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#1 2009-01-05 23:54:14
- C.G.Butchart
- Member
- From: Salmon Arm, BC
- Registered: 2008-03-30
- Posts: 54
"Chasing Benevolence" (FINISHED!)
OKAY SO HERE IT IS FINISHED, LET ME KNOW IF THE ENDING NEEDS SOME ADJUSTMENT IT'S 19 PAGES BUT PLEASE BEAR WITH IT... I CAN HALF HEARTEDLY ASSURE YOU IT'LL BE WORTH IT!! ALL EDITED AND EVERYTHING 
FIRST STORY I'VE FINISHED SO I'M A LITTLE HIGH STOOD RIGHT NOW :S
The hunger today was stronger than last weeks’ episode. It’s getting worse now. It’s getting closer to that certain time of the month. It has been two years since my contraction and my “specialists” can’t seem to do anything about it. So each month at that certain time I go to them and they lock me up, perform tests and monitor my activities from behind several panes of bulletproof glass walls; each three quarters of an inch in thickness.
It was the week leading up to my scheduled “permutation” as they called it, and my temper had been getting shorter and shorter. My hunger had been rising and the bologna subs weren’t doing the trick anymore; it was time to go in to see them.
“What can I do for ya’ Marque?” the doctor asked me.
“Je fain doctor. It’s time,” I said, proclaiming my state of psychosis to him.
“Very well, you know the routine,” he gestured to the door that led to the labs. Dr. Jeuxais was a calculating man in his mid thirties. He had fine brown hair and beautifully toned French skin. He was of a medium build and he smelled nice, like, really nice. His heart beat was strong for his age, like the heart beats of the eight year olds I hear as I pass them on the street. Perfect rhythm and strength, it was hard to resist any action that would harm him in treating myself with a little nibble.
I stepped into the vault where I was to stay for the next forty-eight hours. Made from plexiglass and polycarbonate, this prison was made to hold me during my episodes.
My name is Marque Le’mure and I am one the few who suffer from this psychotic ailment.
“How are we today Marque?” Linda said via the telecom from her office to the vault. The lab was whitewashed and an irritant to my photosensitive eyes. The plastic walls seem to magnify the fact that it was a bright room; refracting light this way and that.
“Hungry as usual my dear,” I said, taking a seat on my abnormally comfortable cot.
“Only the best of us are,” she said comfortingly. Linda; like me, was one of the Tortured, and once sat where I was now, eight years ago. Since her... “purification,” she had dedicated herself to helping others in her situation and gained a ranking position at the lab where we now both sat presently.
As I said that my specialists can’t seem to do anything about my situation, that rather meaning complete uncertainty and lost to all cause, it was a loss of cure; for I was unlike anything they had ever seen. I laughed.
It was four-eighteen and the sun began to sink behind the frost capped mountain range of Montpellier, the air was dense and my patience was even more so. It would be a good three hours before my time was up for this half of the month.
The facility was made of some unknown material. I’d hazzard a guess of cinder, concrete and steel grating but I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that when the time came, the walls did their job; they did it well. I could see the claw marks I had gouged into the walls twenty-three days previous from today; they were covered with paint but not filled in; I laughed once more.
“Memory coming back from then?” Linda had asked when she saw me examining the groves in the cell walls.
“A little,” I replied.
“Well there’s a good sign right there,” she smiled.
Two hours had passed since I entered the chamber, and I was literally climbing the walls. As expected I would charge the walls and scale a way out of the chamber. Slowly but surely I was losing my sanity. I became claustrophobic and anxious for freedom, but I tried to maintain my cool; thus took a seat on the cot and closed my eyes, breathing heavily all the while.
“It’s almost time Marque,” a voice came from the ceiling telecom. I failed to recognize whom it belonged to at this point. The rage welled within my core and the feeling of power, swelled in my mind. My joints began to loosen, preparing for some drastic change. Limply I fell to the ground, facing the ceiling. The ceiling, it was moving; opening, rather, to the light of the night. I feared what was to come in seconds. Gears and belts and cranks all made their sounds in the wall, attempting to pull back the only cover and refuge from my inevitable ailment.
Like it had countless times, it appeared to my line of vision. I was unable to turn away from it as my joints and muscles lay dormant. It was the only stimulant I needed. The only stimulant it needed. That big, round, lunar disk floating in the sky shone down upon my skin and I felt...-----
-Log 424: Dec. 16. 2010.
5:48 pm Patient’s conscious mind begins to slip.
5:51pm Patient has reach maximum sedition, earlier than last month, complications arise.
5:59 pm Roof is drawn, patient is exposed to its tropism.
6:11pm Patient has resisted lunar-tropic catalyst for twelve minutes before permutation. Perfect transformation. Behavior has improved in the sense that his aggression is milder and temperament, elongated. Has progressed since last session.
6:22pm Thorasic chamber has ruptured during permutation and threatens overall host health. 6:47pm Lateral and posterior deu-claws appear to be dislocated. Overall, still a better transformation from last session.
8:59pm Regeneration initiates.
9:36pm Aberrant behavior: patient is calculating, observing, pacing his cell.
9:37pm First ululation.
10:02pm Second ululation: patient is getting frustrated.
10:04pm Begins to calculate once more. Regeneration terminates, host is healthy.
11:04pm Patient stares through the glass into office, steadfast.
11:07pm Patient has not even blinked let alone moved since last entry.
12:00am Lupine-oppression solution gassed into chamber.
12:03am Patient succumbs to solution, a positive reaction.
1:00 am Patient dozes
-Log Terminate
-Linda Aaren
-----Black, weak, sick to my stomach; as was expected after the nights’ events. I was laying in the test lab on the heated surgical table. It wasn’t as comfortable as the cot in my cell, but when I got up to see the damage I had inflicted on the facility this time, I saw there wasn’t much left of the cot anyway, what a shame.
“The majority of your test results are coming back positive, but we’re still a long way away from identifying your strand mutation or even it’s location.” Dr. Jeuxais told me as I sat before him. In the past months I had learned that my “permutations” are caused by another mutation. Certain strands of blood in my system have reacted with one another during childbirth and have formed what they call a Cronan Strand. Essentially it’s a time bomb in my blood. The strand can last up to as long as its host but on a monthly basis it mutates and causes a chain reaction mutation to all the strands next to it and all the strands next to those and so forth. The genetic makeup will get screwed all to hell and mimic an animal’s genetic makeup, most prominent with the canine genus. Why? I’m not sure; The doc tells me that it’s the next closest thing to mimic after the primate genus. I’m also unclear on why our bodies go through the horrific act of mutation once the genes decided to change; that one still baffles the “experts.”
A Cronan Strand; unlike all other blood strands in the body, remain stagnant, fixed to one place in the body. Usually it’s easy enough to located and once you’ve done that it’s a matter of treating it. With my scenario, complexity is most abundant; thus is the reason that I have not been treated yet, cured if you will.
