The Scream
Quiet as a whisper, gas was released from somewhere above me. I couldn?t see it, but I could already feel the wound on my thumb enlarging, the skin peeling off to the bone?
We had assembled a group of the very best members (including me) to creep inside through an unguarded air vent that led inside, to the enemy?s HQ, and steal the new plans. The rest localised us by GPS and led us through while receiving the pictures from our miniature cameras.
The day had started off with a gunshot. One of our patrols had caught the leader?s assistant about to incinerate strategy plans ? which meant they had changed their tactics, and created new strategy plans.
Our nemesis had found out about the assistant?s death promptly ? yet we moved quickly, left no evidence and took plans that would earn us victory. We could allow no one to be taken hostage; they were able to extract DNA to create a colour-less and scent-less DNA oriented chemical, Navalium 69. It only worked on us, as we were the Homo lunos, People of the Night. Half of our genes were identical ? the other half made each one of us unique.
We could always succumb and offer someone as sacrificial protection, if they had less than half of their genes was identical, but I had checked everyone?s DNA ? no one fulfilled the criterion. Only a handful of us were left, after the Krongard revolt, where they used Navalium 69 against us. Our power would be in strategic advantage, not numbers.
We skulked through the dark forest, at nighttime I was told. Near the building, I heard footsteps approaching us, and a gun being loaded. We stopped moving. Three bullets landed near us.
We hurried along quietly, anxious to find the air vent. We found it and the alarm went off, as if someone was shrieking in pain. I couldn?t see it, but I was told the searchlights were turned on. We quickly entered the air vent and we moved towards the interior, gasping for breath.
We split, and I went towards the storage room, where I suspected they might be hidden.
I found the storage room in no time (all the evenings that I had spent listening to descriptions of routes to rooms had certainly paid off).
The breeze from my left indicated a vent, so I turned my camera and headset on to call Arcane, our leader. I broadcasted the view from the vent, and waited for a response.
?We?re down to fifteen, I can?t spare anyone, never mind the plans, you have to succumb.? His voice was constrained, stripped of any emotion.
?Arcane??
?Sacrifice yourself now, your blindness is genetic, I checked your DNA, everyone else is dead or dying, I don?t know what else to-?
The line went dead.
?Move or die!? a sharp voice reached me from behind. Before I could do anything, I was shot with a dart and I felt drowsy and light?
I woke up to a throbbing, searing pain in my thumb. I covered it with my hand, to nurse it. It was warm and hard. I sucked at it, and tasted blood.
They had stripped me of my fingerprint.
We thought that they made DNA-oriented chemicals. They were past that - they will clone me.
So much for taking revenge on my parents? murderers. Here I was, giving up, awaiting Navalium 69, the only way they killed hostages. I could see the torture awaiting me. With the terror of dramatic irony slowly seeping through my body, I thought of the victory cloning would earn; how none of us, apart from me, knew about it; how my friends would die, with surprised faces.
We would be killed by our own brethren.
The power would be in the numbers.
Quiet as a whisper, gas was released from somewhere above me. I couldn?t see it, but I could already feel the wound on my thumb enlarging, the skin peeling off to the bone?
I was trying to restrain myself. I couldn?t give them the satisfaction of torture. Yet I heard a cry. It echoed from the walls, and I realized I couldn?t restrain myself for any longer ? I screamed, and I screamed until the living daylights left my body, releasing my soul, leaving a corpse behind.
White light
I am bathed in light. People all around me are engulfed in flames and I feel it?s my fault. I feel terrible ? the stench, the screams, the light. It?s just too much for one man.
Then I wake up, drenched with sweat. I think about the nightmare that?s been haunting me for years and I don?t know what causes it. I realize that today?s my last meeting with my parole officer ? then I?m truly free. They?ve found a job where I can?t be violent ? caretaker of the botanic gardens. All dressed up, I head out to the streets.
It is a district for the noveau riche ? the only reason I live here is that I inherited my apartment from my deceased immigrant grandparents. Whatever spirit Palmside had faded away along with Ali?s Kebab five years ago. It used to smell of fresh food and the hard work that made this country the global power it is. Now the place smells of decadence. I subconciously head to the botanical gardens ? they remind me of my tropical homeland. My mom would always I?d go to heaven when I was a kid, but the policeman who arrested me said I?d go to hell. I?m not sure where I belong to myself.
Back on the streets, an old homeless man shouts out ?It?s the end of the world! The end of the world!?. Feeling pity for the man, I hand him ten bucks. Wow. I actually did something good for once. Looking at the watch, I see it?s hours before my parole meeting. The only place I can think of now is the botanical gardens. The only place where I feel happy.
The plants here are beautiful. Then I see it. The perfect plant. I can?t fight my feelings ? I just gotta have it. In my moment of perfect happiness, I see him. The man who converted me into the dark side. Turns out he?s the manager now. He says i?ll get the plant for free if I deliver just one tiny thing for him. It?s in a metal suitcase ? I have doubts, but my gambler side wins. Just this one time.
Walking to the destination, a crowd gets out from the bus. Some punk pushes me and the breifcase drops ? the lid falls open and in that fraction of a second I realise it?s a goddamn BOMB. Another idiot steps on it before it?s too late. White light.
Dying is suprisingly painless.Waking up in a steaming place that smells of smoke and brimstone isn?t. It?s like a hangover, wait, maybe i?m just dead drunk and dreaming all of this? A prod from a hooved monster proves me wrong. It?s hell. Belzebub himself talks to me: ?You?re not such a bad man, you know. Maybe old Pete has some space left.?.
Yipee! I escaped from hell! Now if i?m not mistaken, this should be Heaven. All the happy people and scents of lavender suggest this or I?m crazy. Yet the white light is not comforting. Then St.Peter himself speaks to me:?You?re not a saint, you know...I think service in Purgatory will be fit for you?.
I?m in a place which has no smell, no sound.I get an impossible yet satisfying task ? the eternal bonsai tree. I?ve finally found the middle way.
