Morning
Robby awoke to find a Dragon, Darth Vader and Michael Jackson staring down at him. He rubbed his eyes and swung his legs out from under the blankets before turning his alarm clock off. Sufficiently awake, he began the ritual of getting ready for school.
In the room next door, Sarah was already half-way through her morning ritual. She was enthroned on plush stool, facing her own reflection in the mirror of an antique dressing table. Her hair was pulled back in a towel turban and her blemishless skin was undergoing the early stages of its daily transformation.
On the drive of the house next door, Frank dropped his bike unevenly at the door of the garage and walked into the kitchen. The morning paper run was done and now he had to make breakfast and get ready before his father got up and his mother came home from work.
One street over Dione stepped out of the car and walked up the drive with her father and into the house. She gave her sports bag to her mother and alighted the stairs to her room and a hot shower. Her muscles throbbed with energy from her swim and she moved with graceful precision. She closed the door of her bedroom firmly behind her.
An entire estate away Cole was waxing his sleek, red Porsche 912 on his parent's drive in full view of the neighbours. He was wearing his letterman jacket too with deliberate pride, shrugging the colar every now and then to make sure everybody knew. Satisfied that he was seen, he retreated to the house where his mother had prepared pancakes.
On the other side of town Peter snuck out of the house early in an endeavour to escape his brothers and sisters. Guiltily he rifled through the pennies he'd lifted from his sister's coat, ignoring the long hours she worked in the constant fight for necessities. Ducking under the fence to the wasteland, he decided to skip the bus that morning and walk the ten blocks to school.
Robby sat on the steps of the porch wringing his hands, on his right sat his sister Sarah who was stoutly ignoring him. He was angry with her, intensely so, and not for any reason he was willing to admit to out loud. To begin with there was the constant warring with their parents that she maintained she did nothing to exacerbate. He hated the fact that when they weren't fighting with each other, each party ranted about the other incessantly. He hated the fact that she'd started an argument this morning quite deliberately in order to incense them into buying her a car. But, most of all, above and beyond everything else, Robby loathed, despised and detested the creature she was dating.
The second he heard the squealing of tyres around the corner, Robby looked up in time to see her eyes brighten. He's coming! He could almost hear her squeak.
The polished red Porsche ground to a halt in front of the drive and Cole Steadman, Varsity champion and warlord of idiots leaned across the sixties leather seats and waved at Sarah. Instantly both siblings got to their feet, but whereas Sarah bounded across the lawn to meet her beau, Robby hung back and lumbered deliberately down the lawn in reserve.
"Yo girl," Cole greeted her inanely. Sarah giggled and Robby nearly flinched at how offensive he really was. He was so wrapped up in his assessment of the lummox that Cole actually noticed. "What are you looking at, turd? What's he looking at me like that for, babe? He looks like he's shit his pants."
Sarah didn't even look at him, she just squeezed Cole's arm and snuggled up against the vibrant purple and yellow jacket he was wearing. The letter C was emblazoned across his chest.
"He probably has, sweetie," she muttered, just low enough for it to sound like she was trying not to be heard, but not low enough for Robby to not hear. Cole burst into peals of raucous laughter and gunned his engine, growling into Sarah's neck, making her giggle even more. She could obviously feel Robby's uncomfortable stare boring into her head as she faked a smile and tried to persuade him to drive off. Cole had other ideas.
"Frank!" He boomed as their next door neighbour appeared at the bottom of his drive. Frank seemed to flinch at the sound of Cole's voice. "When are you going to pluck up the courage and try out, buddy?"
Frank shrugged.
"We could use your legs on the football team. You'd have to bulk out a bit and make an effort to care, but you could be a work in progress." Cole nodded to himself up, sizing Frank up.
"I'll think about it Steadman," Frank replied stoically.
Cole snorted, gunned the engine and screamed off down the road.
Peter rifled through the cards quickly, sizing up which ones were useful and which ones he could swap. Arcturus the Bold – a bit lame, he could potentially be useful as canon fodder. An imp – eeshk, get rid, get rid, get rid. A Mage – valuable, level three too, he mused.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see his sneakers padding softly on the sidewalk. He didn't notice the shadow fall in front of him until he nearly walked into its source.
"Excuse me," he stammered, dropping the cards to the floor. The man stooped down to help him and smirked at the cards. Peter felt his ears begin to burn.
"Role-playing, eh?" the man muttered softly. Peter found his eyes drawn to the man's red leather shoes. Looking up he found the man was strangely dressed throughout. Pin-stripe suit, dark glasses, an umbrella and a portable telephone.
"Sorry," Peter muttered again as he walked away, but the man caught his arm.
"My friend and I were just talking about it. Are there many who enjoy it?"
Peter wrapped his head around the question, "Sorry – I don't quite –"
"Role-playing."
Peter shook his head and grimaced, pushing his glasses up on his nose irritably. The man was making fun of him. "No. It's pretty niche, dude."
The man looked down, disappointed. It was at this point that Peter noticed the portable phone – the receiver seemed to be emitting music, strange lyrical sounds.
The man caught Peter's eye and looked down, "I'm on hold." He said with a shrug. Peter shook his arm loose and the man released him.
"Shame." The man continued, "Role-playing is a dynamic skill." He stopped and examined Peter closer. "Aren't we all playing out our own lives? Don't we act when we lie, hide our feelings? Don't we try and be who we are not?"
Peter took a step back and the man seemed to realise how freaked out he was and let go. Swiftly, Peter turned on his heel and walked away. He tried looking over the cards again but was distracted by what the man had said. He wasn't stupid, he understood what he was trying to get at; the loose Shakespeare reference, the garbled philosophy. Uncomfortably he shrugged off the allusions he seemed to be making about Peter – hiding his family life from his friends, consciously building up a world in which he could escape into.
Dione stepped out of the car a block away from the school. Her father ran neatly around to the trunk, from which he removed her sports bag and handed it to her. She looked at her watch irritably and realised she probably wouldn't have time to run before class.
"Be sure to call us tonight." Her father said earnestly, passing her a portable phone. The thing weighed a ton and she put it into a side compartment before walking off. She looked down at the short, balding man and thanked him in her own way before walking off.
She strode with assured invisibility through the crowds of kids hanging around outside in their little groups. There was the girl going to the Olympics, they thought, assuming her social group was as large as her training timetable. The truth was, she didn't have time for socialising and she liked it that way. Bitchy girls left her alone, broody admirers kept their distance and the teachers doted over her almost as much as her parents. Her life, she liked to think, was like clockwork – an oiled, precise machine with rhythm and value. Dione was happy.
Frank and Robby turned the corner and started walking towards the school, which loomed in the distance. they both naturally understood that if they were seen together in anything other than a neighbourly sense then a rumour would start. Not that there was anything to start a rumour about anyway, but school was a strange beast and friendship interchanged with acquaintancy depending on which sides of its walls you stood.
"My parents can't afford another car." Frank was saying, trying to taper Robby's rant with cooling comments. It didn't work, they just seemed to make him more incensed about Sarah.
Sure, she'd changed. She was moving in a wider circle, she was beautiful and popular, but Robby was talking about her as if she'd changed. He wasn't sure he liked it.
"She started the conversation though. She knew it was going to piss them off and she did it anyway. You can see it in the way she smirks and twirls her hair." Robby kicked a coke can down the sidewalk and into the gutter. Frank coolly leaned down, picked it up and put it in the trash. "I just wish she could see herself – she thinks she's such a princess."
Frank remembered fondly a time when he and Sarah had acted out Snow White in her back yard. Robby had taken it in turns to play the Seven Dwarves but had got bored before the all important final scene. The kiss and the riding off into the sunset.
In this case it had been a peck on the cheek and them riding off down the street on his bike to buy ice-cream, but those moments still glowed within him. The wind in his hair, the dappled sunshine through the trees, her arms around his waist as his legs burned with the effort of pedalling for two.
" – I wish there was a way for her to see herself."
Frank suddenly felt cold and didn't want to talk about Sarah anymore. Robby never seemed to stop, he was so angry and bitter. Sure – Cole Steadman was an ass; sure, Sarah could be a bit of a prima dona – but she was still his sister. Where did all the anger come from?
"Dude – I'll speak to you later yeah? We'll go to the arcade." Frank said kindly before loping off to meet his friends, who were still about fifty yards away. Behind him Robby kicked up some dust and stayed absorbed in his own little world.
Sarah stretched and yawned as the man onstage droned on. She was sitting in assembly – around her the entire year was sitting in the auditorium. On everyone's faces she could see their boredom. It was fairly obvious to her that whoever-he-was was talking to a room full of zombies.
"When my son went missing, it changed my life." He continued, standing on the podium and reaching out with his voice. He was rich and powerful, at least within the city of Pilgrim's Howe and the state limits. "A young man, fresh out of college. His entire life ahead of him. Top of his year in chemistry and physics. An ivy-league man tipped for greatness. I couldn't have been more proud. I grew up in a local neighbourhood, I was never particularly academic and I just worked hard to open my own business. But Richard was going places.
