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So let me get this straight...

“So let me get this straight... We’re getting paid just to stand here?”

“Well, we aren’t exactly getting paid though,”

“No, okay fine, but our job is to stand here.”

“Well there’s a little more to it than that...”

“Okay fine, the general description of our job is to stand here.”

“I guess so. Mind you, the ball though it comes every so often and when you get hit, it hurts. We’re lucky we’re at the end here so we don’t see as much action as the other guys do.”

“So let me get this straight... We get drafted, cut out, shipped then we just stand?”

“Yep, it isn’t terribly fun and the ball hurts, but I’ve seen worse, y’know?

“I’ve done a lot worse, trust me. I’d say the nine of you got it pretty easy.”

“It seems like you’re still new kid. I’m guessing first night on this squad? I’m telling you right now, when you get hit, it hurts like hell and once you go down and start screaming to mommy, no one’s gonna save you cause that, that is against the rules.”

“So what happens when we get knocked down?”

“See that up there?”

“I see...”

“Just try not to get in the way kid and we’ll get along all fine and dandy.”

“Don’t mind him he’s just mad at the other rookie before you who got in his way every time.”

“What happened to the other rookie?”

“That’s a good question. Hmm, well the boss took him out of the line. He was splintered I think, or some kind of condition like that, heard he’s spending his days as a fence down in the country.”

“Scary... But really, I don’t understand the appeal of this.”

“They like us in pain kid, it’s that simple.”

“It’s like he says. I don’t really ask any questions. As long as I’m doing my job, I know the world’s turning. They call me seven by the way, though I have the worst luck in the world.”

“They gave me the number eight.”

“Nice to meet you eight, let’s hope you’re more useful than the last one, he was so full of himself! Hahaha, anyway, that over there is five, and that’s eleven. We don’t have a nine anymore, he disappeared somewhere, probably picking somebody's teeth by now, I’d imagine. Him over there, that’s ten, he’s always scared shitless by me, never understood why. The tough one there is Four.”

“Ahh, nice to meet you all but honestly, I really don’t get it. I mean we just stand here and they knock us down? That certainly has to get old... I mean anyone can do it right?”

“Listen rookie, you see those sides over there? If the ball enters there we’re scot free, we don’t get hit and they don’t have fun. Some people do it well, most people can’t. Let’s just hope we get the latter and we’ll have an easy night.”

“Look sharp boys, party at 12 o’ clock, seems like we got a seasoned veteran and his family.”

“Alright, stiff positions, One and Two push the back and don’t let them get an inch. Kid, stay further away but not too far. Seven, get closer, it’s showtime boys.”

“Here it comes!”

“Frontlines are down! It’s heading towards you Eight and Four!”

<><><><><><>

“Shit that fucking hurt.”

“Kid, we got another two hours of that to go. It seems like these guys aren’t push-overs. You gotta toughen up; I don’t wanna hear you whining the whole way through. It looks like they have some children and that means we get a break.”

“They get two tries to do what they need to do then a rotation happens, see? It looks they have time for about 9 of them.”

“So let me get this straight, we’re getting hit a possible 72 times before our shift is done? That’s fucking crazy, I want out.”

“There is no out kid! Suck it up and take the heat. There’s only one pro with them, the rest are chumps so we’ll be having a relatively easy nigh—SHIT.”

“Fuck! He’s down! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,”

“Here comes the second one, brace for it!”

“He flipped over, he flipped over...”

“Calm down kid, I’m here.”

“You flipped over, are you okay? That looked like it hurt,”

“I’ve been doing this for 10 years buddy. That was nothing but it gets tougher. Listen, there will be times when you’ll be alone. There will be times where there are two of you and you have no choice but to see the other go down. No matter what happens though, you gotta stick in there. You can’t let those bastards have the satisfaction. It hurts when you get hit. It hurts even more when a bunch of you go down together but when the ball gets all of us? That’s when you know what hurt really is.”

<><><><><><><>

“I don’t think I can take this. I can’t go on anymore.”

“Don’t worry it’s their last turn the shift is almost over...”

“I don’t want to come back. I want to stay home...”

“I’m sorry to say it but this is your home now... Cheer up eight, it only gets easier from now on...”

“What are you talking about Seven? This last rotation they each get three attempts.”

“Well, after this I meant.”

“Three attempts? What? Three attempts?”

“That’s right kid, no breaks for us. We only need to worry about the one pro but it looks as though he will get us all, all three times.”

“What happens then?”

“Then we hurt like hell without getting any fucking breaks.”

“Then?”

“We hope to god we don’t splinter.”

“Then?”

“Then... Well... Then...

I guess he gets a rooster...”

