Scratched

Sun, 09 Aug 2009 18:13:54 +0100

    Faint tickles of liquid milk light splashed down on the beach, the water a shimmering undulating mass of diamonds. The dark sky’s clouds parted as they always had, my success at altering the apocalypse had never succeeded. The military binoculars I had acquired allowed me to see the president even from this distance quite clearly; my heart ached with pain as I listened to the television next to me, the swarm of people in that far away beautiful doom.

    “May I present to you those who have helped us begin to cure our diseases and will help to guide us to the Heavens?” Confidence and delight resounded in the charming voice.

    The foreigners arrived as they always had, appearing all around the star-lit group that waited on the beach. It was three thousand dollars for a ticket to be present at the beach; it was that overwhelming price that had saved me. The clothes they wore seemed somehow better than the polyester suit being worn by one attendant, better than the jean jacket-skirt combo of another, and made even the silk-rayon dress of the President’s sister seemed sub-par. It was as though the polymers used to make the foreigners clothes were advanced beyond anything this world had ever seen or dreamed of.

    “Th-an-k- you M-is-t-er- P-r-es-id-en-t-, an-d- p-l-eas-e l-et- us- n-ow b-r-ing- you t-o th-e H-eav-ens-.” The voice held strange tones, with emphases on the wrong syllables and holding the consonants for what seemed an impossible eternity.

    The President smiled with what had appeared to be a knowing smile, pleased to be able to bring the world a brighter future. He didn’t have time for his face to react as he and those who had paid so much to be there- other world leaders, scientists of great renown, and stars that desired to be seen- they paid more than they ever expected, they paid with their lives.

    There was screaming an enormous weight on my chest and a voice straining to overcome the scream. My hands ached at the wrists, pinned high up above my head, a weight on my hips. I was still witnessing the President’s death, an unending torment for the crime of a failure that truly had nothing to do with a sixteen-year-old boy.

    “It was the dream. Just shut up already.” The voice of my companion echoed loudly over my own screaming.

    The tears continued and I managed to force my mouth closed, choking the scream. I stopped struggling underneath my companion, my vision cleared and I saw his deep-ocean blue eyes narrowed closely to my own. I squirmed a bit under his weight both in a bit of pain and because my body had begun to react to his nearness.

    Seeing I was no longer a potential threat to our safety, the older bark-haired man released me and taking the fun from where he had set it next to me he perched at the lonesome window checking for Scratched.

    “No sign of them.” His normally smooth voice was gravelly from trying to wake me.

    “I couldn’t change it.” Even to me I sounded a lot like a child.

    I sat up, ignoring my body’s desires, he was not interested in being more than someone who watched my back, and though he would put up with my flirtatious nature I knew better than to do so soon after potentially bringing us more danger.

    “It is simply a memory, no indication of our success or failure.” His voice held the tired tones of someone who has had to explain this concept to someone he thought of as child-like for what was likely the thousandth time.

    “You’re right of course.” I responded.

        “I know you wanted to get more supplies today but as things stand we really need to make some adjustments to the house, the last six attacks over the past three days have damaged far too much to leave unattended.” He said as he began to sift through old lumber we had gathered from a recently destroyed building.

    Golden light streaked down from the sky onto the dilapidated buildings surrounding us. Lifting the old military binoculars to my face I saw in the distance on a verdant hill a group of hopeless children and adults, all the more so for their foreign celebration, a holiday now so prominent that only the elders recollect that it did not originate on our world. It was evident by the clothes they wore and the joy-filled expressions on their faces that they were not Masters nor were they Scratched.

    Of those that I watched through my window, it was possible that none would exist and it would be my fault. As I began to memorize their faces for the memorial I might inevitably create I felt the volcanic eruption course through me, in three steps I had the rifle in my hand, bullet nearly in the chamber, preparing to destroy those of the Master-class who had just finished their Scratch-Run by killing the uninfected group on the hill, it was my companion who prevented the demise of one that would have brought an end to our hard work. The closing of the shutters snapped my mind back to thinking.

    The longer we waited and the older I became, the more I acted on instinct and impulse. The thing in youth that had so inspired me to reach beyond our world’s means in thought and knowledge had been slowly withered away by time and the realization that my dream was utterly dead. Even to correct what had happened would not give my dream that breath of life upon hot embers.

    “I am sorry that you are the only person I have found without genetic locks on his abilities- if I had another I might shoot you myself for all the trouble you nearly cause. I would say you’re losing your mind, but twenty years ago when I found you- you were the same way.” He took the rifle from my hands and stared at me, waiting for an expected reaction. “Come and give me a hand, I need you to replace the door, I’ll keep watch.”

    I knew that even if he had a guarantee that it would be safe he would still have me doing the mindless tasks. We were not exactly what anyone could call friends, but I knew that he was worried about me. I wondered if perhaps he was worried that I would not succeed, or worse I would not be able to make the journey.

    The soft pitter-patter of rain drummed lightly down around me as I stood on the ladder replacing some of the paneling on the house. Spring never seemed the same anymore; it used to be wonderful, now the skies held the drab of ashen gray dreamlessness. I wondered where the time had vanished to not recollecting how much work I had done.

unfinished-novels

Scratched