"I was devastated." Eeshk Grandpa, Sarah thought – lay it on thick, why don't you? Although, she thought fleetingly, he was a bit of a silver fox. Tanned, smart, powerful features, if a bit rounded. Who did he remind her of – something from one of Robby's comics… Iron Man? The guy with the goatee and the eyes. Internally embarrassed, she looked around to see if anyone had seen her geek out. "What could have lured him away? For years I thought it was drugs, something scandalous. Maybe he was trying to protect me – I thought, assuming his reasons were noble. At other times I was convinced he'd done something and was too cowardly to face up to it. The truth is – it could have been anything.
"But, I'm not here to talk about Richard. I'm here to talk about the value of education and why these years are so vitally important to you – " And with those words Sarah could feel herself switching off and slipping into a world of plans in her head. She'd planned a speech she was going to give to Tracey Dawkins at recess. The bitch had it coming. Briefly, Sarah envisioned the scene in her head, the hurt way she'd look when it was over, how she'd flinch at every double-layered insult. Then she went over the evening game plan – what she'd say to her parents to make sure they didn't check in on her until it was safe. Then, she'd sneak out and meet up with Cole and his drongo buddies and sneak off to the Carnivale.
It was all perfect, how could it go wrong?
Cole looked down at his watch – it was nearing dinner time and he felt like he'd worked up a decent appetite. Coolly, he pulled off his sweaty shirt and dropped it on the bench in the changing room and pulled his towel from his locker. In the shower room he could hear the water and steam starting, the sound of laughing and cheering. Coach was grinding someone down in the corner for not making an effort.
It was Peter. Cole wasn't surprised, the boy was a weed and a complete waste of space.
After showering he dried himself with the rest of the guys – the ones worth a damn. The dweebs kept to themselves in the corner with their pale, underdeveloped bodies and sickening little habits. Braces, glasses and inhalers made Cole feel physically ill. He found it disturbing that infections and diseases and deviations existed at all. He never got ill – he ate well, worked out, looked after himself. He found it insulting that others didn't.
He scanned around the guys he loosely considered friends. They all had tanned, ripped bodies, white teeth – good hair-cuts. They looked after their god-damned skin, for crying out loud.
Standing off to one side he noticed Frank. A quiet guy. Probably gay or some shit. Cole shuddered at the very thought as he watched the guy dress. Nodding to himself, he stood by his earlier appraisal and thought to ask Coach about getting the guy a try-out. Frank was a fast runner, very good with a javelin – he just never competed, he never tried.
Behind him he heard a cough and the sound sent shivers up his back, making his hair stand on end. Suddenly incensed he spun around to find Peter's skinny, rank little form worming its way under the bench behind him. Before he knew what was happening Cole had gripped him by the towel and yanked it away making Peter bang his head against the bench.
Cole barely heard the laughter that erupted in the changing room. He was furious and he didn't quite understand why. With ease he tore Peter from under the bench by the hair and slammed him into the lockers, his hand gripped tightly around his neck.
He heard himself making a game of it, asking all the token questions. What do you think you're doing, queer? And all that. It all rolled off his tongue with natural confidence. But Cole was looking at the fear in Peter's eyes and found himself disgusted. What followed next was a textbook humiliation that Cole took great satisfaction from enacting.
Naked and sobbing, the Varsity Football Team and their righteous leader left Peter on the cold floor of the changing room while they went in search of lunch.
Wednesday, 18 July 2007
Tuesday, 17 July 2007
Therapy: Part 3
As I lie on the bed, reaching out with my thoughts, I begin to feel it. Like ... a part of the air that's warmer than the surroundings. At first, so subtle, but as I focus, it becomes second nature. Like getting back on a bike – I haven't lost the skill.
The strange thing is, though, that I can't remember learning it. More and more of my memories are coming back to me, but I can remember nothing past my twentieth birthday. Over a third of my lifetime is still locked away.
Now, what does this mean? It feels like ... anxiety. But good anxiety. Maybe that's the wrong word. Hope, that's it. I smile, and as I do so, I can feel the hope give way to relief, and joy. I open my eyes, and look at the masked man beside me.
"I think I did it," I say. "I could feel your emotions."
"Good work," he says. "They're saying you'll be allowed out in a few days, so it's important to ensure that your powers are under control first."
"What about the other thing?" I ask nervously. "The telekinesis thing."
"That should be easier," he tells me. "Your empathic abilities, by all accounts, are milder than your telekinetic abilities. If you reacquired your empathy this quickly, you ought to be in full control in no time. Try it now."
He removes a pencil from his suit and places it on the bedside table. I focus.
I try not to let my mind wander, but once again, I find myself trying to place this man. He calls himself One Thousand And One, and apparently, before the accident, so did I. I knew him, I knew the suit, and ... now I can't. Sometimes, I try to force the memories out, and I sometimes try to sneak up on them. But there's nothing there. No deja vu, no hint that he was ever a part of my life. It worries me sometimes, but whenever he arrives, and seems so warm, and caring ...
The pencil lifts into the air. Immediately, I feel like I've got hold of it, and I manipulate it – spinning it, weaving between the legs of the table, flying over the bed and back underneath it.
One Thousand And One catches it, and replaces it in his pocket.
"See?" he says.
"What happens when I leave?" I ask.
"You'll need regular check-ups," he replies. "But that's the hospital's business. If it's alright with you, I'd like to keep visiting you."
"That'd be fine," I say.
"When we can work out of your flat, we'll have much more freedom. We can start trying to work this out properly."
And that's the other thing. Memory loss isn't particularly convenient when one needs to know how one lost one's memory in the first place.
-10001-
As I enter the flat, I'm suddenly hit by a strange sensation. I immediately begin to remember many things – names, incidents, places ...
I'm told that this is to be expected. In the hospital, only a few familiar faces and stories could help trigger my memory, but in the flat, I'm surrounded by cues and clues; pictures, smells, decorations, magazines. All sorts.
During his second visit to the hospital, One Thousand And One described my flat to me, but I'd imagined it smaller. And messier. I walk slowly through the living area, taking in the atmosphere, and pass into a cosy kitchen. I take a look in the cupboards, spotting many ingredients that I can't imagine using.
I check the bathroom, and then the bedroom, in which I find a neatly-organised filing cabinet. I browse through a couple of the drawers, but once I've found the folder I wanted, and an empty pad of lined paper, I head back into the living room.
-10001-
"This page lists all my relatives," I say. "Mostly complete, but excluding anyone born after nineteen ninety-five. This page lists friends and acquantainces, and currently only includes those who visited me in hospital – including you." One Thousand And One nods. "This page will be a list of everyone who knows me as Grey Matter or, more importantly, Therapy. That'll involve research. Finally, I've drawn up a table of the week, which I'll fill in with my normal schedule – again, research."
"I should have known," said One Thousand And One with a chuckle. "You've got it all planned already. Suppose you won't need my help, will you?"
"Actually, I do," I say. "You're the only one who knows my identity, so you have to help me with everything you know about me. And my memories are coming back now, so you might as well tell me why you're called One Thousand And One in the first place."
"Not yet," he says.
"Why not?" I snap. "What possible reason could you have for keeping that a secret? You've already told me that I knew before the accident. Remind me, and it might jog my memory further."
"That's unlikely-" he starts, but I interrupt.
"I'm a lecturer in psychology," I say. "And I've accumalated an impressive amount of notes on retrograde amnesia, and I reread them all this afternoon. Which makes me the authority, doesn't it?" I grin.
"I suppose you're right," says One Thousand And One. "Alright, then. I'll meet you back here tomorrow."
"What for?"
"A day out," he says. Seeing my frown, he says reassuringly, "As I said, the number itself isn't important. But it's linked to a place, which I think will be a big help to you. Now! Let's fill in some of those pages."
And so, still a little bit put out, I sit down with him, and we fill in my book.
The strange thing is, though, that I can't remember learning it. More and more of my memories are coming back to me, but I can remember nothing past my twentieth birthday. Over a third of my lifetime is still locked away.
Now, what does this mean? It feels like ... anxiety. But good anxiety. Maybe that's the wrong word. Hope, that's it. I smile, and as I do so, I can feel the hope give way to relief, and joy. I open my eyes, and look at the masked man beside me.
"I think I did it," I say. "I could feel your emotions."
"Good work," he says. "They're saying you'll be allowed out in a few days, so it's important to ensure that your powers are under control first."
"What about the other thing?" I ask nervously. "The telekinesis thing."
"That should be easier," he tells me. "Your empathic abilities, by all accounts, are milder than your telekinetic abilities. If you reacquired your empathy this quickly, you ought to be in full control in no time. Try it now."
He removes a pencil from his suit and places it on the bedside table. I focus.
I try not to let my mind wander, but once again, I find myself trying to place this man. He calls himself One Thousand And One, and apparently, before the accident, so did I. I knew him, I knew the suit, and ... now I can't. Sometimes, I try to force the memories out, and I sometimes try to sneak up on them. But there's nothing there. No deja vu, no hint that he was ever a part of my life. It worries me sometimes, but whenever he arrives, and seems so warm, and caring ...
The pencil lifts into the air. Immediately, I feel like I've got hold of it, and I manipulate it – spinning it, weaving between the legs of the table, flying over the bed and back underneath it.