+ Show Spoiler +

Today would be the day he died. The thought greeted Mani as he woke. It was a thought he had never had before. It gave rise to a peculiar sensation; a tingling shiver ran swiftly through his skin, combined with a feeling of internal hollowness, an emptiness of the soul. He shook the feelings off – or tried to. He was prepared, he whispered to himself. He had waited a long time for today.
The cabin door slid open. In strode Michelle, the dropship pilot – stark naked. She held an exposed syringe in one hand, the other curled at Mani in a come-hither gesture. She teased the syringe cap between her lips suggestively. “Hi sailor,” she cooed at him. “I thought you might like to… play a little.”
With an oath Mani sprang out of the bed, snatching the syringe from Michelle. “You fool!” he shouted at her. “That could kill you!”
She rolled her eyes at him, unfazed. “My boyfriend was a firebat” she said. “He taught me how to use stim injections to… spice things up. It’s hot, but I can handle it. Incidentally, I didn’t know ghosts were issued these.”
Mani snapped the cap back on the syringe. “He could get terminated for that” he replied.
“Yeah well, he got terminated alright. By a Zerg swarm. I said he WAS a firebat.”
Mani sighed. “I’m sorry.”
Michelle tightened her lips and said nothing. After a quiet moment Mani spoke.
“He died a hero”, he said gently.
“Yeah, that’s what I tell myself. It doesn’t help much.”
Mani started to say something then caught himself. “I’d better check the equipment” he offered lamely. He pushed past the silent woman and made for the control room. He locked the control room door behind him and seated himself. His hands flew across the controls as he skillfully manipulated the machinery. After entering his special access code, he examined the radar system and smiled grimly. Just as he had predicted, the Zerg armada was approaching rapidly. He prayed the nebula’s turbulence would conceal the ship, long enough for him to do what he must – and for Michelle to get the hell out of there. His smile faded. Today the bastards would pay. All of them. For everything they had done to him, to Michelle, and every other damned Terran who had suffered at the hands of those foul abominations.

Mani’s drop pod sailed through the sea of inky blackness. The Zerg fleet before him seemed more numerous than the stars themselves. Mani felt fear’s icy hand clutching at him as he beheld the sight, terrifying in its alien awesomeness. His iron resolve held firm. He was determined not to fail his people, his family, or himself. He would not fail, though it meant his life. He was closing in on the Zerg swarm quickly. His target, the closest transport organism – a living ship, a behemoth that dwarfed the largest of Earth’s whales – seemed to turn toward the drop pod. Mani focused intently on the Zerg, reaching out to it mind to mind. Yes, it was aware of him, though dimly. He smiled another grim smile. Too bad for the damned critter. He engaged the turbo thrust mechanism, and the drop pod charged forward, hurtling straight at the creature with incredible speed. Mani guided the dropship with skillful precision, and was barely able brace himself for the shattering impact. The pod tore into the side of the creature, erupting finally with a crimson shower of blood and flesh into a cavity the size of Michelle’s dropship. Its purpose was unknown, but intel reported that Zerg troops were seldom quartered in this chamber. Mani struggled gingerly out of the remains of the wrecked pod. He had been banged up in the dramatic landing, but nothing seemed broken. Surveying the destroyed pod, he chuckled to himself. There was no turning back now. He took a deep breath and prepared for the task ahead. The alien chamber threatened to overwhelm his senses. It was something that could only exist in a nightmare. The vibrant flesh walls were slick with blood and ichor. They were never still, but heaved endlessly in a steady rhythm that made Mani feel like he was aboard a sailing ship, in some distant corner of Hades. The pungent stench was overpowering. Mani adjusted his tac-suit to reduce its impact – but only a little. He would need all six of his senses to carry out his mission.