“Don’t let the doc fool you Marque,” Linda said before I left the lab. “There is hope in your case. You just need the patience for the time we need to help you.” She smiled, her beautiful face and perfect complexion heightened in quality. Straight brown bangs fell out from behind her ear and over her thinly, golden framed glasses.
“Lately it just feels like there is none. I’m getting improvements in my tests but that’s all, nothing has changed in me. I’m a monster whichever way you look at it Linda. I grow tired and impatient with myself.”
She walked up to me briskly and tilted my head up by my chin; shot a look deep into my eyes and said,
“Deliverance is as near as the prisoner knows not, Marque.” With that she turned on her heel and marched back into her office; leaving me baffled and disoriented in comprehension.
Still, in a bout of confusion I turned on my own heel and continued to walk out of the lab.
“'Ave a good day mate!” Jona said as I passed him. The twenty-something year-old Australian beauty of a door guard always seemed a little overly eager to have his job protecting something he was completely oblivious about.
“Have a good day Jona, see you tomorr-AH! Heh-aaaAAAAHH!” I screamed, doubling over onto the ground. It was broad day light and that familiar sickness was creeping into my lungs and stomach. My muscles went limp and my joints loosened. “No, not again, why now?” I thought to myself.
Jona had rushed to my side, asking me inaudible questions. I faintly whispered “Get help, fast,” and he took off faster than I could have presumed. I cannot remember ever this process occurring before. My teeth hurt, my back itched, my skull roared in agony. My entire skeletal structure seemed to have been rattling and stretching, the pain was unbelievable. My skin flew off in slabs to reveal a moist hide of gray fur underneath. My vision focused in and out and enhanced in every way possible. Colours were defined and the far stuff seemed near, the near stuff seemed nearer, and my hearing became even more acute than it was before. I heard the blood rushing through my head and the veins of people within a half block radius of myself. The smells were unreal, amplified a thousand times and defined even more so than my vision.
My muscles became functional again and the majority of the pain subsided, still this urge kept rising inside of me until I felt I had to quench it. I threw my head back and let go a monstrous sound. A bellow, a roar, a howl, a bark; all sounds I thought I could never make were released in one breath and I stretched all I could and stood up. My hands, feet, leg jointing where all different, frightening. What was wrong? How was I conscious for this all?
The sickness amplified in my stomach and it turned and churned, I hungered once again.
The door to the lab burst open and Dr. Jeuxais, Linda and Jona all stood gasping in disbelief. Jona whipped his gun out from his holster and pointed it at me. In one swift movement I bounded forward and swiped at the gun, disarming him, snarling and proving my dominance by baring my fangs. His neck looked too delectable to pass up. I must have been a good three feet taller because I would normally have just surpassed Jona’s height, whereas now I towered over him, mouth just inches away from his face.
He trembled at the site of me. I could smell the fear emitting from his pores, it smelled enticing rather; all of my urges told me to sink my teeth into that perk, toned flesh of his. I closed my eyes in attempts to resist the animal that dwelled within me. It finally gave in, and so I snorted a blast of hot air into Jona’s face, blowing his sandy hair askew. I was in full control now, for the very first time I had control over my actions during an episode. It was liberating, frightening and empowering, but in response to this power I did the only sensible thing to do. I trudged back into the lab, shoving Linda and the doctor aside and took a place in my cell, closing the door behind me.
Closing the door was very much a feat with no directly opposable thumbs, but as I paced the room I caught my reflection in the glass and recoiled so heavily I tripped over the debris of the cot in fright. My skeletal structure had changed completely and baffled my attempts to comprehend the possibility of this new structural realignment.
Broader shoulders, longer arms, smaller but more profound chest cavity, extra joints in my legs, total skull reshaping, rebuilt and highly defined musculature, were the first to notice of my changes. Grey skin stretched across my chest and back like it was pulled across a tanning rack by a taxidermist. My hair had changed colour to match my skin and fell down into a mane, and also... A TAIL! My spine stretched further than it was supposed to and was concealed in a veil of fine hair. It was completely prehensile when it came to voluntary actions. I had control over it!
“This image I see before me doth frighten,” I said aloud, but when the words escaped my mouth, no vocal chords were strained or tested, only an empty tube that garbled and distorted the words into tongues. My own tongue wasn’t as easy to control now; I sat down in mournful defeat and awaited my transformation back into a human, whenever it was supposed to come.
* * *
It’s been four days and still I remain in this form. I’ve blacked out a couple times so I’m not sure what I’ve done during that time, all seems well in the cell though, I haven’t escaped yet. My stomach began to protest on day three, but all I could do was rub it in front of the glass in hopes of letting my observers know I was hungry.
I’ve also tried to do articulate things that an animal wouldn’t normally do to let them know I was in my “sane” mind. Dancing, singing, scratching math equations into the walls and molding the Eiffel Tower out of the cot frame were amongst some of my activities during the days.
I was starting to get used to this body. Normally I’m a left-handed person but trying to scratch things onto the wall was much easier with my right hand. I could also solve my equations easier in this form. It seems my problem solving skills had been heightened since my conscious permutation. Scary.
It was the beginning of day seven and I was literally climbing the walls. I had been missing from my job for a week with no notice and I was home sick for my significant other. They fed me raw meat every six hours after I so promptly told them I was hungry by massaging my abdomen. It was disgusting to my mind but my pallet enjoyed every bit of it.
I informed work that I was a recovering drug addict and every time I had to come into the lab and missed work they would assume I was having relapses. I’ve been having relapses every month for a year now. I’m quite surprised they haven’t caught onto my lie yet.
After I had started to climb the walls, they stopped feeding me, which aggravated me further. I assumed they thought I would try to escape when they opened the door to set the food tray in for me. They were right to assume such a thing.
It was the evening of day seven when it came. I was sick to my stomach and my joints started to loosen again; then it came, that predictable unimaginable pain(which is a contradiction in itself). I cried and whelped in agony, all in vane. Of course I had to be ‘awake’ for this part too. My intercostal muscles shriveled as my ribs fell back into place. My skull cracked and grinded its way back into shape. My skin pigmentation lightened and I shed.
The most unreal part was my tail and claw retraction. It felt as if I had broken my tail bone while the vertebrae resized themselves. I was mentally paralyzed as my howls turned into screams of turmoil and distress. Soon I am myself, lying naked on the floor, curled up into the fetal position quivering.
Linda came in shortly after the pain had subsided, an expression of distraught and devastation on her face, “Marque, we’ve located your Cronan Strand.”
I did not understand why she expressed a look of sorrow as she told me this terrific news. As I said, it was a matter of finding the strand and treating it once it is located. Treatment was usually radiotherapy, cryo-therapy and, or thermo-therapy; like cancer treatment, you have to destroy the cell somehow. However, as expected, it wasn’t as easy in my case.
“It wasn’t prominent until your conscious permutation. We should have thought of this months ago but we were blind to it. Marque, your Cronan strand resides within your atrioventricular node, or, your pacemaker.” She began to cry. “The neuro-messanging to and from your AV node masked the strand perfectly until your heart showed some dis-arrhythmia during your transformation. It bit us in the ass when it showed itself. I’m sorry Marque. You do understand what this means?”