One Thousand And One catches it, and replaces it in his pocket.
"See?" he says.
"What happens when I leave?" I ask.
"You'll need regular check-ups," he replies. "But that's the hospital's business. If it's alright with you, I'd like to keep visiting you."
"That'd be fine," I say.
"When we can work out of your flat, we'll have much more freedom. We can start trying to work this out properly."
And that's the other thing. Memory loss isn't particularly convenient when one needs to know how one lost one's memory in the first place.
-10001-
As I enter the flat, I'm suddenly hit by a strange sensation. I immediately begin to remember many things – names, incidents, places ...
I'm told that this is to be expected. In the hospital, only a few familiar faces and stories could help trigger my memory, but in the flat, I'm surrounded by cues and clues; pictures, smells, decorations, magazines. All sorts.
During his second visit to the hospital, One Thousand And One described my flat to me, but I'd imagined it smaller. And messier. I walk slowly through the living area, taking in the atmosphere, and pass into a cosy kitchen. I take a look in the cupboards, spotting many ingredients that I can't imagine using.
I check the bathroom, and then the bedroom, in which I find a neatly-organised filing cabinet. I browse through a couple of the drawers, but once I've found the folder I wanted, and an empty pad of lined paper, I head back into the living room.
-10001-
"This page lists all my relatives," I say. "Mostly complete, but excluding anyone born after nineteen ninety-five. This page lists friends and acquantainces, and currently only includes those who visited me in hospital – including you." One Thousand And One nods. "This page will be a list of everyone who knows me as Grey Matter or, more importantly, Therapy. That'll involve research. Finally, I've drawn up a table of the week, which I'll fill in with my normal schedule – again, research."
"I should have known," said One Thousand And One with a chuckle. "You've got it all planned already. Suppose you won't need my help, will you?"
"Actually, I do," I say. "You're the only one who knows my identity, so you have to help me with everything you know about me. And my memories are coming back now, so you might as well tell me why you're called One Thousand And One in the first place."
"Not yet," he says.
"Why not?" I snap. "What possible reason could you have for keeping that a secret? You've already told me that I knew before the accident. Remind me, and it might jog my memory further."
"That's unlikely-" he starts, but I interrupt.
"I'm a lecturer in psychology," I say. "And I've accumalated an impressive amount of notes on retrograde amnesia, and I reread them all this afternoon. Which makes me the authority, doesn't it?" I grin.
"I suppose you're right," says One Thousand And One. "Alright, then. I'll meet you back here tomorrow."
"What for?"
"A day out," he says. Seeing my frown, he says reassuringly, "As I said, the number itself isn't important. But it's linked to a place, which I think will be a big help to you. Now! Let's fill in some of those pages."
And so, still a little bit put out, I sit down with him, and we fill in my book.
Monday, 16 July 2007
Defence Mechanism
It had not been a happy childhood for Peter. He could hardly remember his mother; she'd passed away when he was six years old. His father – already a heavy drinker – sank deeper and deeper into the bottle in his grief. Peter learned to take care of himself early on – a necessity.
His home life became desperately lonely. His father expected him to complete all household chores, and barely spoke a word unless he was barking orders. Embarassed of his home life, Peter never brought friends to the house, and rarely spent time anywhere else, apart from school.
As he got older, Peter developed a greater understanding of the world. At the age of eleven, he told a close friend of his home life, confiding his secrets. The friend had told him that there were people who could take his father away. He'd meant it as a suggestion – a way for Peter to get out of the situation. Instead, Peter became fiercely protective of his father, and never again admitted that there was anything wrong.
At the age of fourteen, his father took him to a pub for the first time. He pulled some strings with the landlord, and Peter was allowed into the back room, where they kept the darts board and pool table. Something to keep him quiet while his father had a few pints.
Even on that first night, Peter had to drag his father home. And, that night, his father hit him for the first time.
A few years later, Peter developed a surprising aptitude for sports – particularly the long jump. He joined the school's athletics team, and for the first time, he had a coping mechanism.
Years later, he studied psychology, and learned of three major coping strategies, or ego defences as they were known. Firstly, regression – channeling an earlier stage of development. Peter had never dared to throw a tantrum. Secondly, rationalisation, and Peter acknowledged that he'd probably been doing this for years. Reasoning that his situation wasn't too bad. Now, he took to the third ego defence – passive aggression. All his frustration, all his retained energy, he used to practice. Later, he learned that many people at this time developed unusual skills overnight, but few of them nursed these skills, and trained further.
Later still, he realised that these examples of ego defences were greatly simplified, and that he'd also made use of compensation, denial, intellectualisation, dissociation and even introjection. It was at this stage that Peter decided that psychology was too frightening for his tastes.
Then, at the age of seventeen, as Peter was getting changed, his coach saw the bruises. There had been a conversation, and Peter hadn't liked it. The coach had done his best, tried reasoning and suggesting things, but Peter didn't want to do a thing.
And so, things continued as they were. He preferred to keep quiet, not wanting to draw attention to himself.
He chose not to attend university, instead taking a small office job in the neighbourhood. He stopped attending his father's weekly visits to the pub, but didn't move out of the house.
One night, at the age of nineteen, Peter returned home from work to find that his father had died of liver failure. Shortly afterwards, Peter became the superhero known as Lunar Mist.
Even then, he never spoke about his father.
-10001-
The new alien suddenly ran for the empty space in the middle of the group. Garnoff, the alien interpretor, ran for him as the alien guards shouted and readied their weapons. The girl accompanying the alien seemed doubtful, and ran after him. A struggle followed, and the girl, Garnoff and the alien prince all clambered into the ship.
The ship suddenly took off, and the guards ran away, presumably headed for their own ships.
This left Zoe with her sister, Ffion, and the rest of the kids – Liz, Dylan and Karen.
"What do we do?" asked Karen softly.
"I think our involvement with the aliens is over," predicted Liz. "I mean, they're in the ships now. We must be safe."
Karen was nodding furiously. "Yes. You're right."
"We'll need to talk to someone," said Zoe decisively. "Between you, you've probably witnessed a tonne of important stuff. We'll have to talk to police officers or something." She looked at their faces, and smiled. "You all alright?"
There were sighs of relief all round.
"Tell you what," said Zoe. "Let's find someone now, soon as we can, and then we'll all go for ice cream.
-10001-
Lunar Mist jumped from building to building, his mobile phone in his hand. He'd received a text from a friend, and had to hurry.
He jumped onto a factory wall, and suddenly saw the problem – an enormous reptilian creature, near the University. Or at least, what was left of it.
And underneath was a figure in the remains of an orange costume, being struck by the creature.
Lunar Mist jumped at the creature.
"Leave her alone!" he shouted.
He landed on the creture, and spotted that it had been partially tied up. He grabbed the loose end of the rope, and jumped as far as he could. The momentum pulled at the creature's neck, and Lunar Mist jumped to the ground. With the beast disorientated, he was able to jump underneath it, trying to weave the rope between its legs.
Suddenly, the rope snapped at the top, and Lunar Mist was left holding the other end as the creature dashed forwards. Lunar Mist jumped towards it, hoping to think of some way of stopping the monster now that it was free from the-
And then there was no monster at all.
No sign of it remained. Lunar Mist looked in all directions, but only the damage remained as evidence that it had ever been there at all. Even Sunset had vanished.
-10001-
Peter entered the ice cream parlour, and heard a familiar voice.
"Hey, Pete!"
It was Zoe, who worked in his office, with a group of kids. He waved, and Zoe called him over.
"Meeting someone?" she asked.
"No," said Peter. "Just needed to cool down."
"Come sit with us, then!" she said. Under her breath, she added, "Otherwise I'm the uncool grown-up babysitting the cool kids."
Peter sat down.
"I was at the school," said Zoe. "With the aliens! We got to see them close up and everything!"
"Wow," said Peter.
"And then they left, and we got to see the prince's spaceship. Did you know about the prince? He's a fugitive here on Earth. It was incredible."
"Sounds amazing."
"Anyway, after they left, we were just there, hanging around," said Zoe. "Felt a bit pointless, really, like we were all geared up for this ... and then they vanished."
"Know the feeling," said Peter, smiling. He saw the kids talking excitedly. "So, were they all involved in this alien thing?"
"They were," said Zoe. "Had to get their parents in to talk to the police and everything, but they agreed to let them come for an ice cream. I convinced them that, whatever happens, these kids made history, so we should make it the best day ever."
-10001-
Afterwards, Karen and Liz returned home, but Dylan and Peter walked back to Zoe's house with her and Ffion.
"I need to phone my parents," said Dylan. "Beg a lift."
Ffion led him into the living room, while Peter and Zoe went to the kitchen.
"Cup of tea?" asked Zoe, putting the kettle on.
"Please," smiled Peter.
"What a bonkers day," said Zoe. "Wow, I'm buzzing with energy."
"So I see," said Peter.
"Maybe caffeine's not the wisest idea," she said thoughtfully. "But I'll think about that once I've had my tea."
"I enjoyed today," said Peter clumsily.
"So did I," said Zoe with a grin. "We should get ice cream more often."