Then he felt it – the presence of another psychic being, close by. Alien, inhuman – but not Zerg. Mani gripped his canister rifle tightly. Protoss? Here? What the hell was going on? He hit a switch on the suit and adrenaline flooded his system. He stalked stealthily in the direction of the Protoss mind-signal, his heightened senses supremely focused, alert for anything. The feel of the Protoss mind grew stronger with each step. It was full of rage and fury, emitting an endless, terrifying mental scream. Mani reached what he had taken to be an exit to the chamber, only to find it was a fleshy cul-de-sac. Something huge writhed in the shadows. Mani adjusted the vision settings on the suit, and gasped at what he saw. It was a Protoss afterall – its earless, eldritch face left no doubt of that. But it was a Protoss as he had never seen one before. Its skin had turned leathery, and was pierced by bony, horn-like plates. Eyes that once would have glowed with alien wisdom were now dull and bestial. They focused on Mani, and the Protoss uttered a low, guttural growl. It was infested. For an instant Mani stood frozen. An infested Protoss - could such horror be real? He began to doubt his senses. Then in a rush the thing was on him. Mani’s ribs cracked as the Protoss-Zerg-thing crushed him to the floor. He could smell its fetid breath as the thing’s teeth quested for his throat, could feel its desire to rend his flesh and reap his life for the swarm. Mani struggled in vain to free himself from beneath the creature’s vast bulk. One of its claws gripped his helmet, seeking to crush his skull. The reinforced metal held firm, but barely. The second claw interlaced the first, and Mani knew he must act or perish. By seizing his head, the creature had freed Mani’s arms. He tore a syringe from the belt at his waist. He could not see it, and prayed it had survived his violent landing intact. The pressure on his head was becoming unbearable. Everything was turning black. Mani clenched his jaw and with a strength born of desperation he stabbed the syringe deep into the creature’s body. The thing stiffened as it felt the contents invade its system, releasing its death-grip on Mani’s skull. With a sudden lurch it leapt to its feet. Its jaws opened, shut, and opened again. It stumbled back against the fleshy wall, and slipped on the slippery surface. Torturous convulsions racked its hideous, mutated body for nearly a full minute, before it at last lay still. Mani sighed, and heaved his shattered body to the wall beside the corpse. He gritted his teeth, closed his eyes and attempted to block out the pain, trying to focus his mind. With a monumental effort he reached out to Michelle, aboard the dropship. “Tell the High Command that the Zerg had an infested Protoss aboard,” He threw at her, “and get the hell out of here as fast as you can!” As his awareness returned to his body, he heard something slither, close. Mani opened his eyes. A Hydralisk towered above him, its eyes sliding over him rapidly. Mani’s death-struggle with the infested Protoss had attracted the attention of the Zerg after all, and it was probably trying to work out if he was alive. The creature clicked and hissed at him, rising to a firing posture, but Mani was quicker. With a flick of his wrist he aimed his rifle and fired an explosive round deep into the creature’s brain. The hydralisk collapsed, a fountain of blood and membrane gushing from the fatal wound. Its fall revealed more Zerg speeding toward the crippled ghost. Mani raised his rifle to fire, and the transport convulsed violently, sending his shot wide and all the Zerg toppling to the floor. Mani laughed. The virus had begun to spread. He had not failed, and it was a good day to die.

+ Show Spoiler +

He's supporting the firmament, limbs locked in place,
Sweat and snowmelt eroding the remnants of grace.
But the burden is only a part of his curse,
And the other is rather the worse.

Not as Tantalus, parched to the loss of his speech,
Not as Sisyphus, stymied with summit in reach,
No, a memory's ember in vengeance enjoins
A vestigial lust in his loins.

Decades flow into centuries, heavens still press.
Lacking stimuli, even the Titans regress.
In his lonesome torment, he no longer recalls
Aught but pain and cerulean balls.

(He'd be promptly jerked off by Invisible Hand
Had he lived in the heyday of Rand).

+ Show Spoiler +

Wade sat in his usual spot below his friend’s inner city apartment. He rested his back against the forest green stucco. Three feet above, wall to wall windows exposed a large room featuring exercise equipment of various shapes and sizes; the Cookes were obsessed with personal fitness. As with any first floor façade in Pratt City, every transparent surface was fitted with menacing and uninviting steel bars.

The surface he sat on was not pavement, but rather an eclectic mixture of stone, cement, and gravel, sanded down to a smooth finish. But most depressing of all his surroundings was the assortment of trash that encircled him. To his right lay a Subway cup, an empty water bottle, and a McDonald’s cup, all resting peacefully on their side. Up above him, posing, on the top of the stucco, sat a plastic up of unknown origin. It had most likely been acquired from the street vendor who sold disgusting looking tacos near the corner of Anderson and Harris. A few inches from his left foot, a generous collection of nut shells lay in a neat pile. The type of nut these shells belonged to, Wade didn’t know.

Finally, in front of him rested a small McDonald’s cup which was not fallen. It stood up tall as the day it was conceived. Within it, ice resisted the temptation to melt into a tepid puddle beneath the unforgiving sun. The sweet scent of orange soda lingered in the air. But unlike the other garbage, Wade was not disgusted by its presence. It did not irk him to sit next to the cup. The cup did not reflect negligence, filthiness, or apathy. Not in Wade’s mind, for he was the one who placed the cup there, and he wasn’t going to leave it.

Wade nonchalantly gazed to his left. What he saw was a small brown dog, alone, quiet, and sad. Dangling from his neck was a leash, but it served no purpose other than to share a fragment of his pitiful story with the city’s amblers. Instantly, as their eyes met, Wade assigned a name to this unknown dog. Henceforth, this dog would be referred to as Lewis.