I understood, after all I worked in a hospital myself. This meant open heart surgery for me, but using any method to destroy the strand also involves destroying my pacemaker and tissue around it. The time it will take to recover from it would be far too long, and a heart can only be without a pulse for four minutes, tops. There is no way I can survive the surgery even if I did receive an artificial pacemaker. All hope had exploded into a trillion dust particles within two minutes of explanation. I couldn’t help but hang my head.
“Well then,” I began, “you know exactly what to do Linda.” She began to cry once again, causing me to do the same.
“I refuse to do such an act when all hope is not lost,” with that she became enraged with a kind of resolve to find the answers to my questions. She turned on her heel and left the cell in a tantrum. There was no way for me to recover and we both knew it. Acceptance was a hard thing for Linda, especially when it came to the ending of the lives of others. I thought my scenario over and studied it inside and out; there was no loop hole that made itself present to me. All I wanted right now was to go home and rest, crawl into bed with my significant other and live out my last few days.
I left the laboratory once more, it was evening and Jona was still on watch. When he saw me, he couldn’t bring himself to say a thing. A stern look took his face that attempted to conceal the fear that dwelled within him. He did a good job at it too, I wouldn’t have noticed he was scared if I couldn’t smell the aroma of fright that enveloped his person.
“Jona,” I sympathized, but there were no words that could comfort him in this time. I grasped his shoulder and smiled at him, trying to let him know that I understood his fear.
I went home to my city penthouse apartment. The designer furnishings and kitchen wares gleamed in the soft light of the gas fireplace, sweet lamps and chandelier above the table. A beautiful view of the city occupied the enormous windows and sliding glass doors to the patio outside. The Jacuzzi’s light, blue glow emitted a soothing aura through the window as the water refracted light every which way. I had a cushy life with my friend and lover.
On the counter was a plate of strudel; homemade, I could tell, with it a note that read:
See you after my shift tonight, can’t wait to see you!
-J. Le’mure
I grinned, took one up and had a bite, delicious! I indulged myself in two more before I sank my teeth into a cherry pit that resided within the last one I ate. My tooth had shattered completely and blood began to run from the wound. I felt no pain as the debris from the tooth was pushed outward as a new one came to replace it instantly.
Many thoughts had darted in and out of my head regarding the happenings within the last week. Why had I changed when I wasn’t supposed to, in broad daylight of all times!? How much had I scarred Jona, physically and mentally? He was strong but I couldn’t help but pity him a little; I was sure he will pull through. What exactly was I going to do with the remainder of my time on this Earth?
In attempts to relax, I changed into my swim-wear and stepped into the Jacuzzi for a spell. It was a failed attempt as my mind lingered on the fact that there had to be some way out of my situation. When it came to me it was so obvious. It was literally right before my eyes as I had been staring at it for a good half hour without knowing what I was looking at.
Lying on the ledge of the Jacuzzi was a fly, fast asleep in the cold of this winter night. I knew the fly would recover healthily once it had defrosted days after its life span had ended, but for the mean time, he was safe from any harm that didn’t involve the crushing of his body. Cryogenics. I would elaborate on it later, for now I felt the relaxation take me as I sat there, pleased I had some form of solution creating its answer for me in my head.
Hours after I had crawled into bed, I heard the door open and close. The clank of keys as they were being tossed into the bowl by the door. The sound of footsteps had led up to the bedroom threshold on the hardwood flooring, but paused before entering. I saw the shadow cast upon the wall opposite of the door as it stood, observing me.
All lights were then extinguished and the footsteps entered the room; I heard everything so acutely. The heavy breathing, the ripping sound of velcro and clunking as objects were set upon the oak dresser top. The whipping of laces being undone and the sliding of clothing over flawless skin proceeded that. There was a rush of cold air as the covers where lifted and a shift of gravity as a body was pressed against the mattress. A warm body pressed itself against me and I felt the warm, dampness of a tear as it hit my neck and the arrhythmia of the heart next to me. And so it was then that I could fall asleep, within the warm embrace of Jona Le’mure.
No words were said after that, for when I woke up, I was alone with a note on Jona’s pillow:
Marque: Glad to see you are alright, home and safe.
Talk to you tonight after my shift, hopefully.
Breakfast is on the stove-top, have a nice day.
J.L.
I got up smiling at the fact that what Jona had seen happen to me did not frighten him. But it did bother me that he did not acknowledge it at all. Breakfast was simmering on low upon the stove. It seemed he had just left, leaving porridge to stay warm on the stove’s safety setting.
As the food warmed my stomach, I brooded more on the topic of cryogenic preservation. Safety issues, survival statistics and what not. It seemed it was some pretty safe thing now-a-days. Over the years there had been so many incidents and accidents with the patients of cryo-freezing but the field had been nearly perfected in recent years. That made me feel a whole lot better, I let a nervous chuckle escape my lips.
So with a plan set in mind I decided to go down to the lab this afternoon and inquire about it. I was incurable anyway. Death would have come sooner than normal; what would I have to lose by merely asking?
The snow crunched under my boot as I stepped onto the sidewalk from within the warmth of my apartment complex. It was unnaturally chilly today and my nasal cavity stung as I tried to stamp out the cold. The stroll down to the bus stop was long and windy and I welcomed the arrival of the transit bus. I quickly flashed my pass to the driver and found a seat in the back.
I took my seat and observed my traveling companions. The one that caught my attention immediately and attention thereafter was the young woman seated directly across from me.
A girl of utmost innocence with short, bleach blonde hair swayed to one side. Bulky headphones concealed what I predicted to be a set of the most adorable ears. Garnished in black, she sat in a pose of greatest respect; her eyes fixed on the scenery passing the window beside my head, moving nowhere soon.
A vacant but peaceful expression held her visage in unbreakable suspense. Though her eyes did not sway like her hair with the motion of the bus, she seemed perfectly aware of her surroundings. My own eyes could not sway either; transfixed in her unique beauty, I found it hard to pull my eyes onto anything else. She seemed familiar, but was a stranger all together; something was wrong with her, what it was I could not tell.
Nearly missing my stop, I came to my senses and pulled the cord above my head, signaling the driver to stop at the next stop. I was hesitant to get off the bus, for I was to let that woman out of my site. As the bus pulled away, she looked directly into my eyes and smiled. It shocked me to see such a beautiful smile be tarnished by her teeth. As the smile itself, held hospitality and curiosity, her canines bore malic and wrath. They; like mine, were noticeably longer than normal by a quarter inch.
I was oblivious as to why she decided to reveal her identity after I had gotten off. Perhaps she knew the stop herself and received care at the lab as well, or it could have been that she sensed my identity to be like hers and show that she was like me after I had lost my chance to speak with her about it; which seemed silly all together. This would persist to bother me for the remainder of the day if not the week.