"Maybe after work sometimes." Peter was avoiding eye contact.
"Yeah," said Zoe. "Or on our lunch breaks or something."
"What do you like for lunch?" asked Peter, trying to sound breezy.
"Oh, I'll eat anything," said Zoe. "Y'know. Except fast food."
"Me too!"
"We should make that a thing," said Zoe. "Try different places every day and stuff."
"That'd be cool."
Peter smiled to himself. The kettle began to whistle.
"So," said Peter as Zoe made the tea. "Is it just you and Ffion living here?"
"That's right," said Zoe. "My dad got a job out of town, so he and my mum moved there. Ffion spends weekends with them, but lives here with me during the week, so she wouldn't have to move schools."
"That's nice," said Peter. "The variety, I mean."
"How about you?" asked Zoe. "Living with parents? On your own?"
"On my own, yes," said Peter. "My parents died."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Zoe. "Do you want to not talk about it?"
"Maybe I would," said Peter. "When we have lunch or something." He smiled. "Milk and half a sugar, please."
-10001-
What am I doing? I'm putting the phone down first. It's weird, holding a phone when there's nobody on the other end. Good God, I've been holding it too long, and now it's weird.
Right, it's down. I should be talking. Because now we're both here, not talking. That's not normal.
Look at her. She giggled! Is that a good giggle? Probably. There was no snort. No snort's a good thing. Say something.
"Wow. Aliens, eh?"
Deep, Dylan. We're onto a winner here.
"I know!"
Well. Good thing she's easily pleased. Actually, she's probably too nice to be honest with you. Come on, say something else, you've gone quiet again.
"Never thought I'd see real aliens."
As opposed to all those fake aliens? You retard.
"I loved their suits. They were really exciting!"
Quickly, answer, don't stop – get a conversation going.
"I liked their guns."
What the crap? Think things through! You just told the girl of your dreams that you liked alien implements of death.
"They scared me."
See? You've scared her. Say something gentle.
"I liked the translator one. I liked his accent."
That's ... something, certainly. Better than saying you like guns.
"It's so strange, isn't it? Never thought we'd get to hear aliens speaking English."
"Or Dutch!"
Was that meant to be funny? Did you seriously think- She laughed! She laughed at your joke! Come on, now. Smile. Not that much! There we go. Don't show too much gum.
"I enjoyed today."
Well, now! That's not too bad. Or is it? Is that a cliché? That must have come from a film. Or maybe it comes from ALL the films!
"Me too."
She's still smiling. Do something romantic. NO! STOP! Do NOT touch her arm! Not under any circumstances. She'll stare at it until you move it and then kick you out of her house, and then when your mum comes, you'll have to explain to her why you're sitting on the pavement. Be sweet. Be ... self-mocking. Is that a word? Good God, don't start thinking about vocabulary.
"Ffion."
"Yes?"
"You don't want to go out with me, do you?"
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!
"Um!"
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH!
"Sorry, don't answer that."
You idiot you idiot you idiot you idiot you idiot you idiot you idiot you idiot ...
"Was that a joke?"
Why is her voice so quiet? Is she threatening you? No, surely not, that'd be weird. She's giving you a way out, though – you can tell her it's a joke.
"Erm ..."
No wait! Don't tell her it's a joke, she'll think you were making fun of her.
"Dylan, I'd love to go out with you."
What.
"I really like you, actually."
What!
"I mean, I think you're really cool, and I sort-of, wait, sorry, ignore me. I'll shut up. Sorry. Yes. Please. Yes, I want to go out with you. If you still want to, what with me babbling and all. I'll stop."
WHAT!
His home life became desperately lonely. His father expected him to complete all household chores, and barely spoke a word unless he was barking orders. Embarassed of his home life, Peter never brought friends to the house, and rarely spent time anywhere else, apart from school.
As he got older, Peter developed a greater understanding of the world. At the age of eleven, he told a close friend of his home life, confiding his secrets. The friend had told him that there were people who could take his father away. He'd meant it as a suggestion – a way for Peter to get out of the situation. Instead, Peter became fiercely protective of his father, and never again admitted that there was anything wrong.
At the age of fourteen, his father took him to a pub for the first time. He pulled some strings with the landlord, and Peter was allowed into the back room, where they kept the darts board and pool table. Something to keep him quiet while his father had a few pints.
Even on that first night, Peter had to drag his father home. And, that night, his father hit him for the first time.
A few years later, Peter developed a surprising aptitude for sports – particularly the long jump. He joined the school's athletics team, and for the first time, he had a coping mechanism.
Years later, he studied psychology, and learned of three major coping strategies, or ego defences as they were known. Firstly, regression – channeling an earlier stage of development. Peter had never dared to throw a tantrum. Secondly, rationalisation, and Peter acknowledged that he'd probably been doing this for years. Reasoning that his situation wasn't too bad. Now, he took to the third ego defence – passive aggression. All his frustration, all his retained energy, he used to practice. Later, he learned that many people at this time developed unusual skills overnight, but few of them nursed these skills, and trained further.
Later still, he realised that these examples of ego defences were greatly simplified, and that he'd also made use of compensation, denial, intellectualisation, dissociation and even introjection. It was at this stage that Peter decided that psychology was too frightening for his tastes.
Then, at the age of seventeen, as Peter was getting changed, his coach saw the bruises. There had been a conversation, and Peter hadn't liked it. The coach had done his best, tried reasoning and suggesting things, but Peter didn't want to do a thing.
And so, things continued as they were. He preferred to keep quiet, not wanting to draw attention to himself.
He chose not to attend university, instead taking a small office job in the neighbourhood. He stopped attending his father's weekly visits to the pub, but didn't move out of the house.
One night, at the age of nineteen, Peter returned home from work to find that his father had died of liver failure. Shortly afterwards, Peter became the superhero known as Lunar Mist.
Even then, he never spoke about his father.
-10001-
The new alien suddenly ran for the empty space in the middle of the group. Garnoff, the alien interpretor, ran for him as the alien guards shouted and readied their weapons. The girl accompanying the alien seemed doubtful, and ran after him. A struggle followed, and the girl, Garnoff and the alien prince all clambered into the ship.
The ship suddenly took off, and the guards ran away, presumably headed for their own ships.
This left Zoe with her sister, Ffion, and the rest of the kids – Liz, Dylan and Karen.
"What do we do?" asked Karen softly.
"I think our involvement with the aliens is over," predicted Liz. "I mean, they're in the ships now. We must be safe."
Karen was nodding furiously. "Yes. You're right."
"We'll need to talk to someone," said Zoe decisively. "Between you, you've probably witnessed a tonne of important stuff. We'll have to talk to police officers or something." She looked at their faces, and smiled. "You all alright?"
There were sighs of relief all round.
"Tell you what," said Zoe. "Let's find someone now, soon as we can, and then we'll all go for ice cream.
-10001-
Lunar Mist jumped from building to building, his mobile phone in his hand. He'd received a text from a friend, and had to hurry.
He jumped onto a factory wall, and suddenly saw the problem – an enormous reptilian creature, near the University. Or at least, what was left of it.
And underneath was a figure in the remains of an orange costume, being struck by the creature.
Lunar Mist jumped at the creature.
"Leave her alone!" he shouted.
He landed on the creture, and spotted that it had been partially tied up. He grabbed the loose end of the rope, and jumped as far as he could. The momentum pulled at the creature's neck, and Lunar Mist jumped to the ground. With the beast disorientated, he was able to jump underneath it, trying to weave the rope between its legs.
Suddenly, the rope snapped at the top, and Lunar Mist was left holding the other end as the creature dashed forwards. Lunar Mist jumped towards it, hoping to think of some way of stopping the monster now that it was free from the-
And then there was no monster at all.
No sign of it remained. Lunar Mist looked in all directions, but only the damage remained as evidence that it had ever been there at all. Even Sunset had vanished.
-10001-
Peter entered the ice cream parlour, and heard a familiar voice.
"Hey, Pete!"
It was Zoe, who worked in his office, with a group of kids. He waved, and Zoe called him over.
"Meeting someone?" she asked.
"No," said Peter. "Just needed to cool down."
"Come sit with us, then!" she said. Under her breath, she added, "Otherwise I'm the uncool grown-up babysitting the cool kids."
Peter sat down.
"I was at the school," said Zoe. "With the aliens! We got to see them close up and everything!"
"Wow," said Peter.
"And then they left, and we got to see the prince's spaceship. Did you know about the prince? He's a fugitive here on Earth. It was incredible."
"Sounds amazing."
"Anyway, after they left, we were just there, hanging around," said Zoe. "Felt a bit pointless, really, like we were all geared up for this ... and then they vanished."
"Know the feeling," said Peter, smiling. He saw the kids talking excitedly. "So, were they all involved in this alien thing?"
"They were," said Zoe. "Had to get their parents in to talk to the police and everything, but they agreed to let them come for an ice cream. I convinced them that, whatever happens, these kids made history, so we should make it the best day ever."
-10001-
Afterwards, Karen and Liz returned home, but Dylan and Peter walked back to Zoe's house with her and Ffion.
"I need to phone my parents," said Dylan. "Beg a lift."