Lewis trotted closer to Wade, allowing a closer look at his features. It was difficult for Wade to put into words. He had no experience describing dogs. He had never owned any pets. But what Lewis had no trouble identifying were Lewis’ feelings of abandonment, deceit, and suffering. For how long had he been abandoned? How much had he suffered these past few days? At this moment, Wade would have given his right arm to find the answers to these questions. But rather than dwell in the past, he knew to look to the future, to focus on helping this dog, to ease its pain.

They continued to look at each other as they slipped into their own little world. Nothing else mattered. Their pain melted away in one meaningful embrace. Of all man and beast, the odds of finding one who will truly understand you is painfully negligible. Most will spend their lives in a never-ending search for the one that can truly comfort them. Most will fail. But on one street corner, in one slum, beneath the sun which has bore witness to it all, two searches came to an end.
+ Show Spoiler +

For kings to see in the highest of rooms he came, destined, they said, to rule the lands.
A free mind, but an imprisoned jester, told he was to create the jester’s empire, where he would be emperor and all would be fine.
Little did he know, that his part in this play was the most tragic one.
After years soaring in the clouds, the lords of the olympus ask him to go descend to the mortal world and do his divine duty, he left everything, his immortality, the luxuries of the divine realm, all for the promisse of his empire, an empire he didn’t ask for but rather had been imposed upon him.
As someone who had the blood of kings, he took the task at hand seriously, but lied to and misinformed he was bound to fail, he knew little about the mortal world, the pain, the suffering, the anger and hatred that poured from the land.
He didn’t had time to understand it until it was sieging his castle and murdering his man, the hatred of thousands of voices echoing the same cry of anger, at what he ponders, it was not me that intended you harm.
Now the heir of kings had fully realized, his rule had been a charade, this “empire” was gonna vanish into dust, and now he was vulnerable to the dust on the wind, to the rocks on the ground, and to the sharp of the spear.
The ghost of violence tore into his halls of mockery to deliver the final act, what beggan as an invite of the gods had become a party for demons, in theyr eyes as they crushed the door and saw him, he could see, the unforgiveness, no apologies would bring back theyr loved ones, no apology could quench theyr thirst for destruction.
It was set in motion, change had arrived, like a storm but of emotions, this all had a reason, a beginning and an end, and it was coming closer and closer by each day in his cell.
The hate was soul shattering, so much that olimpus angels had to abandon him and decided to leave that place to the abyss, some few begged for the fools life, but for no good, what had begon, had to end.
As he faces the gun, many memories come riding the fear, my end cannot be so miserable he grumbles, a phrase that shall echo into time i shall say, and curse these mortals if they don’t have the hearts and minds to listen to it, for all my wisdom will be put in this timeless cry.
"Mexicans! Today I die for a fair cause: the freedom and independence of Mexico. May God allow my spilling blood to put an end forever to the disgraces of my new homeland. ¡Viva México!"
Even tho he had bribed all the executioners not to shoot him in the head, one did, the last betrayal of the jester’s empire, consolidated by sadism and hate, sealing the curse and flooding the land with blood, the rivers of the abyss are there.
What is the definition of a moment? Some would say that, time, is a sum of countless moments, which ones are important ? Which ones are worth thinking off? Can we chose what thoughts are in our minds ? Or are they like butterflies arriving unnoticed hidden in the winds, until its too close and can no longer be ignored.
After the connection had finally been severed the body slowly vanishes to dust, dust with the power to inspire and empower, to entertain and to cause debate.
Like a comforting breeze, or a boring afternoon, the dust of legacy fills pages, soars the winds and inspires the minds, for all theres yet to be in this realm will one day become the most sacred of dusts, but the spectrum by which the light will hit it, what colors will it take? In truth theres endless colors in the dust, how it will be seen lies in the eye of the beholder.