“I don’t see any reason why it wouldn’t work Marque,” Dr. Jeuxais replied after my proposal of cryogenic preservation. “I would like to perform a few tests to see whether or not the strand will shutdown along with the rest of the body and if you actually are a viable subject for cryo-preservation.”
“Excellent! Let me know when you’ve found out!” I said with renewed hope. This way I would be preserved in the healthiest state in present time and thawed to receive a solution or cure when they could think of one.
The doc took some blood and tissue samples for testing; the tissue harvesting hurt in particular. And so I left the clinic and went home with an un-relinquished smirk on my face. I climbed the granite steps to the front door before the thought of one person had shattered my high esteem in freezing my body to live longer. I paused with the key in the lock and gasped, “Jona!”
I set the keys into the bowl by the door, a certain ample finite number of options, thoughts and disjunctive scenarios zoomed in and out of my mind from when I started climbing the stairs to my apartment and entering it. I was starting to have second thoughts in this decision. I had never considered Jona in my master plan and I scolded myself internally for it.
How would he feel about this? Would he be supportive or would he scold me as I had done just moments before? And like I had done so many times before, I decided to put the bad news out of my mind for a discussion with him later.
Later came and went and I did not bring it up, nor did Jona bring up the fact that there was a monster laying dormant deep within me; it was a silent dinner. I dreaded telling Jona my solution as much as the discussion of my identity.
Jona had gotten into the shower later that night, I finished the dishes before I went to join him in there. When I had stepped into the shower, he left immediately, avoiding eye contact, saying nothing. I couldn’t help but feel hurt.
I was reluctant to crawl into bed for fear of rejection. Regardless, I stayed up and read by the fireplace for a good hour and a half before going to bed. Undressed, I blindly found my way to the bed from the light switch and lay next to my “lover.” A few minutes passed before his arm stretched across my body and his head laid upon my chest. I felt those familiar warm, moist drops hit my skin. In response, I placed my hand on his head and ran my fingers through his hair in comfort. I gently kissed the top of his soft head before I fell asleep cradling him as he sorted out his emotions to himself.
The morning light stung my eyes when I opened them. Soon my irises contracted and my vision came into focus; when it had, my heart stopped as I observed the horror of my bedroom. The curtains were ripped from their rod. Gouges in the walls ran parallel to one another in sets of four. The sheets were torn and shredded upon the floor and the mattress bled foam and spring coils. The dresser was upset, as was the night stand; a lamp smashed on the floor, blood scattered the walls and long grey hair encompassed my body on the bed.
Looking to my left, I was relieved somewhat to find Jona gone. My heart raced and I could not process anything anymore. ‘What had happened here?’ I thought to myself. The front door had burst open. I got up to inspect the intruder and found Linda searching the apartment for something.
“Hey,” I greeted her, she jumped in fright then recoiled in surprise when she saw me standing in the threshold of my bedroom, buck naked. “Why are you here Linda?” I asked after I grabbed some tattered sheets off the floor to make myself decent.
She readily exclaimed, “looking for you.”
“What’s the problem?” I said in a tone of innocence that seemed to try and conceal the obvious fact that the apartment was a complete wreck.
“Jona just arrived at work this morning. Exhausted, he said that something was terribly wrong at home; I’m starting to see his point. Marque what the hell happened here?” she observed the room in distraught.
“Is he alright?”
“Yes,” she sighed, “for the mean time.”
“What do you mean by that? I didn’t-“
“No, you didn’t, but you sure scared ten years off of his life span.”
“Marque what did you do?” Linda expressed a look of genuine concern.
“I would really like to know that myself. What’s the day?” I asked, in my state of confusion and excitement I could have forgotten the lunar cycle.
“Marque it’s day six since your last permutation. You’ve a long way to go yet, at least we thought so. You need to come in with me to see the doc, please,” she pleaded.
At that I retreated to my room to change. I would have closed the door but frankly I could not find it, as it was not on its hinges; thus, I changed in front of Linda, full aware that she examined my naked figure.
“You get to see it once a month, and you don’t get enough of it in the lab?” I said catching her eye tracing my waste line. She in turn caught herself and spun on her heel as she had done so many times before and faced the wall in aversion.
“Sorry,” she laughed.
"...And so came forth the 'Howler.' The people of the village called it a blessing of protection, I thought otherwise..."
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#2 2009-01-05 23:54:59
- C.G.Butchart
- Member
- From: Salmon Arm, BC
- Registered: 2008-03-30
- Posts: 54
Re: "Chasing Benevolence" (FINISHED!)
SECOND HALF.. WAS TO BIG TO SUBMIT IN ONE GO
The drive to the Lab was silence as I sat in the passenger’s seat of her newly upholstered 2003 Audi. She took me around the back entrance, aware that Jona would be on guard at the front door.
“So he really had no clue what he was guarding did he?” I asked in confirmation.
“No. After he completed his course with the French secret services as an escort he came here, and was told that he was in charge or guarding a great importance. He hasn’t been to, seen or heard of the lower levels. That is until you decided to escape the facility last week,” she replied quite frankly, pulling the car to a halt in the underground lot behind the lab. “He really had no clue what you were capable of?”
“No,” I said simply.
“Then we are both to blame for his emotional distress.”
From the lot we entered an elevator to the ground-level one story above. The elevator rose and the door opened; there stood Jona waiting to get in on the other side.
“I’ll be on the next one then.” He could not bring himself to look me in the eye, and THAT hurt even more than his previous rejections. What was going on in his head? It confused me to a profound level of worry. The answers to my questions would be found once I was sitting in front of Dr. Jeuxais.
“Considering the circumstances Marque, you are very, VERY ill,” was the first thing he said to me after a long moment of silence and contemplation; my heart froze. I felt sick. “I had finished the testing from the samples I harvested from your person and the good news is that you are suitable for a cryo-genetic procedure.” My heart began beating again, slowly.
“But?” I inquired.
“But,” he sighed, “your Cronan strand is far more active than the usual patients that come through here. Your mind is breaking. It’s giving in to” he paused, “well, your other side.” My heart slowed even more and I knew I must have been a very pale colour by then.
In defense and denial I responded, “how can you know that my strand is more active than normal? You haven’t taken a sample of it.” It was a naive response and a little juvenile. The doc smiled sympathetically and explained further.
“For one, it does show in the rest of your blood. Your leukocyte count was extremely high, and your permutation out of date was a dead give away. You no longer need just the lunar radiance to provoke your changes, it can and will happen at random now. This is one of the last symptoms a patient shows before it gets to be too late for them and they are lost, trapped in their own head. You’ve been coming here for how long? A year and a half? Two years? Marque it takes an average patient thirty years to show the signs and symptoms you’re displaying in two since your contraction.”
“So, how is freezing my body going to help me if I’m already doomed?”
“You’re not doomed, but you’re well on your way though. Either we freeze you now before you change again and risk harming others around you, or,” he paused, my face displayed an expression of urgency to know my other option.
“What doc?”