Ffion led him into the living room, while Peter and Zoe went to the kitchen.
"Cup of tea?" asked Zoe, putting the kettle on.
"Please," smiled Peter.
"What a bonkers day," said Zoe. "Wow, I'm buzzing with energy."
"So I see," said Peter.
"Maybe caffeine's not the wisest idea," she said thoughtfully. "But I'll think about that once I've had my tea."
"I enjoyed today," said Peter clumsily.
"So did I," said Zoe with a grin. "We should get ice cream more often."
"Maybe after work sometimes." Peter was avoiding eye contact.
"Yeah," said Zoe. "Or on our lunch breaks or something."
"What do you like for lunch?" asked Peter, trying to sound breezy.
"Oh, I'll eat anything," said Zoe. "Y'know. Except fast food."
"Me too!"
"We should make that a thing," said Zoe. "Try different places every day and stuff."
"That'd be cool."
Peter smiled to himself. The kettle began to whistle.
"So," said Peter as Zoe made the tea. "Is it just you and Ffion living here?"
"That's right," said Zoe. "My dad got a job out of town, so he and my mum moved there. Ffion spends weekends with them, but lives here with me during the week, so she wouldn't have to move schools."
"That's nice," said Peter. "The variety, I mean."
"How about you?" asked Zoe. "Living with parents? On your own?"
"On my own, yes," said Peter. "My parents died."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Zoe. "Do you want to not talk about it?"
"Maybe I would," said Peter. "When we have lunch or something." He smiled. "Milk and half a sugar, please."
-10001-
What am I doing? I'm putting the phone down first. It's weird, holding a phone when there's nobody on the other end. Good God, I've been holding it too long, and now it's weird.
Right, it's down. I should be talking. Because now we're both here, not talking. That's not normal.
Look at her. She giggled! Is that a good giggle? Probably. There was no snort. No snort's a good thing. Say something.
"Wow. Aliens, eh?"
Deep, Dylan. We're onto a winner here.
"I know!"
Well. Good thing she's easily pleased. Actually, she's probably too nice to be honest with you. Come on, say something else, you've gone quiet again.
"Never thought I'd see real aliens."
As opposed to all those fake aliens? You retard.
"I loved their suits. They were really exciting!"
Quickly, answer, don't stop – get a conversation going.
"I liked their guns."
What the crap? Think things through! You just told the girl of your dreams that you liked alien implements of death.
"They scared me."
See? You've scared her. Say something gentle.
"I liked the translator one. I liked his accent."
That's ... something, certainly. Better than saying you like guns.
"It's so strange, isn't it? Never thought we'd get to hear aliens speaking English."
"Or Dutch!"
Was that meant to be funny? Did you seriously think- She laughed! She laughed at your joke! Come on, now. Smile. Not that much! There we go. Don't show too much gum.
"I enjoyed today."
Well, now! That's not too bad. Or is it? Is that a cliché? That must have come from a film. Or maybe it comes from ALL the films!
"Me too."
She's still smiling. Do something romantic. NO! STOP! Do NOT touch her arm! Not under any circumstances. She'll stare at it until you move it and then kick you out of her house, and then when your mum comes, you'll have to explain to her why you're sitting on the pavement. Be sweet. Be ... self-mocking. Is that a word? Good God, don't start thinking about vocabulary.
"Ffion."
"Yes?"
"You don't want to go out with me, do you?"
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!
"Um!"
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH!
"Sorry, don't answer that."
You idiot you idiot you idiot you idiot you idiot you idiot you idiot you idiot ...
"Was that a joke?"
Why is her voice so quiet? Is she threatening you? No, surely not, that'd be weird. She's giving you a way out, though – you can tell her it's a joke.
"Erm ..."
No wait! Don't tell her it's a joke, she'll think you were making fun of her.
"Dylan, I'd love to go out with you."
What.
"I really like you, actually."
What!
"I mean, I think you're really cool, and I sort-of, wait, sorry, ignore me. I'll shut up. Sorry. Yes. Please. Yes, I want to go out with you. If you still want to, what with me babbling and all. I'll stop."
WHAT!
Sunday, 8 July 2007
ASBO-Boy - Disassembled: Part 2
Squeeze found Bark down by a small stream that ran its way through the trees near the walls of the University, though he very nearly missed him. When Bark moved the extent of his transformation became clear. Leaves fell from his back as he shifted to watch as Sqeeze approached, it sounded like a breeze but the air was calm, devoid of movement, stagnant and waiting.
"Say what you need to say," Bark muttered.
Squeeze coughed. "I've just read something disturbing…" He paused, waiting vainly for a sign of interest. When he didn't get one, he carried on, "Gwen left me, us, a note. It says that she expected things to go wrong – well, she didn't so much expect as she was prepared for every eventuality, which included planning for my screwing things up. Anyway, it says she's gone to Cefn Coed to hack into their computers to try and find a way of helping Flicker."
Bark nodded.
"Yeah. Well, it was one of those 'If you haven't heard from me by such and such a time then I'm probably…'," Squeeze cleared his throat again, "Well, you know."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to break into Cefn Coed and rescue her."
Bark said nothing, so Squeeze felt compelled to say something.
"You know me… why start one fire when you can start…" He didn't finish the sentence, the look from Bark quelled it in his throat.
"I'm not going with you."
Squeeze nodded. "I thought you might say that."
"Arc-Light wont go either."
"I know."
An edgy silence fell between them like a blackout curtain. Squeeze wondered back on the months inside the Sandfields facility, how Bark had looked after him and followed him when his mind had bent to the power of the authorities. As if reading his thoughts Bark spoke up, "The trees burned, Mike. They all burned along with the houses and the people. My people. Make it right. Get Gwen, help Flicker, do whatever – just make it right."
Squeeze recoiled slightly at the words, but they were what he needed. With a nod he left the small glade and trudged his way back up the hill to where Vue was waiting.
"Told you so," Vue said.
"I had to ask."
Vue nodded and looked at the towering cloud of smoke pluming out of the belly of the Sandfields. Squeeze was wringing his hands and staring up at Core. "Do you think she's up to the task?"
"Of course," Vue smiled, "My girl's ready for anything."
"You guys were together before Dyfatty?" Squeeze asked, trying to steer things away from the cloud that loomed behind him, his pillar of guilt.
"Oh yes. Life can get pretty cramped and hot in that tower. People become close."
"Do you love her?"
"Stupid question," Vue chuckled, "Of course I do. I wouldn't have spent every waking hour trying to figure out a way of getting her back if I didn't. You and him breaking out of that helicopter was the best thing that ever happened to me, up until getting her back, that is."
"Maybe there'll be a way of bringing her back properly at Cefn Coed."
"There might be a lot of things there," Vue replied coldly, then immediately cheered up. "Is there anybody you care about, let's say, more than the usual?"
"Love, you mean?"
Vue replied with a look and Squeeze coughed, "I'm too young for love."
Vue started to laugh, "That'll be a yes then." With a flash he was standing on Core's back looking down at Squeeze and laughing. Squeeze felt his colar become unbearably hot as he climbed up Core's lower back, all the way to her shoulders. When he was standing next to Vue, Squeeze found he couldn't quite make his eye. Vue smiled, "I remember when my power first emerged, I launched myself across the street and ended up in a tree. It was scary. When I met Core, it felt almost the same – like something had been turned on that I'd never known was there. Some impossible things can be like breathing or walking, they're so natural that you don't know they're happening. Teleporting. Stretching your body like an elastic band. Meeting someone and just knowing they're something more."
From this vantage they could see a lot of the city beneath them. Squeeze didn't say anything, he just stared off into the middle-distance and tried not to think about what came next. "You know what," Vue said, his mind changing gear, "It's probably about time I told you about Dyfatty."
"Say what you need to say," Bark muttered.
Squeeze coughed. "I've just read something disturbing…" He paused, waiting vainly for a sign of interest. When he didn't get one, he carried on, "Gwen left me, us, a note. It says that she expected things to go wrong – well, she didn't so much expect as she was prepared for every eventuality, which included planning for my screwing things up. Anyway, it says she's gone to Cefn Coed to hack into their computers to try and find a way of helping Flicker."
Bark nodded.
"Yeah. Well, it was one of those 'If you haven't heard from me by such and such a time then I'm probably…'," Squeeze cleared his throat again, "Well, you know."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to break into Cefn Coed and rescue her."
Bark said nothing, so Squeeze felt compelled to say something.
"You know me… why start one fire when you can start…" He didn't finish the sentence, the look from Bark quelled it in his throat.
"I'm not going with you."
Squeeze nodded. "I thought you might say that."
"Arc-Light wont go either."
"I know."
An edgy silence fell between them like a blackout curtain. Squeeze wondered back on the months inside the Sandfields facility, how Bark had looked after him and followed him when his mind had bent to the power of the authorities. As if reading his thoughts Bark spoke up, "The trees burned, Mike. They all burned along with the houses and the people. My people. Make it right. Get Gwen, help Flicker, do whatever – just make it right."
Squeeze recoiled slightly at the words, but they were what he needed. With a nod he left the small glade and trudged his way back up the hill to where Vue was waiting.