+ Show Spoiler +

The wound on my side was simple, it was bandaged but I felt it festering underneath; healing it would have been easy with the right hands had I stayed in the infirmary; but the defeat was sealed, our side had lost. The bed could no longer compare with the earth and tree against my back, it seemed so much more peaceful now.
When I was at the infirmary, after my wounds were dressed, I was taken to a wooden frame for a bed, the rust and rot had bleached the walls of the cabin, drowned out in the murmurs of the wounded. I remember one night a voice calling out a woman's name--Nima. Strange to say I liked hearing it, though not because of how it was said. After they had won, the enemy offered positions to younger recruits from our side; they acted as carriers and canaries for the higher officers. The one sent to supervise our ward had a much too eager turn in his neck whenever called upon; his lips were torn and blistered, a faint white crust surrounding them. He was slim, almost unfed, he was not much older than my son was; too young to fully understand the looks the other soldiers gave him, his former comrades--or maybe he just didn't want to.
It was night when I left the ward, so as to be unnoticed. The valley I fought in was close by, it was not hard to get to, and the dawn came quickly. I sat at the base of the tree, which seemed to stand alone among the others. Looking out onto the empty valley of grass, I imagined the blood that was there that day. Laying my back against the trunk it felt soft, and the warm ground made my muscles relax. My eyes were set on the distant trees that seemed to play in the wind, the wind which gave voice to a thousand leaves which bristled across the valley; it would stop as if it were waiting for something. Everything seemed to blend in together, so when the enemy soldier ambled by on a horse, I didn't pay him much mind--though I noticed his eyes were hard set on me, his hand on his hilt as he went by and gone. I wondered if I would have been this still if it wasn't for my wound, was it the atmosphere, or was it the pain? Some views have a way of bringing up the past.
Years ago, I would raise horses from birth and sell them when they were ready. It seemed so distant, like another life; was I so different now? The children would watch as the beasts were trained in their pen. The little one used to run around in the fences with the horses in laughter. “Enough of that, I said it’s time to eat,” the woman’s voice would gently repeat. In the evening we would take them out for an evening stroll by the lakeside. The woman would sit in front, the two boys sharing another. The memories were vivid, like the fresh air had made them clearer. I would think of ways to repeat them over and over, focusing on a different face each time I watched it, I had played the same game at the infirmary; though, every so often the unwanted memories would appear--a commission the game sometimes collected. The youngest one was fondest of the male horse, the black mare that grew with him since birth, always so gentle; it was still excited when I returned from the market that day, trotting loudly back and forth; sticky blood, thick with dirt, dripping from the hooves. Alone. Trotting over and over again round and round amidst the setting sun, a distant noise that seemed too real. Getting louder; stronger in sound; no, it wasn’t a memory, it sounded too real, the wind had confused me; the difference now was apparent, it was the soldier, he had returned.
He reigned in his horse to a stop and disembarked. From close up I noticed he was younger than I had thought. He tossed a parcel down at my feet and I could smell the fresh bread and the thud of something hard hit the earth.
"Your wound looks bad," he said.
"When it’s left alone it doesn't bother me,"
"But for how long?" he said with a pause "You don't remember me do you?" "We were over there," he said, pointing to the valley.
"There we're a lot of soldiers on the battle field,"
"You covered me from that attack; that’s how you got your wound,"
"...Don't take it so personal, you reminded me someone I lost, not much younger than..." my voice seemed to drift.
"I brought these for you" he said as he knelt down and began untying the parcel.
"There’s no taste in my mouth,"
""That's no reason not to have a drink. Here," he pulled out a bottle and poured some wine into a cup, then tipped some into my mouth. I noticed his hands were callused in a way a soldier’s shouldn’t have been.
"How old are you?" I asked
"Sixteen. I've been saving this wine, my mother and sister packed it for me before I left home. They would have been grateful and would have wanted you to have this,"
"That was nice of them, thank them for me"
"You said that I reminded you of someone, who was it?"
"My son, he was killed in a raid,"
"Is that why you joined the troops?"
"Why do you say that?"
"You seem a lot older than the others,"
"War has no regard for age," I said.
It was quiet for awhile. He seemed to lose himself in the view as I had.
"Do you need anything?" he asked
"Your company is fine. Though, I wouldn't mind some more of that wine,"
We sat in silence for awhile; looking out into the horizon, the pain seemed to lessen. For fleeting moments there seemed to be laughter as the wind moved through the trees, the warmth of it brushing against my cheek--it did not last as long. There was another trotting sound, this time from two sets of hooves. “Oh shit,” the young soldier said, standing up and turning his attention to see an officer in a black uniform headed in our direction, trailing shortly behind, the boy with cracked lips who I first met at the infirmary. “I don’t know how they found me, I was so careful,” They left the horses a short distance away and walked toward us.
The officer was a bulk of a man with slits for eyes. “I told you sir, I thought something was strange so I followed him here to see this,” said the boy with the cracked lips, his eyes fixed on the officer for his reaction.
“Thought you could get away?" the officer said to me as he spat something to the side. His face was large and dirty; his uniform stiff and was pushed out slightly by his round stomach. For someone that seemed so crude, his eyes were focused and alert “You were very foolish boy for what you’ve done“, he said, turning to the young soldier. His voice was loud; it was the first thing that separated me from the atmosphere since I had gotten there.
"Sir, he’s a harmless," the young soldier said, his voice thin.
"What's this?" the officer said pointing to the parcel.
"He packed that for him, I saw him leaving with it, I saw it with my own eyes," the boy with the cracked lips said sharply. The officer bent down to pick up the bottle from the ground tipping it messily for a guzzle; some wine streamed from the side of his mouth, small drops landing on his uniform
"The taste is like shit," said the officer, and chucked the bottle at the trunk of the tree breaking above my head.
"You stupid child," he said, grabbing the young soldier by the arm and flinging him to the ground with little effort. “Your punishment will come shortly after,” the boy with the cracked lips seemed to hold back a smile.
"Got nothing to say?" he said, this time at me, his voice again loud and penetrating. "You should have stayed in your cage, I don't think that wound is going to heal out here" he said, a strange look appearing on his face, as if bantering with an old friend. “My goodness, that looks painful,” he said, eyeing my wound.
“He’s in poor health sir, please consider--,”
"Shut up," yelled the officer interrupting him. He bent down to pick up a rock and threw it in his direction. "I had a wound like that once years ago," he said, turning his attention again to me. "You know it just got worse and worse, I had been beaten with a club so badly, they were going to cut off my arm. Good thing I had it looked after in time," he sneered. In a fierce movement he kicked me in the side, against my wound. A few kicks more landed all hitting the same spot, each kick seemed to carry the officers entire weight; I felt I would split into two. For a time, I could not see through the pain.
"Y-you idiot, why did you do that?" the voice was stammered and anxious. The sun was setting. "You've killed us both!" it belonged to the boy with the cracked lips. I tried opening my eyes, colors, distorted at first. The officer was on the ground, a blade through his neck lying in a pool of blood. The boy with the cracked lips standing to the side, horrified at the sight. "Y-you've killed us... b-both," he repeated.
"Are you okay sir?" the young soldier asked me. A nod was all I could manage. He fetched the bread which had been kicked away from the parcel and knelt down beside me. “Here, eat this, you need your strength,” he said, breaking the bread. “You know, you remind me of someone too--”
I wasn't sure what I saw next, simply put it was plain in sight: there was another blade, this time through the young soldier's neck; the boy with the cracked lips standing behind, stepping back with the handle still in his hand--his eyes seemed veined and swollen. The red liquid spilled down the soldier’s neck and arm, the soft bread he was holding absorbing it, which seemed to bubble as it fell deep into its cushion before dropping to the earth. I murmured something aloud I can’t recall, just a noise perhaps. Maybe it was an expression of what I felt in that moment, something I had lost being taken away from me again. I did not hate the boy with the cracked lips; he was just as much a victim as anyone, who was to say his pain was not greater than any other? His shadow disappeared into the trees shortly after. As for me, I remained at the tree-- it was my home now; its base pushing against my back, holding me up; my own sorrow, its own; its roots, soaking up our blood.
The End