“Or, I put you down like the dog you are.” My blood boiled at that pseudo-racial slur. Racial? Or species? It didn’t matter, I took offense to it and said,
“oh it can’t be that bad, aside from the loss of consciousness I can be detained right?”
“It’s not that simple son. Although you could go several months with these random permutations before you change for good, your changes have become violent.” I failed to understand him,
“and they weren’t violent before?”
“Not like this Marque. Your regeneration rate is decreased, and you heal not nearly as fast as you did before. Essentially you morph., and any injury you sustain, will not regenerate as it used to. You bleed out more.” Instantly my mind flashed back to my bedroom and the excessive amount of blood around the room with a boggling lack of a source, other than me.
“So how is that a concern doc?”
“Your blood is highly toxic to everyone that isn’t your type. When you change you leave poison and contaminants for humans everywhere you bleed, it’s a hazard and a risk of you spreading your disease to the public.” He was unbelievably harsh at the moment, but I understood his origin and argument. ‘Put me down for the greater good, or preserve me until a cure is found, simple.’
As Linda drove me back to my apartment I began to open the envelop the doctor had given to me before we departed. I read the header which said: Cryogenic with Congenial Atmosphere Preservation Consent Issue Form, it was the paperwork I had to fill out before Dr. Jeuxais could legally freeze my body.
After bidding her good night I watched Linda drive into the cold of the night. I sat on the couch, reading and rereading the consent form before I made my decision to sign it. Having no desire to make any decisions at that moment I set my papers upon the dresser and left the room. Aside from the gouge marks and shredded bedding, the bedroom was in its natural condition before I got to it. Jona had been home between his shifts and made an attempt to tidy the place with the obvious knowledge on how to dispose of the toxic contaminants I left behind. I could not function after the days events of revealed information. So I left the building on a course to the pub down the street.
I walked the street, slow and somber, shambling along like an animated corpse without purpose. My observations were heightened as I did so. I saw violence, I saw sodomy, I witnessed barbarous acts of intimacy and I became displeased with the world I lived in. My decision was hence encouraged in signing the consent papers.
The bar was no better; repulsive depression, and lechery struck me in the face once I stepped through the door. I sat at my usual seat in the corner, ordered the usual, and sat back in observation.
Taking a sip from my favorite drink, I spat it back up in disgust. It finally made itself clear to me that all of today’s standards had dropped significantly. How far and long they have dropped escaped me in estimation. Just that it was most prominent now is all that was clear.
The irony of this situation was humorous. This was a place where the majority of its tenants came to drown their thoughts and sorrows; I did not need that at this particular moment in time, and so I left.
As I sauntered back to the apartment, I bore witness to many atrocious behavior of the city’s citizens. Lovers shot ecstasy of disgusting patience and continuity into the proverbial systemics of this society. Living in squaller and filth, they ruled the city; for how could society mechanize without them. They brought about the status-quo here; it is they who create the future. A future based off of bad habit and further downgraded colloquialisms that embarrass even the youngest of sentient infants.
Contradictions of a mad man, dare I call him me? I was not proud, but I also did not discriminate them as I briskly walked past. It was a cold night and I had no desire to stay in this blistering temperature any longer than was necessary.
I stepped into the apartment and was assaulted by Jona. In hospitality, he leapt into my arms the second he knew I was aware that he was in the room as well. The last time I “bumped” into him, was at the clinic earlier that day, when he had no interest in being in my presence. Now I find him embracing me, holding me with so much emotion it was overwhelming. His short, brawny Australian physique pressed against my tall slender French one. Our body grooves fitted together in a strange way that seemed to emphasize the strength and meaning behind this embrace.
“Jona, what is ever wrong with you?” I posed my issues with caution in relation to his sudden swap in emotion. In his heavy but noticeably depleting accent he replied,
“I was called up from my post this morning by Dr. Jeuxais,” he began. “He explained to me everything that I saw and the current situation. Your current situation.” He was taking the news better than I thought he would. “Today, when I saw you in the elevator, he had just finished telling me dinky di and I was a dead cert shirty.”
As I had always done many times before, I burst into laughter in response to his slang that no one in this hemisphere could comprehend. Lucky for him I was stating to understand his gibberish, and came to understand that he said what most would have as: ‘I heard the news and when I saw you I was upset and couldn’t speak with anyone at that time.’
And as he had done every time I would laugh, he would respond with a traditional smile of utmost beauty.
“So you understand me then do you?” I asked
“I think it’s cods wallop but yeah mate. I’m gonna do all I can to get you better. I gotta be in your life to do that; understanding what’s going on with you in your pretty little head,” He said looking up to me.
I smiled but failed to think of a proper audible response suitable to the occasion. It wasn’t going to come any time soon so I merely pulled him into another embrace where we stood for the better part of a minute.
That night we spent in the kitchen, cooking ourselves dinner. Laughing like we used to when we first met -when we first met -the room spun and I found myself standing at a carnival booth. A wall of balloons stood five feet in front of me while several throwing darts sat in my hand. My eye was caught on the man running the game. A beautiful man of inspiring humor and flattery. This man spoke and it was heaven. A firm but smooth accent that was hard to determine if it was Australian or if he belonged to New Zealand. I learned him to be an Aussie by the name of Jona Cayman, whom had come to France with the desire to travel. The carnival was the cheapest way to do so. And so he left Montpellier after that weekend, leaving me to brood on what could have been with this man.
The following year, the festival returned and with it, Jona. I found him in the same spot with the same event. I procrastinated visiting his event for the entirety of my day there. Two o’clock struck the bell that morning and the festival began to close down for the rest of the night. Lingering in the shadows watching him dismantle his booth, I smiled and formulated a conversation starter. When one failed to come to me(as usual) I approached the booth. His back was facing me as he bent over to collect the balloon fragments from the accurate hits.
“Bon nuit, monsieur,” I said.
“Sorry mate, we’re closin’ down for the nigh’.”
“I wanted to know if you had quenched your thirst for travel.” It wasn’t the most subtle but it worked. He bolted upright as if a jolt of electricity ran down the length of his spine; he paused, his back still facing me. In attempts to conceal is sudden burst of excitement he exclaimed,
“Who wants to know?”
“I give you three guesses Jona Cayman,” I replied smiling.
I could tell he was doing the same because his ears lifted that extra quarter inch as that muscle was flexed in response to smiling.
“I guess your name, Rumpelstiltskin,”
“try again.” He turned around and met my gaze. As I suspected, a broad grin occupied his face.
“Coffee?” I inquired. He agreed and I waited patiently for him to finish shutting down his booth. We left the carnival grounds and found the nearest coffee shop where we reminisced, exchanging stories until five in the morning. I thank the heavens for the twenty-four-hour café.
Time progressed and we fell in love the year after. He resigned his position at the festival and found a job and home in Montpellier. We were together for four years, in which time he had completed two years of training with the French Secret Services and spent a half year in Cambodia training in some practice that was not known to me or anyone. Once he returned, he took up a job at an assigned facility and has been there ever since. What he did not know was the life he was returning to was not as it had been.