"Told you so," Vue said.
"I had to ask."
Vue nodded and looked at the towering cloud of smoke pluming out of the belly of the Sandfields. Squeeze was wringing his hands and staring up at Core. "Do you think she's up to the task?"
"Of course," Vue smiled, "My girl's ready for anything."
"You guys were together before Dyfatty?" Squeeze asked, trying to steer things away from the cloud that loomed behind him, his pillar of guilt.
"Oh yes. Life can get pretty cramped and hot in that tower. People become close."
"Do you love her?"
"Stupid question," Vue chuckled, "Of course I do. I wouldn't have spent every waking hour trying to figure out a way of getting her back if I didn't. You and him breaking out of that helicopter was the best thing that ever happened to me, up until getting her back, that is."
"Maybe there'll be a way of bringing her back properly at Cefn Coed."
"There might be a lot of things there," Vue replied coldly, then immediately cheered up. "Is there anybody you care about, let's say, more than the usual?"
"Love, you mean?"
Vue replied with a look and Squeeze coughed, "I'm too young for love."
Vue started to laugh, "That'll be a yes then." With a flash he was standing on Core's back looking down at Squeeze and laughing. Squeeze felt his colar become unbearably hot as he climbed up Core's lower back, all the way to her shoulders. When he was standing next to Vue, Squeeze found he couldn't quite make his eye. Vue smiled, "I remember when my power first emerged, I launched myself across the street and ended up in a tree. It was scary. When I met Core, it felt almost the same – like something had been turned on that I'd never known was there. Some impossible things can be like breathing or walking, they're so natural that you don't know they're happening. Teleporting. Stretching your body like an elastic band. Meeting someone and just knowing they're something more."
From this vantage they could see a lot of the city beneath them. Squeeze didn't say anything, he just stared off into the middle-distance and tried not to think about what came next. "You know what," Vue said, his mind changing gear, "It's probably about time I told you about Dyfatty."
Monday, 2 July 2007
ASBO-Boy - The Dreams
"They all dream of the sea." She said, holding his hand. Omen looked down from the wall and surveyed the bay as it swept out before them. Dotted across the surface of the ever-lapping waves lay the star shaped forms of Others, lying face upwards. Their eyes were closed.
"Are they dead?" Omen asked with a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, but when she looked at him she shook her head, bewildered.
"They are dreaming." She replied, simply. Without a second glance she stepped off the wall and guided him down to the water, floating effortlessly in the air. Beneath them a boy not much older than Omen bobbed on the water. "There are things you must see." Softly, she leaned down and touched the boy on the forehead.
The world turned to white and shifted around them until they were standing in a park. Brynmill Park. There was no one around apart from a couple sitting under a tree a short distance away. It was the boy, lying on a blanket while a girl sat next to him. "There are people you will need to help before the end. You must know them, in order to do this."
A strange feeling crept through Omen's skin, it was warm and happy. It reminded him of Spout. "Do I know her?" He asked, feeling hot and uncomfortable. Her face was warm and soft, but something about it scared him.
"She is the Elemental known as Siren." The girl said. "He is called Squeeze." She looked at Omen squarely and continued, "You will need to find him. He is one of the catalysts." Omen nodded as if he understood what she was talking about. With a gesture the world faded away again and they were standing on the water looking down at the floating Others. With purpose she led him over to another sleeping form, a girl this time, smaller and probably younger than he was. In an instant they were standing on a hillside overlooking Swansea. The sun was beating down on them and the air was warm. Long grass came up to their waists as they watched the girl leading a Pony down the hillside towards a crooked tree. "Where are we?"
"We are with Malady."
"That's not what I mean – what is this place? I feel the same as I did in the last place." Omen replied, feeling uneasy but finding himself unable to stop smiling.
"This is the Idyll." She explained. "Or, at least that's what I call it. Everyone has a place like this locked away in their heads. It's the place where the most perfect fantasies are allowed to exist, pure and unhindered by reality or possibility. Here, anything can happen."
Omen couldn't help smiling, the feeling the place exuded was infectious. He felt like a tresspasser.
"What if you see something you don't want to?" He asked her, averting his eyes.
She looked away from a moment, "That's always a possibility. But here, invariably there is goodness, however small. I believe that this place must exist even in the most evil people." It sounded uncomfortably as if she was trying to convince herself.
Omen looked away to the girl and the pony. They'd reached the tree. Sitting under the branches against a low stone wall was Siren again. Omen looked at his companion, but she was lost to him. He was forced to watch as Siren accepted the reigns of the pony and stroked his muzzle. Behind him he felt the wind change and shadows passed over the tall grass. He turned and saw figures walking down the hillside, bowed and swaying, the ill and the damned. Malady turned to them and smiled with welcoming arms.
The world shimmered around them and Omen felt his feet touch the cold water of the sea. The girl pulled his hand and he found himself being dragged towards the Marina. Above them the moon's light cast everything in a silvery glow. Space and time blurred into one, distance meant nothing here. They were soon approaching the quayside – in the distance he saw the men dragging Spout's flailing body from the water. His feet treaded carefully between the drowned simulacra in the water. The girl smiled at him benignly as her dopplegangers stared off into the abyss.
"This is me." She said pointing at the girl in the shadows. A woman had her arms wrapped around the girl's neck, they were hiding from the beasts on the far side. "They lied to us." She finished.
"Omen! Wake up!" Came a voice from beyond, breaking into his mind like a knife.
The girl's head shifted. She looked faraway, then concerned. "Something has changed in the waking world. It has begun. Find Squeeze, find Malady. You will know what to do." Omen looked down at the girl.
"This is you…" he mused, "This is actually you. this is your dream. Am I right?"
"In a way. I walk in dreams."
"What's your name?" He demanded quickly.
"Flicker."
"Will I see you again?" He demanded urgently.
"Not unless I am changed. I live only in dreams now, my waking self is lost to me. You may find my body. Say hello for me." She nodded sadly, fading into darkness.
When Omen opened his eyes he saw Spout and Swarm leaning in over him. "Wake up buddy. You need to see this." He felt himself dragged out of bed and into the light. There was smoke, the sound of crying and thousands of people filling the site. In the distance, he saw the Sandfields burning.
"Are they dead?" Omen asked with a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, but when she looked at him she shook her head, bewildered.
"They are dreaming." She replied, simply. Without a second glance she stepped off the wall and guided him down to the water, floating effortlessly in the air. Beneath them a boy not much older than Omen bobbed on the water. "There are things you must see." Softly, she leaned down and touched the boy on the forehead.
The world turned to white and shifted around them until they were standing in a park. Brynmill Park. There was no one around apart from a couple sitting under a tree a short distance away. It was the boy, lying on a blanket while a girl sat next to him. "There are people you will need to help before the end. You must know them, in order to do this."
A strange feeling crept through Omen's skin, it was warm and happy. It reminded him of Spout. "Do I know her?" He asked, feeling hot and uncomfortable. Her face was warm and soft, but something about it scared him.
"She is the Elemental known as Siren." The girl said. "He is called Squeeze." She looked at Omen squarely and continued, "You will need to find him. He is one of the catalysts." Omen nodded as if he understood what she was talking about. With a gesture the world faded away again and they were standing on the water looking down at the floating Others. With purpose she led him over to another sleeping form, a girl this time, smaller and probably younger than he was. In an instant they were standing on a hillside overlooking Swansea. The sun was beating down on them and the air was warm. Long grass came up to their waists as they watched the girl leading a Pony down the hillside towards a crooked tree. "Where are we?"
"We are with Malady."
"That's not what I mean – what is this place? I feel the same as I did in the last place." Omen replied, feeling uneasy but finding himself unable to stop smiling.
"This is the Idyll." She explained. "Or, at least that's what I call it. Everyone has a place like this locked away in their heads. It's the place where the most perfect fantasies are allowed to exist, pure and unhindered by reality or possibility. Here, anything can happen."
Omen couldn't help smiling, the feeling the place exuded was infectious. He felt like a tresspasser.
"What if you see something you don't want to?" He asked her, averting his eyes.
She looked away from a moment, "That's always a possibility. But here, invariably there is goodness, however small. I believe that this place must exist even in the most evil people." It sounded uncomfortably as if she was trying to convince herself.
Omen looked away to the girl and the pony. They'd reached the tree. Sitting under the branches against a low stone wall was Siren again. Omen looked at his companion, but she was lost to him. He was forced to watch as Siren accepted the reigns of the pony and stroked his muzzle. Behind him he felt the wind change and shadows passed over the tall grass. He turned and saw figures walking down the hillside, bowed and swaying, the ill and the damned. Malady turned to them and smiled with welcoming arms.
The world shimmered around them and Omen felt his feet touch the cold water of the sea. The girl pulled his hand and he found himself being dragged towards the Marina. Above them the moon's light cast everything in a silvery glow. Space and time blurred into one, distance meant nothing here. They were soon approaching the quayside – in the distance he saw the men dragging Spout's flailing body from the water. His feet treaded carefully between the drowned simulacra in the water. The girl smiled at him benignly as her dopplegangers stared off into the abyss.