+ Show Spoiler +

“Life can, and never will be able to be articulated by words. Although we have many ways with which to communicate our ideas; we can, and never will be able to explain exactly what life ‘is’.”

These words made sense; they told the self-evident truth. These words reflected upon the reality that mankind faced every day, in a world full of the unexplained. As far as humanity had progressed, there was no chance for it to learn and digest everything, to understand and control the nature of the minutest fibres of existence. Some things would always remain mysterious. Yet as time progressed, these words had become profoundly obsolete. The world had become a place that no longer held any questions or surprises with no more room for original thought.

***

To no-one,

My brain feels burdened as though manacled; it feels restless, tired…yet awake. It feels like it is with me but at the same time a foreign entity. I am paralysed within my own world, yet so free of all trappings. My brain is exhausted from thinking, yet sometimes; paradoxically, I feel like it has never conceived a single thought. I feel like a newborn clamouring for answers, a new mind being bombarded with an array of senses and feelings previously unknown and unfelt, yet, without the simple ability to define or give structure to any of it all! This is purely my fault; I chose to be this way, in a maze of my own making - this time at least.

They would know the exact reason I feel this way, right down to the last synapse. I know there are thousands of reparative measures for this ailment; the understanding of the human mind is absolute, there is no need for mental anguish. I feel purposeless in this world, I consider myself an anomaly for even writing this. A deviation from the normal course of what has been set. In an entirely self-regulating world, where is the room for uncertainty? That word has become a spurious artefact. Never are we uncertain – we know, we understand and above all we have moved on from the ancient time of ambiguity.