During his time spent in Cambodia I took some time off at the hospital and traveled to Romania and the old remnants of the Wallachian empire. I toured the small communities and farm lands, staying on farms and in hostels along the way. One night in Sighişoara, a small farming community just south of the area known as Transylvania, I was heading to the small community seen as lights in the distance.
The evening was warm, humid and eerie to a certain degree of insanity. The moon hung high, casting shadows with every protrusion on the land. I was only a kilometer from safety when I was jumped. I thought bandits at first and then lay still, waiting for them to strike again or rummage through my belongings, but nothing happened. I lifted my head to chance a look upon my assailant. I was alone on the road. Getting to my feet, I discovered a laceration on my shoulder when I slung my pack onto it.
I quickened my pace to the settlement ahead, brooding on what thieves may strike when between here and there. I fell gravely ill for the next week and life seemed to be leeching from my bones in quantities that were unfathomable.
When all hope was lost and physicians claimed my demise to be a matter of days, I recovered miraculously and was sent home straight afterward. It was three months later that I began to notice a difference in my person. The wound I received was healed completely, not even scar tissue. I had more energy than normal, and my problem solving skills heightened.
Jona came home to what he thought was a man that missed him terribly and was eager to spend as much time with him as possible, not the monster that dwelled within his lover and best friend.
I spent eight months in darkness and confusion before the laboratory found me. I showed up in an alley way in East Montpellier; naked, curled up against the cold, blood coated my fingers and face. I wanted my life to end right there and leave all this pain behind.
Then as fate would have it, a woman came from the light that seared my eyes and extended her hand. It was Linda. From then on the darkness and confusion was erased as I was taken into the lab and explained to of my condition. I learned about the Cronan strand mutation I had obtained during childbirth and the reaction it had when I was assaulted by “bandits” during my travels. The strand in most people that do have one, usually lay dormant until it is aroused by the contact of blood from a long doomed victim, thus the term, contraction.
I saw these people at the lab at least twice a week up until now. All this time, Jona had no incline of knowledge to where I was when I went missing. Little did he know that I was only a few building stories away from him while he stood guard at the front door.
After a year we joined in body and soul, to live with one another in happiness and honesty. The honesty came from his part as he still did not know of the primordial creature that slumbered within ‘my’ deranged body and soul.
Amongst all the evil and manic depression, I found comfort in the moment where I met my beloved Jona. I will forever remember the moment I laid eyes upon his smile as he watched me toss darts at that chromatic wall of helium and rubber.
I was chopping carrots when my reminiscence had ended; soup. Jona was seated on the other side of the island observing me with that very smile I fell in love with.
“Wha’cha thinking mate?”
I relinquished my thoughts and replied to him, “how much I’ve missed this.”
He cocked his head to one side and frowned, confused.
“Missed what?”
“You and I both being home at the same time,” I paused before adding, “with enough time to spend it together.” He nodded in agreement and plucked a carrot from the pile I had just made and popped it into his mouth, getting up to check on the broth.
He aroused it with a wooden spoon for a couple minutes before he stood behind me, took my waist and kissed my neck,
“I’ll be back in a jiff,” he said and left the kitchen for the bathroom and shower.
A few minutes passed as I sat on the barstool, listening to the shower running before the timer went on the oven, screaming at me to put the vegetables into the now ready soup broth.
Using the chef’s knife I scraped the leek, carrots, corn, celery, and rice noodles off the cutting board and into the pot along with select other spices. In this time Jona had left the bathroom and entered the bedroom only to come out shortly afterward holding my consent forms aloft with a quizzical expression on his face. His chest was gleaming, damp from the steam of the bathroom. His smooth hair was plastered to his skull as it was still very wet. The linen towel around his waist revealed more than was necessary but was none the less appreciated.
He laughed, “what’re these?”
A grievous expression took my own face which spread to his once he knew that the papers were anything but a joke. One single question fell from his lips and for the first time in a very long time, I did not know how to answer my companion.
“Why?”
It had seemed an eternity before my tongue could compose comprehendible words and when it had they were the wrong ones. I composed myself further before my explanation.
“Mon suave, je vous aime tellement, mais je suis écoeuré.” It took him a moment to understand as he did not fully understand the French language. He replied,
“and I love you just as much my sweet, but you are not sick. I refuse to hold this between us like a wall, preventing one another from ever becoming close again. Now explain ta’ me,” averting back to his native accent, “wha’ these papers ar’ for: Cryogénique Financier Réel Formel? What is this?”
I loosened a heavy sigh from my chest and spoke,
“Jona they are consent forms.” From there I explained my situation of my rapidly decaying body and mind and the reason I wished to be frozen until a cure had been found. He was reduced to tears when I had finished.
“An’ you couldn’t think of me in this equation Marque? Where was your grand plan supposed ta’ leave me in all of this?” His voice wavered and shook with untamed and unrecognizable emotion. “Babe, ya could’a discussed this with me once you ‘ad figured it out.”
I laughed, “Jona, you were petrified of me at the time, what exactly was I supposed to say in lighten of this event? ‘Hi hun, I’m a werewolf by the way, and I can’t be cured yet so I’m going to freeze my body and leave you behind until a cure is found.’”
“When were ya plannin’ on tellin’ me?” I sighed,
“soon Jona. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” I scratched at the grouting between the counter top tiles in repent.
“Marque, I love ya’ but this,” he brandished the papers, “this is not the answer you need. This is not the answer I need to hear.” He sighed as well, “I will not let ya do this,” and he threw the papers into the hearth. I made a motion to retrieve them but they were fast ablaze by the time I stood up. I sighed.
“What do you suggest Jona? In a matter of months my body will be reduced to nothing more than a collected mass of oozing, mottled carnage.” It was a hyperbole, but the basis of my predicament.
“I’m curious as ta how long ya think I can wait for this cure d’a be found. I refuse ta live a day without you, and if ya think that I will tolerate you waking up ten or twelve or thirty years late’a to the same age as ya ‘re now and I have grown old, you ‘re sadly mistaken mate.”
“So you would have me live for a few months then after that you would live without me for the rest of your life?” I inquired.
“I’d rather spend time with this you, here and now. Living each day like when we first met and finding the proper cure, than waiting lord knows how many more years ta be with you for the remaind’a of my own days.
“As much as I would be destroyed to live without ya, I won’t make the selfish decision ta make you live without me.” His logic made very little sense to me, but his words brought a feeling to my chest that warmed that general region; I would do as he wished.
The feud was resolved and that evening was unlike any other. In appreciation of one another after resolution, we became intimate; a love that burned out in the morning but would be etched into memory for an eternity, our bond was strong.
I would have to inform Dr. Jeuxais of my sudden change of heart later that day but for the mean time, I cradled my lover and best friend as the drape filtered sunshine lit out entwined bodies.
The following morning I left the apartment for the lab to inform the kind doctor of my plan.