"This is me." She said pointing at the girl in the shadows. A woman had her arms wrapped around the girl's neck, they were hiding from the beasts on the far side. "They lied to us." She finished.
"Omen! Wake up!" Came a voice from beyond, breaking into his mind like a knife.
The girl's head shifted. She looked faraway, then concerned. "Something has changed in the waking world. It has begun. Find Squeeze, find Malady. You will know what to do." Omen looked down at the girl.
"This is you…" he mused, "This is actually you. this is your dream. Am I right?"
"In a way. I walk in dreams."
"What's your name?" He demanded quickly.
"Flicker."
"Will I see you again?" He demanded urgently.
"Not unless I am changed. I live only in dreams now, my waking self is lost to me. You may find my body. Say hello for me." She nodded sadly, fading into darkness.
When Omen opened his eyes he saw Spout and Swarm leaning in over him. "Wake up buddy. You need to see this." He felt himself dragged out of bed and into the light. There was smoke, the sound of crying and thousands of people filling the site. In the distance, he saw the Sandfields burning.
Sunday, 1 July 2007
ASBO-Boy - Disassembled: Part 1
When Squeeze opened his eyes all he could hear was the ringing in his head. He was lying on a bed of grass looking up at the evening sky. Around him was a cricle of trees that just obscured the dimming sun. He was trapped in a strange moment where he knew that titanic events lay just beyond the edge of rememberance and, when he ultimately remembered everything, he'd probably wish he was still happily ignorant.
Then the tress moved, and blissfully ignorant or not he knew that wasn't supposed to happen.
"You're right," came a voice, "He is awake." A head came into view, it was smiling down at him in a way he could only describe as sympathetic. Squeeze sat up and shook his head. Then it began to come back. The pile-up, the screaming and the fire. It was all his fault.
Covering his eyes with his hands he wilted back onto the grass and moaned. "It's all my fault."
"Well," the voice returned nonchalantly, "Depends on which bits really." Squeeze recognised the voice now, it was Vue. The grass must be Singleton Park, he mused, hoping briefly that he was dead and Vue was a manifestation of St Peter.
Something growled, or moved, or shifted. Whatever it was, it was loud and didn't sound natural. In shock Squeeze opened his eyes and saw the reason for the moving trees. Core was sitting on a hill, staring down at him like a colossus of rock and moss. "Don't worry about Core. She's not going to hurt you. But I think Arc-Light will."
Squeeze began shaking his head. No, no, no, no, no! This isn't how it was meant to go, he wailed inwardly. Millions of pithy proverbs came treacherously out of the dark to shoot down all the bluster he'd wrapped himself in over the past few weeks. Playing with fire; curious cats; cans of worms. They all teased him mercilessly with his mother's grating whine. He sat up just in time to see Arc-Light appear in front of him.
As he stood up he saw her face twisted with rage, then she smacked him on the side of the head and he fell reeling to the ground.
"You selfish coward!" She screamed, clearly fighting the urge to kick him in the stomach or else fill him with electricity. Vaguely he put his hands up to protest, but with reason, she didn't give him the chance.
"People died because of you. People have lost their homes. And all of our precious work has come to nothing thanks to you." Her anger seemed to consume her and she backed away from him, reviled by what she saw. "Stay away from me." She muttered, her voice sounding spent, her venom turning to grief. He watched numbly as she stalked back down the hill. He stood up to go after her.
"I really wouldn't do that." Vue said frankly.
"Oh yeah?" Squeeze shouted petulantly, "And what would you do?"
"Firstly, I'd drop the childish self-defence. Secondly, I'd have a little humility and shut up. Thirdly, I'd accept the responisbility of my own actions and figure out a way of doing something about it." Vue replied, "And, just in case you're wondering, a couple of years ago I was in exactly your position and didn't do any of what I've just said, so feel free to ignore it." He turned around and walked away towards Core leaving Squeeze feeling broken and alone. No one understood. No one got it. No one realised that he'd had good intentions at heart.
Listen to yourself, he told himself, you sound pathetic.
"Wait!" Squeeze shouted after Vue. There was something in his voice that sounded different. It wasn't scared, it wasn't angry, it wasn't ashamed.
"Yes?"
"What would you do, if you were me?"
Vue looked at the ground. Behind him, Core played with the splintered remains of a tree. "Well… to be honest, you have three choices. Run away, stay exactly where you are, or run forwards. If I were you, knowing what I know then I would keep on running at them. You've made your first move and it was a colossal mistake. You may as well make your second move while they're on the back foot."
"But what about the others…" Squeeze said weakly.
"Don't worry about them. They'll be okay. You on the other hand have to face some issues. Do you, or do you not have the conviction to follow this path through to the end?"
Squeeze looked down at his hands. It was in this park that he'd been caught for spray painting the Uplands with his counter propaganda. He'd thought he was so clever, so sophisticated, so pro-active. He hadn't been doing anything really, he hadn't made an impact. He'd just annoyed the authorities and then he got caught. Simple.
Did he have the conviction? The word buzzed inside him like a vibrating knife, winding its way through his guts, judging him, dissecting him, tearing him apart. All he wanted to do was run away, hide in the shadows, go home even. He thought about his parents, how they'd forgive him, how he'd go to sleep and it would all go away. Then, he thought, he would dream… of the sea. His body chilled and he opened his eyes.
"Yes." He replied, simply.
"Good," Vue replied and chucked a letter over to him, "You may want to look at this then, Gwen left it with me." Squeeze tore open the letter and read over the opening line.
Hello Squeeze, if you're reading this, then you've probably done something stupid…
Then the tress moved, and blissfully ignorant or not he knew that wasn't supposed to happen.
"You're right," came a voice, "He is awake." A head came into view, it was smiling down at him in a way he could only describe as sympathetic. Squeeze sat up and shook his head. Then it began to come back. The pile-up, the screaming and the fire. It was all his fault.
Covering his eyes with his hands he wilted back onto the grass and moaned. "It's all my fault."
"Well," the voice returned nonchalantly, "Depends on which bits really." Squeeze recognised the voice now, it was Vue. The grass must be Singleton Park, he mused, hoping briefly that he was dead and Vue was a manifestation of St Peter.
Something growled, or moved, or shifted. Whatever it was, it was loud and didn't sound natural. In shock Squeeze opened his eyes and saw the reason for the moving trees. Core was sitting on a hill, staring down at him like a colossus of rock and moss. "Don't worry about Core. She's not going to hurt you. But I think Arc-Light will."
Squeeze began shaking his head. No, no, no, no, no! This isn't how it was meant to go, he wailed inwardly. Millions of pithy proverbs came treacherously out of the dark to shoot down all the bluster he'd wrapped himself in over the past few weeks. Playing with fire; curious cats; cans of worms. They all teased him mercilessly with his mother's grating whine. He sat up just in time to see Arc-Light appear in front of him.
As he stood up he saw her face twisted with rage, then she smacked him on the side of the head and he fell reeling to the ground.
"You selfish coward!" She screamed, clearly fighting the urge to kick him in the stomach or else fill him with electricity. Vaguely he put his hands up to protest, but with reason, she didn't give him the chance.
"People died because of you. People have lost their homes. And all of our precious work has come to nothing thanks to you." Her anger seemed to consume her and she backed away from him, reviled by what she saw. "Stay away from me." She muttered, her voice sounding spent, her venom turning to grief. He watched numbly as she stalked back down the hill. He stood up to go after her.
"I really wouldn't do that." Vue said frankly.
"Oh yeah?" Squeeze shouted petulantly, "And what would you do?"
"Firstly, I'd drop the childish self-defence. Secondly, I'd have a little humility and shut up. Thirdly, I'd accept the responisbility of my own actions and figure out a way of doing something about it." Vue replied, "And, just in case you're wondering, a couple of years ago I was in exactly your position and didn't do any of what I've just said, so feel free to ignore it." He turned around and walked away towards Core leaving Squeeze feeling broken and alone. No one understood. No one got it. No one realised that he'd had good intentions at heart.
Listen to yourself, he told himself, you sound pathetic.
"Wait!" Squeeze shouted after Vue. There was something in his voice that sounded different. It wasn't scared, it wasn't angry, it wasn't ashamed.
"Yes?"
"What would you do, if you were me?"
Vue looked at the ground. Behind him, Core played with the splintered remains of a tree. "Well… to be honest, you have three choices. Run away, stay exactly where you are, or run forwards. If I were you, knowing what I know then I would keep on running at them. You've made your first move and it was a colossal mistake. You may as well make your second move while they're on the back foot."
"But what about the others…" Squeeze said weakly.
"Don't worry about them. They'll be okay. You on the other hand have to face some issues. Do you, or do you not have the conviction to follow this path through to the end?"
Squeeze looked down at his hands. It was in this park that he'd been caught for spray painting the Uplands with his counter propaganda. He'd thought he was so clever, so sophisticated, so pro-active. He hadn't been doing anything really, he hadn't made an impact. He'd just annoyed the authorities and then he got caught. Simple.
Did he have the conviction? The word buzzed inside him like a vibrating knife, winding its way through his guts, judging him, dissecting him, tearing him apart. All he wanted to do was run away, hide in the shadows, go home even. He thought about his parents, how they'd forgive him, how he'd go to sleep and it would all go away. Then, he thought, he would dream… of the sea. His body chilled and he opened his eyes.
