but wonder how come everyone but my family ran away. Did we eat them? I asked mom that and she told me to shut up and not to ask questions like that. I think that means we did eat them.

Hot day, no shadows, village being attacked:

There is a stranger in our village today. He says he knows what we all did, and that he's come to put a stop to us. My dad shot him.

I was shocked, but I knew it was the right thing to do. My dad is always right. Then, my mom told me it was time for me to learn the family recipe.

Survivor

You wake up, your dream still clinging to you like water to fur. You turn off your alarm, wishing you had another four hours to get more sleep. Last night is a blur. Memories of drinking come to mind, but you can't remember how much, or with who. This troubles you.

You are normally very careful not to drink with strangers. You've heard the stories. You've read the news. You feel a sharp pain shoot through your body. What is this?

You feel yourself. There's blood. You call 9-1-1.

Your mind is racing. Who could have done this? Why would they do this to you?

You arrive at the hospital. Everything smells like rubbing alcohol and shame.

You strip naked, exposing yourself, feeling even more violated. Strange people in white coats put objects into you. "Taking samples" they call it.

You wish it was all over.

Police come and talk to you. You tell them you can't remember anything. They seem supremely uninterested in what happened, as if they're only there because it's their job.

Everything is a blur. Everything was a blur last night too. Are you being raped all over again, or is justice happening to you?

Your fate seems out of your control.

Tears have been streaming down your face for the last few hours. When did that start?

You can't remember who you were before this happened. It's a new level of existence, but it's a hell.

The judge is looking at you, asking you if you need a minute. The tears are streaming down your face again. The jury is looking at you. They look uncomfortable. It's hard to watch a grown man cry.

The woman is leaving. There is no jail time for her.

You're holding the gun in your hands. Tears are streaming down your face again. When did these start again?

The therapist said this feeling would be normal, but the therapist doesn't feel it. You feel it.

Click.

The Experiment

There was a knock on the door, strange for this time of day. Two men were standing outside, staring at the door in anticipation, waiting for me to open it.

I stare at them, unbelieving. Their skin is gray and shifting like sand dunes in a dust storm. They look like normal people, with suits and ties and skin, but if the sun hits them just right, it transforms into a strange gray tone.

I hesitate for just a moment too long.

"Ma'am, open up, we're with the FBI."

I have to open the door now. They're feds.

"Hold your badges up to the look-through window."

Their faces shift gray for a second, as if they hadn't prepared for this turn of events, but they do hold up their badges. Everything looks completely normal and legitimate, with the one massive exception of their shifting gray skin.

I open the door.

"What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?"

The gentleman on the right pulls a syringe from behind his back and wordlessly approaches me as his partner walks behind me and restrains me.

The last thing I remember is the syringe plunging into my stomach.

I don't know how long I'm out before I re-awaken. My hands and feet are bound with leather and the two gentlemen are standing over me, without their human disguises on.

"Ma'am, we're not here to hurt you. You've been selected for a special treatment. We didn't want to alarm you, but we have to elevate you to the next level before everyone on Earth is dead. We have a short window, and you are a likely candidate in your current society. We aren't here to give you a mission. We're here to help you succeed."

The gray aliens start pulsating over every color I've ever seen, turning white and black intermittently, radiating heat at some points, and becoming extremely cold also. It's unlike anything I've ever seen, and it's extremely scary. I try not to be alarmed, like they asked me to, but their appearance is so alien.

I seem to pass out after they're done, but, I look down and see the whole earth, with humans crawling all over her, sucking the blood from her very bones, cutting her open over and over, littering her body with their shit, pissing into her bloodstream.

The humans are to the earth, what the mosquitoes are to the humans.

It's a strange thought, as though it didn't come from my mind, but to my mind. But, to my mind is wrong, because it's as though my mind is the world, and everything she is experiencing is happening to me. It's an unbelievable way of viewing, and it's...
like a switch has been switched.