“It’s because of Jona isn’t it?” he asked once I had finished. I was not sure how obvious it was but I still wasn’t planning on telling him my reason in the first place.
In any normal situation such as this I would become defensive and deny that there was a solid fixed reason, but these days, I wasn’t much on the debating side of things anymore so I confirmed his assumption and bade him a fine day and went my way.
I left the lobby where I found Jona, standing guard, square shouldered, broad chested and stern faced. A faint smile seemed to flicker past his face when he saw me. I nodded as if to say, “It’s been done,” and left the building through its revolving doors. Jona came bursting out of them just after I had reached the parking lot and yelled to me,
“See you tonight?” I turned and smiled, gave him a gesture of love and mouthed the phrase,
“I love you.”
He seemed pleased and returned to the lobby; I turned around and collided with someone arriving from the parking lot. Clutching my shoulder, I turned to apologize to whomever I had hit. To my surprise I found it was the young woman from the transit a few weeks back. Like I had predicted when I first saw her, her voice was soft, soothing, quite and innocent when she
said, “excuse me.” I couldn’t bring myself so reply properly so I smiled and watched her pick up her things and enter the lobby. A couple seconds after I had watched her disappear, I followed her path in hopes of being able to talk with this mysterious woman.
Uncertainty plagued my face as I ran. The lobby was empty of everyone except for Jona and the receptionist; she had vanished.
“What’s up mate?” he asked me, seeing my desperate expression. Continuing to observe the lobby for any clue as to where she went, I replied,
“that girl that just came in, do you know which way she went?” He pointed to a hallway to the right of the receptionist’s desk, a hallway I had never been down. I briskly walked in that direction and as I was entering the hallway the man at the front desk called out to me and shook his head.
I stood there buzzing with anticipation and anxiety to finally meet this woman and she goes down a rabbit hole, one which I could not follow her into.
Jona inquired again, “what’s up?” and in the same manner as I had towards the hallway, I walked over to him and whispered,
“I think she’s like me,” my voice still quivering with excitement.
Many days had gone by and my health gradually began to regress. For the first time since my contraction I grew ill. My appetite did the same as my health and was the overall catalyst to my hospitalization, not the “people” hospital, but my very own special hospital, my “once-per-month” hospital.
I was detained to my usual isolation chamber and stabilized into a comatose state where I stayed for three weeks, gradually getting more ill every day. The coma was not necessary but it helped in hindering the rate of my bodily decay.
I awoke on day twenty-three and, after my eyes had adjusted, found Jona standing beside me in a decontamination suit. I released a pathetic chuckle when I was able to assess my situation. I tried lifting my arms but I received no response from my body; so I lay still.
Dr. Jeuxais came into focus in a suit like Jona’s and spoke to me. “Your muscles have deteriorated some after three weeks of inactivity.” I knew at least THAT would happen. “We tried to combat the effects with electro-shock isometrics but it was futile as we were fighting against both the natural effects of time and the supernatural effects of your decay; I’m sorry Marque, this was all we could do.” I began to fear my appearance, whatever it may be, but my hope was renewed when the smile on Jona’s face displayed two things: the fact that he wouldn’t care as long as I was alive, and an unknown factor of hope; they had found a solution.
“Now the good news shall we?” the doctor smiled. Linda appeared at his side, dressed in a similar fashion. “The idea came to me the same day you were induced to your coma; so I immediately found you a donor...”
‘great! Heart transplant, you’ve got to be kidding me,’ I thought.
“...And performed my research on my hypothesis. Luckily all my results presented themselves to be positive...”
‘Good, no delay,’
“...Marque,” he smiled once again, “It’s just immunity.” I grew confused and pondered his solution. Immunity? Donor? What could it be? It made itself clear after a few seconds of thought. When it did, it seemed to make so little sense but it would work.
“I’ve been able to extract a white blood cell from your species and augment it’s already augmented abilities. I synthesized a Cronan strand, inserted it into another organism and tested the solution. It was literally ‘search and destroy’ as I observed it, almost instant too.
“The thing is I can’t synthesize the solution itself. It has to be a fresh donor and it has to be used as soon as it’s given.” I smiled.
The time had come for things to be set right. I nodded in agreement and ushered him to fix this whole thing as fast as he could. “There is just one other thing Marque,” he added. “It’s a very dangerous procedure. It’s a direct cardial injection, the fastest method of dispersal through the body without the cure dying before it reaches its target.”
“Odds?” I inquired, barely able to speak; at this his face fell to a solemn disposition.
“Not in your favor. Eighty, twenty,” my expression followed the doctors. I chuckled again and whispered to myself,
“Dangerous,” and proceeded to laugh a gauntly laugh afterward. I had very little to lose as my body would cease to be recognizable within a month. If this Modified Leukocyte Serum, MLS as it was called, could potentially halt if not reverse the effects of my decay, and the only down side I could see was dying a month in advance, then I would gladly sign any papers placed in front of my face, provided that my lover would resist the urge to incinerate them first.
They left me and Jona alone to contemplate our final decision. A debate took place where Jona was points away from forbidding this treatment as well. I was positive that the only deciding factor was the bed I lay dying in, and thus the lack of time to produce another answer. The consent forms were signed and I was again left alone with Jona.
“What am I gonna do without ya?”
“You need not worry my love. I’ll be on my feet in no time and running my ward at the hospital in no time, loving you and every day we live.” It was a long winded reply and gave me an immense head rush. “Have faith.”
Tears began to roll down his face, illuminated by the light in his suit helmet.
“I love you so much,” he said with minute convulsions of grief. He sobbed and cursed the day he left for Cambodia, leaving me to become bored and explore parts of Europe in his absence.
“I-love-you-as-well” I breathed every word with difficulty. I let my head fall onto my pillow, exhausted.
“Talk ta me more,” he insisted. I lifted my arms a little and motioned my figures as if to type on an invisible keyboard. He left to fetch a laptop and I understood that he was the one that needed the comforting in this time of uncertainty.
He opened a typing program window on the portable computer and set it on my lap. I made the effort to lift my head to meet the monitor and my hands to touch the key board; I proceeded to type:
Smile my love.
It has been some time that I have been able to see some truths.
This illness has opened many doors for me.
Drawn back many curtains to reveal what the world is really made of.
Amongst the horrors that our society portrays I’ve seen good
where none can find it.
My mind has changed as well as my feelings.
This illness has forced me to see a truth between you and me.
He began to cry again.
The love that blossoms between us is rare and beautiful.
I can’t find a moment where deceit has cropped between
our relationship.
I’ve never loved like this before.
And it is this love that drives me to see these truths I speak of.
You my love, are special.
You have an insane ability to adapt, accept and help those in need.
It is what attracted me to you in the first place.
My heart began to ache. I wasn’t sure if it was my illness or my emotion. It showed in my typing because my hands shook. He placed his hands on mine to steady my mind.
Through these aspects, I’ve deducted that you are the reason I
could bare this sickness every day.
You were solid when you were unaware of this situation.
And that was enough to keep me in my right mind.