"Yes." He replied, simply.
"Good," Vue replied and chucked a letter over to him, "You may want to look at this then, Gwen left it with me." Squeeze tore open the letter and read over the opening line.
Hello Squeeze, if you're reading this, then you've probably done something stupid…
ASBO-Boy - The Numbers: Part 1
Thursday December 1st 2016
Gwen listened to her footsteps bounce back at her like claps of thunder in the widening cavern. She was deep beneath the Cefn Coed complex and, with any luck, it would be her last. Around her the space swole like the insides of an enormous stone stomach; vast machines filled the floorspace, dominating the room. Her path took her across to a workstation; around her Dr Euryale's personal assistants bustled about their own business.
She logged into the computer and began her work. She'd have to move quickly if she was to succeed and her fingers matched her heartbeat in pace as they danced across the keyboard. Before her, waves of information shot up – some regarding the breeding programme; others concerning the Cascade process; names flashed past – Helix, Mime, even Seraph's – but she couldn't stop, even for him. Eventually the computer arrived at one name: Flicker. She started the download and waited impatiently for the bar to sweep across the screen and complete the process.
When she was done she stood up and adjusted her dress. The room was relatively quiet, the withdrawn assistants were singularly focused on their own work and didn't notice as she exited as quickly as possible. Out of the frying pan, she thought as she contemplated the ascent back to the surface. If someone noticed her access now… the thought was barely worth completing. There was a contingency plan though, even she, at this point, was expendable.
She checked her watch. Her ASBOs would be starting off soon. Squeeze would carry out her orders, partially as she'd instructed and partially as she'd suspected he would. She hated taking advantage of him, but it was necessary, she reassured herself. The others would follow his lead. They'd be okay.
"Doctor."
Her heart ran cold. Gwen turned and saw Euryale standing behind her. He was examining some charts and hadn't looked up.
"I wasn't expecting to see you here today."
"Overtime, Sir," she replied.
"That's what I like to hear." He looked up, smiling – it was an ugly expression and one he didn't look entirely comfortable with. "In that case, there's something I'd like your opinion on."
"I really must be going –"
"I insist." There was something in his tone that denied any attempt at an excuse. She was stuck. Downcast, she followed him up a flight of steel stairs to another part of the complex. He was guiding her towards The Numbers. They past several doors on either side of the corridor, he led her past each of these to the next level and into the observation chamber.
"We've been reading some strange patterns recently. The Numbers are doing something and we don't know what it is." He said frankly looking up at her, straight in the eyes. Gwen nodded, as if she knew what he was talking about. She'd been so distracted recently that her work life had passed her by.
"It all started on November fifth."
"The Dyfatty Incident?"
"The very same." He nodded, turning to a wall of glass. The observation room consisted of a round chamber which overlooked the cells below. From her angle she could see nothing, but Euryale was no doubt looking in on The Numbers below. "The details concerning the events at the facility are… opaque, to say the least. The terrorists who have evaded us concern me greatly. But not as greatly as the peak in brainwave activity among The Numbers."
Gwen nodded slowly, trying desperately to control her expression. Her thoughts were on Flicker and her coma.
"The radiation's effects is already clear. All of the Others who went in came out stronger. The creature known as Core; her transformation is shocking enough." Euryale seemed to be rambling, he was gesturing with his arms, trying to eke out some niggling little thought like a splinter. "I was going over the tapes of the event. One of the Lamps has a photographic memory, you know. It saw." He turned to face her. He was smiling again, shaking his finger at her as if she'd done something wrong. Her blood felt like ice. "Did you know that they all dream of the sea?"
Gwen shook her head, her face blank. "Of course you don't," he continued, "You've been very distracted recently, young lady. Maybe you haven't noticed." He gestured with a hand and a holo image filled one half of the wall. It was a blurred, enlarged image of Squeeze holding Flicker in his arms. "I saw you then and I see you now, Gwen. The girl is the final link to the terrorists and ultimately to you." He spat, all of his calm and cohesion unravelling with one image.
He flicked his arm again and another image appeared. At first she couldn't make it out, the darkness in the picture seemed to draw away all the light, but details emerged. She saw the shimmering surface of the water, the slick stone of the quay and in the centre, her own younger self, gripped in concentration, dragging something out of the water. Her heart leaped into her throat and stayed there. With another gesture the image zoomed out to reveal the details of the image. Men stood in the foreground tipping cloth bound bodies into the Marina.
"I saw you then and I see you now." The image zoomed in again and the damning evidence shot into focus. She was dragging a body out of the water, a body she would later revive and would later adopt. "You kept one of the Flickers, didn't you? Like a toy; to play with; to use against me. Well. Lucky me, eh? I kept one too. She's Number 517."
Gwen listened to her footsteps bounce back at her like claps of thunder in the widening cavern. She was deep beneath the Cefn Coed complex and, with any luck, it would be her last. Around her the space swole like the insides of an enormous stone stomach; vast machines filled the floorspace, dominating the room. Her path took her across to a workstation; around her Dr Euryale's personal assistants bustled about their own business.
She logged into the computer and began her work. She'd have to move quickly if she was to succeed and her fingers matched her heartbeat in pace as they danced across the keyboard. Before her, waves of information shot up – some regarding the breeding programme; others concerning the Cascade process; names flashed past – Helix, Mime, even Seraph's – but she couldn't stop, even for him. Eventually the computer arrived at one name: Flicker. She started the download and waited impatiently for the bar to sweep across the screen and complete the process.
When she was done she stood up and adjusted her dress. The room was relatively quiet, the withdrawn assistants were singularly focused on their own work and didn't notice as she exited as quickly as possible. Out of the frying pan, she thought as she contemplated the ascent back to the surface. If someone noticed her access now… the thought was barely worth completing. There was a contingency plan though, even she, at this point, was expendable.
She checked her watch. Her ASBOs would be starting off soon. Squeeze would carry out her orders, partially as she'd instructed and partially as she'd suspected he would. She hated taking advantage of him, but it was necessary, she reassured herself. The others would follow his lead. They'd be okay.
"Doctor."
Her heart ran cold. Gwen turned and saw Euryale standing behind her. He was examining some charts and hadn't looked up.
"I wasn't expecting to see you here today."
"Overtime, Sir," she replied.
"That's what I like to hear." He looked up, smiling – it was an ugly expression and one he didn't look entirely comfortable with. "In that case, there's something I'd like your opinion on."
"I really must be going –"
"I insist." There was something in his tone that denied any attempt at an excuse. She was stuck. Downcast, she followed him up a flight of steel stairs to another part of the complex. He was guiding her towards The Numbers. They past several doors on either side of the corridor, he led her past each of these to the next level and into the observation chamber.
"We've been reading some strange patterns recently. The Numbers are doing something and we don't know what it is." He said frankly looking up at her, straight in the eyes. Gwen nodded, as if she knew what he was talking about. She'd been so distracted recently that her work life had passed her by.
"It all started on November fifth."
"The Dyfatty Incident?"
"The very same." He nodded, turning to a wall of glass. The observation room consisted of a round chamber which overlooked the cells below. From her angle she could see nothing, but Euryale was no doubt looking in on The Numbers below. "The details concerning the events at the facility are… opaque, to say the least. The terrorists who have evaded us concern me greatly. But not as greatly as the peak in brainwave activity among The Numbers."
Gwen nodded slowly, trying desperately to control her expression. Her thoughts were on Flicker and her coma.
"The radiation's effects is already clear. All of the Others who went in came out stronger. The creature known as Core; her transformation is shocking enough." Euryale seemed to be rambling, he was gesturing with his arms, trying to eke out some niggling little thought like a splinter. "I was going over the tapes of the event. One of the Lamps has a photographic memory, you know. It saw." He turned to face her. He was smiling again, shaking his finger at her as if she'd done something wrong. Her blood felt like ice. "Did you know that they all dream of the sea?"
Gwen shook her head, her face blank. "Of course you don't," he continued, "You've been very distracted recently, young lady. Maybe you haven't noticed." He gestured with a hand and a holo image filled one half of the wall. It was a blurred, enlarged image of Squeeze holding Flicker in his arms. "I saw you then and I see you now, Gwen. The girl is the final link to the terrorists and ultimately to you." He spat, all of his calm and cohesion unravelling with one image.
He flicked his arm again and another image appeared. At first she couldn't make it out, the darkness in the picture seemed to draw away all the light, but details emerged. She saw the shimmering surface of the water, the slick stone of the quay and in the centre, her own younger self, gripped in concentration, dragging something out of the water. Her heart leaped into her throat and stayed there. With another gesture the image zoomed out to reveal the details of the image. Men stood in the foreground tipping cloth bound bodies into the Marina.
"I saw you then and I see you now." The image zoomed in again and the damning evidence shot into focus. She was dragging a body out of the water, a body she would later revive and would later adopt. "You kept one of the Flickers, didn't you? Like a toy; to play with; to use against me. Well. Lucky me, eh? I kept one too. She's Number 517."
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