I feel like I need someone to console me, other than the chemicals they have produced to do it for me. Love feels empty when you know that it is all just a chemical impulse that can be recreated with shorter steps. It should hurt to know that there is no reason for love in a world full of scientific ordinance, but I am numbed. We are far removed from the great minds of old and their seemingly feeble discoveries; Alexander Graham Bell, Newton and Nikola Tesla. Tesla’s experiments with his coil were exciting for all bystanders, more so for those who did not understand its intricate workings. The lightning he created is a laughable relic in this society. The weather is controlled as easily as a light is switched on, or a breath drawn!

Oh to be a child again! To live in constant wonderment; to feel fledgling fear, happiness and puzzlement at life’s most inconsequential fragments; a breeze through a sun-filled oak, the joy of jumping in rain-puddles or the first time you feel pain. Rain? Unnecessary. Oak trees? Only in virtual space, or drug-induced hallucination nowadays. Feeling physical pain? Not when the entire world is designed without that function. If I were to fall over, the atoms in the fall-zone would rearrange and the ground would soften, only to reharden the second I return to my feet. Feeling down? Take some medicine, or plug-in to the virtual world, where reality feels as real as though you never left – which ironically enough, to me, does not feel like reality at all.

It seems that the only thing that really exists now is choice; you can choose to live or experience anything you want. Exist within your own mind inside a virtual template you have programmed, or one that has been programmed for you. Life is now your absolute choice, down to the finest detail.

The aging process is nullified, antioxidising agents are now absolute, free-radicals a thing of the past. If I wanted to, I could take a pill that will keep me young and healthy for another hundred years. After those hundred years were over I could take another, and I would continue my life for another hundred in exactly the same way I did the former. Or I could choose that I no longer wanted to be part of this chemically subsidised reality. I would die, my body absorbed into the “Working Planet” they created. The second that my heart stops beating I would be consumed by the ‘land’, born anew only to start the process again.

How could human life progress to this stage? Who am I and what is my purpose? If I asked them I would probably receive a long reply that proved the reason for the existence of everything, the reason for human life. All knowledge is free, yet it never serves any purpose to anyone; all that happens is that more questions are created; all of which can be answered – an undying loop.

Who knows how many people truly exist now? We have unlimited space with which to work in; stretching from here all the way into the far reaches of what used to be space. Oxygen is renewable, fuel is entirely renewable – but these are obsolete technologies now; we no longer need fuel, everything is self-regulated and perpetuated.

Is this ultimate evolution? Is this perfection? Nothing progresses any further. When you have reached perfection there is nowhere higher to climb and no further to reach. When you are able to live out your imagination within reality, there is no need for anything more than what already exists. When there are no longer any unanswered questions there is nothing but control; devastating power over of all the elements we once failed to even comprehend.

We are not governed by machines, or people; only ourselves – so here I am trapped in this solipsistic dilemma wondering why I even begun writing. My mind sits here within my head looking at the world in a different way than my eyes are showing it. What is the truth?

This stream of consciousness is of no use, there has been no moment of clarity for me. What perplexes me is how I can be confused when there is nothing that is not known.

Those words are running through my mind again:

“Life can, and never will be able to be articulated by words. Although we have many ways with which to communicate our ideas; we can, and never will be able to explain exactly what life ‘is’.”

This is making me depressed; I might take a pill and plug in to a happier life. That is my choice.

Adieu.

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+ Show Spoiler +

1I
2am
3not
4that
5angry.
6In fact,
7I'm not at
8all upset.
9Though you
10threw rocks,
11screamed and
12yelled at us to
13let all of you to
14pass, we could not
15abandon our duty
16to impose the “peace”
17expected by society,
18even though, to be fair,
19we support completely
20your causes. Contrary to
21what many of you may think,
22no, we are not monsters, some
23unquestioning, mechanical
24tools used by the government
25in order to efficiently quell
26the tiniest sparks of revolt. As
27I said earlier, we do support your
28cause. You think we wouldn't like
29to freely speak our minds? To freely
30voice our grievances as well? Hell,
31I think I speak for all of us when I
32say that I'd much rather have some sense
33of freedom than this eerily artificial
34peace. So please don't hate us when we defend
35ourselves from your assault, but we're more
36or less forced to. And if you think about it,
37we didn't bring out the hoses or tear gas or the
38attack dogs just the megaphones riot shields
39and blank warning shots. I don't blame you though.
40the police you injured also thought the same way.
41but don't worry, no hard feelings...and on the plus side,
42the glow of the fire sure does brighten up the night.