You are something special to me and you have so much to
offer this world if I leave you on this bed.
Do not weep for me if I do go because you have taught
me to adapt, accept and help those that are in need.
Should things fail to turn out as we predict,
I want you to lead each day strong, providing your
skills to those that need it most.
I wish you to find someone to help you through your
tough times like I did when I found the friend in you.
Linda and Dr. Jeuxais came into the room with a wheelchair and stood in the corner, allowing Jona and I to finish our chat. He picked me up and set me into the chair where the doc proceeded to tell me, “if you’re ready we’ll begin the procedure now,” I nodded.
They wheeled me into a section of the lab that I have never been. I assumed it was the area that the receptionist forbid me to enter when I attempted to follow the young woman I saw on the bus. To my surprise once more, she was waiting in a holding center like mine, strapped in restraints.
“Who is this woman!?” I demanded; it was time for answers. “This is Destri. She is like you. She is also your donor for this procedure. Have you met her?” Linda inquired.
“Twice. First on a transit ride here to inquire about the preservation process and another time a week before I came in for my induced coma.”
A few moments passed as the doc wheeled a machine into the iso-chamber the woman was detained to. I recognized it immediately as the new equipment we used in the hospital to extract bone marrow from donor patients. In nature, it was a vacuum with a syringe attached to the end of the “hose.” It was designed by a German medical engineer to reduce the pain patients received when on the operating table. In my experience, it didn’t do its job.
For an hour we all, in exception for me, stood there waiting. For what, I did not know.
Linda broke the silence; with a quick glance at her watch she told the doctor that it was time.
“Very well, roll it back.” A phrase I heard far too often in my time spent here. I was picked up once again by my lover and set onto an operating table in the room we had waited in. Through the protective plexi barricades I could sense that Destri was becoming uneasy.
Linda strapped me into the table while Jona held my hand. I could no longer see through the plexiglass, but I understood what was happening by what I heard next. The familiar sounds of gears, belts and cranks working their mechanics in the walls, moaning against the effort of moving the entire weight of the ceiling of the iso-chamber next door. My own joints began to loosen, preparing for rapid expansion and realignment.
Next door I could hear Destri screaming in agony. The screams transformed into moaning then desperate discordant howls and barks. For some reason though, I was not changing as the moonlight hit my skin, burning it slightly.
“Go do it,” Dr. Jeuxais told Linda once he had finished setting up a station on the table next to me. She left the room and I heard the marrow machine rev up. While this happened the doctor gelled my chest and took a sonagram of my chest cavity, particularly where my heart was located. After three brief calculations, he took a marker and made a point on my chest. He followed to make six more in a hexagonal pattern around the first one he made.
The howls turned into animalistic screaming as I predicted Linda was extracting some of Destri’s body fluids. The doc set up six syringes of a general anesthetic and injected one after the other into the hexagonal diagram on my chest. By the time Linda came back into the room my chest had puffed up and seemed to have weighed thrice its normal weight.
The syringe of marrow was placed at the station Jeuxais had set up earlier. Some preparations were done and the final mix was placed into a three-cc hypo-vascular with a six-inch long needle.
It was a moment of truth; both Linda and Jona removed their helmets and stood watching the procedure.
Panic flooded my system and I became scared. With a frightened expression I turned my head to my lover and mouthed the phrase, “I love you.” He stood there, struggling to keep on his feet as he was crying for my safety.
The needle was inserted and I felt a warm, metallic, swelling sensation in my chest. I couldn’t help but gasp and scream; my restraints did their job as the needle was slid out of my thoracic cavity and I thrashed. I adapted and the panic was replaced with acceptance and I fell still on the table, my vacant eyes fixed upon the ceiling, acceptance.
The doctor had backed off and Jona rushed to my side. I couldn’t see him all that well but I felt that familiar warm wetness hit my chest and face. “I love you Marquas Germain Le’mure” and he pressed his lips against mine. I savored the feeling of his warm flesh pressed to mine, and the taste of his Australian musk in my mouth and nose as my vision failed and I recalled a moment in time.
I walked up to this attractive man and asked him how much to toss the darts. He told me four tickets for three tries in an accent that sounded Australian, but it was soft, almost New Zealand. He then smiled, and it was the most beautiful smile I had ever witnessed. At that moment I knew I had to have his name. I resolved to ask him for coffee if I had popped three balloons consecutively.
I examined the board and took two paces back. A large red balloon stood out to me but I resisted the urge to pop it. Instead, I aimed for a dark blue one in the bottom right corner. The dart hit its target and stuck into the board. The man smiled that beautiful smile once more. The red balloon once again caught my attention, but still I resisted. I sought for my next target but this balloon seemed to be a magnet for my attention. It throbbed almost, begging to be popped. I found a small target on the left side of the board. It popped and green rubber fell to the ground along with the dart. I suppose I had not thrown it hard enough for it to embed itself into the cork.
“Sorry mate, it has gotta stick in,” he said. I smiled and clucked my tongue. Finally, I decided to aim for the large red one that called to me so diligently. On closer inspection it appeared to be heart shaped, ‘perfect,’ I thought. What could be more ironic that a heart-shaped balloon to decide whether I ask this man to join me for coffee and later fall in love.
I sensed his eyes scanning my posture. I stuck my tongue out as if to improve my accuracy by doing so. I drew my hand back and tossed the dart. I heard the balloon pop and I smiled as my world suddenly fell to darkness.
"...And so came forth the 'Howler.' The people of the village called it a blessing of protection, I thought otherwise..."
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#3 2009-01-15 12:43:05
- Cap'n Edward
- New member
- From: Puerto Rico
- Registered: 2009-01-07
- Posts: 9
- Website
Re: "Chasing Benevolence" (FINISHED!)
...MORE!!!!!!!! I mean, wtf happens after that last bit?? He dies?! O3O
I have no class--I remembered as I walked the streets of San Juan--tonite I'm just an undead pirate captain. And me crew's all I have.
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#4 2009-01-19 02:02:25
- C.G.Butchart
- Member
- From: Salmon Arm, BC
- Registered: 2008-03-30
- Posts: 54
Re: "Chasing Benevolence" (FINISHED!)
it's called symbolism..of course he dies. this story shows a sense of little or no hope in the lycanthrope community. A lost need and want to be heard by everyone who is different. it also shows that there are some of us out there that are willing to lend a hand for anyone in a time of distress. i couldn't have ended it any other way without it giving the same impact and message. i felt bad for doing it but yes i killed my protagonist.
What's your opinion?
"...And so came forth the 'Howler.' The people of the village called it a blessing of protection, I thought otherwise..."
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#5 2009-02-03 23:58:15
- C.G.Butchart
- Member
- From: Salmon Arm, BC
- Registered: 2008-03-30
- Posts: 54
Re: "Chasing Benevolence" (FINISHED!)
anyone have any suggestions as to how i can change it? lol
"...And so came forth the 'Howler.' The people of the village called it a blessing of protection, I thought otherwise..."
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