I am gone, but I am everywhere.

The Dog is a Metaphor

There were a hundred dogs surrounding me.

It was a warm November morning, but the forecast had called for snow. It seemed like that kind of day, where the weatherman told you your day would go one way, but it turned out completely different.

The dog I was looking for wasn't here. I had been told that he would be, but he wasn't. If only he had been here, then I could have just got him and left. Now all these dogs seemed to be crying out to me "Take me home. Take me home." I couldn't look any of them in the eye, knowing that they would all still be here when I left.

"Hey, young lady," I called out to the receptionist.

"What can I help you with?" She responded cheerily.

"I was told you had my dog here. He ran away yesterday and I've been really worried about him."

"What does he look like?" She seemed to be distracted by a million different things while she said that.

"He's a small, white Maltese with a little scar above his right eye."

She looks at me like I had just told her there was a ghost behind her.

"I remember that dog. You said he just ran away yesterday? That can't be right. He's been here for the last three months. He just got adopted yesterday, by a young lady."

I saw the sincerity in her eyes. She was completely wrong. My dog had just ran away yesterday. He hadn't been at this place for three months. There was no way. She didn't look crazy, but she had to be.

"Ok, thank you. I must have been told the wrong place. Thanks for your help."

I left without another word.

The whole world seemed skewed.

How could this have happened?

I woke up in the right world yesterday, but today it's this world. It was a strange dream I had had.

A snowflake floated down from the sky, and a bitter wind blew past me. Where did I put my jacket? I didn't bring it with me, because it had been so warm when I left the house this morning.

A young lady walked past me, with a horrible look in her eye, and a beautiful dog on her leash.

She looked directly into my eyes, with seemingly a sense of great personal triumph as she said;

"Look at my dog. Do you like him? Do you wanna pet him?"

It was my dog. The dog that had run away from me last night, but that had been at the pound for the last three months. This world was crushing me with its non-continuity.

"No, thank you. I have to get home."

The streets flew under me and sped me home at a break-neck speed, as if they understood my need to escape from this crazy dream that wasn't a dream anymore.

When I opened my door, there were strangers in white lab-coats in my house.

"Who are you people? I exclaimed, exasperated.

"We've been here the last three months, helping you get adjusted to your new medication levels. Everything has been going fine, with one small exception. That dog you loved so much has been determined to no longer be an asset to your recovery, and as such, we've had to find it a new home."

The pieces of the puzzle fell into place. The cult had taken over my life, and were gas-lighting my every attempt to escape from their nightmare.

I walked calmly to the man who had just told me about my dog.

"Thank you," I whispered into his ear, as I gently planted a kiss on his arm.

He didn't seem to think anything about this so I walked off to the bathroom.

"Hey, I'm gonna take a long bath." I told nobody in particular, not expecting an answer.

Nobody seemed to think twice about it.

I went into the bathroom, and noticed my razors had been replaced with safety razors. They were onto me, before I was onto myself. How did they get here so fast? Or was my dog really at the pound for the last three months.

I strip and get into the warm water.

It's not as soothing as it was yesterday. Memories of my dog race through my mind, from the last week of my life, not more than three months ago. Why were they doing this to me? What are they gaining from this?!

I soak for almost an hour.

As I dry myself off and place new clothes on myself, I see a small picture on the vanity. It's me and my dog. They even put a date on it. It was dated three days ago.

They left me the evidence that they were lying, and didn't hesitate to lie to my face. They knew I was trapped, that there was nothing I could do about it.

Every day goes by like this for a year. Every day I go to the pound and ask about my dog. At first they look at me with pity, then it slowly turns to anger, and then the anger fades to indifference.

They see me as a crazy woman who can't hold on to her own dog.

Twenty years go by, and the cult takes over my life. They make me star in successful movies, and rip all the joy out of my life.

The money is completely unimportant.

My freedom died the day my dog was taken from me.