+ Show Spoiler +

Brand names written in bright, red letters: Sapporo Ichiban, Shin Ramyun, and Top Ramen. They line the insides of cupboards, stomachs, and arteries. Ah, instant cup noodles: the soul-cleansing food of students around the world. As I poured the hot water into the Styrofoam cup, I realized that humans are quite like the instant noodles of the Earth. Even though the first organisms were cooked from the Earth’s primordial stew over four billions years ago, humans were made in a mere four hundred thousand years (.01% of the time since the first organisms formed on Earth), which is near-instant on the Earth’s time scale. Funnily enough, modern cup noodles were invented approximately forty years ago – .01% of the time that humans have been around. The evolution of instant noodles has also paralleled the evolution of man; the first instant noodles were made during the Qing Dynasty in China and were similar to man’s ancestors: they were wild, untamed, and perished in a short amount of time. However, once humans began to settle into their simple agricultural lives, they had a massive population boom, much like how instant noodles had a massive boom in sales once they packaged into their simple Styrofoam cups.
I like my noodles firm, so I let them heat for less than a minute. If the noodles cook for too long, they become soggy and absorb the soup, in the same way that humans absorb the nutrients of the Earth. Humanity’s sources of fossil fuels are running low and their forests thin more and more every year. In fact, the concentration of humans in an area is often an indication of pollution; cities with large amounts of humans like Beijing and Los Angeles are frequently covered with a layer of smog. Instant noodles, on the other hand, indicate the relative wealth of an area because they are often seen as a cheap junk food; more sales signify that an area’s economy is likely to be in a recession. Cup noodles are seen as a junk food for a good reason: they are traditionally high in carbohydrates, sodium, and saturated fat content but low in vitamins and minerals. This is because the high-carbohydrate noodles are normally fried before they are packaged with their salt-flavored seasoning packets, sent out to stores, and sold to hungry customers.
My mind was sent into a state of ecstasy when the noodles made contact with my mouth. I could taste the oil, artificial flavoring, and salt silently creep into my arteries as I swallowed. In the same way, humans have quietly put away their pollution in small, little-known areas like the Pacific Ocean and the Atmosphere. In fact, the largest landfill on earth isn’t, ironically, on land at all. It sits in the center of the Pacific Ocean, and is approximately double the size of the Texas. You’d think humans would’ve noticed this enormous pile of trash, but, like instant noodles, humans tend to ignore, well, nearly everything. Noodles don’t even shy away when approached with forks or chopsticks and they quietly step aside for any addition to their soup. Humans have also grown more accepting through the years. Before the 1800s, the ideas that non-whites should be educated and perhaps even allowed the rights of a citizen was considered laughable. In the same way, cheese used to be considered inferior to the ever-popular egg in instant noodles. But instant noodles and humans have changed; they are now far more accepting of new things. Both humans and noodles, too, have spread throughout the world. Cup noodles are sold in nearly every country and humans inhabit all but the most extreme areas of the Earth.
According to a Japanese poll in early 2000, instant noodles were the most important Japanese invention of the 1900s. As I drained off my bowl, I had to agree. The rest of the world would likely agree as well; nearly one hundred billion packages of instant noodles fill empty stomachs every year. If those noodles were to be split evenly among the seven billion humans in the world, each person would get around fourteen servings of noodles a year. Now, it’s obvious, I thought as I tossed my chopsticks into the dishwasher, that both the earth and cup noodles can support a large number of humans. But what will happen when the Earth’s resources are eaten up? I drained the last of the soup and tossed the empty Styrofoam cup into the trash.

+ Show Spoiler +

"Gas mask loosely worn
Face inside cold and lifeless
Lively spirit dead

Grieving friend sits still
Mourning his fallen comrade
But must still move on

Blue skies seem peaceful
Contrasts turmoil down on Earth
For many it's hell

Ashes lain on field
Many soldiers dead today
The war must go on"

+ Show Spoiler +

He was a good man.
He was a lonely person.
He was a shaman.

WoW may be his sin,
A virtual life he lives.
He was a mason.

Sometimes he loads Civ,
But freelancing pays the bill.
He made green-backed divs.

Never liked to chill.
Always preferred solitude.
Painting was his thrill.

Driving a Honda,
Stopping by his urban cave,
He seeks nirvana.

Could have been at rave--
Spots red-head receptionist.
Only glances; not brave.

Feelings are amidst,
The Y chromosome is strong.
Too hard to resist.

Her smooth hair is long.
So is he, but too timid.
Steps quicken; so long.

Slams the wooden door,
Angered by his lack of game,
Sits on the cold floor.

His thoughts are of shame;
thoughts blurred-- sudden urge to paint.
His brush had no fame.

Too harsh to be quaint,
Colors added by his slap.
Curves to make one faint.

Fap, fap, fap, fap, fap.
Fap, fap, fap, fap, fap, fap, fap.
Fap, fap, fap, fap.

+ Show Spoiler +