R.M. DuChene's Blog, page 8

In Dreams

In dreams

I dance on a lake

its surface, a swirl of flame

In life

I cannot touch it

but can feel it all the same

 

In dreams

I hold her close to me

and smell the perfume of her hair

In life

I hear the sound of her voice

yet her body isn’t here

 

In dreams

my wishes are granted

I have what I may take

In life

I’m bound by consequence

of choices that I make

 

In dreams

My life is better

wonderful things within my head

In life

reality disappoints

so I’d rather stay in bed

Excerpt from Homegrown

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Kelly Mathews said.

“Ma’am, I don’t appreciate your language. This is a school, not a brothel.”

If Kelly wasn’t a better person; if she didn’t have the self-control of a saint; if she wasn’t burdened with her three month old son in her arms at that very moment, she thought that she just might have pulled the thick spectacled, self-righteous, grey-haired snooty office bitch right over the counter and had it out with her. She’d “had it out” with many bitches in her life and by the look of the one that was currently looking down her nose at her, she’d be a piece of cake. Kelly held her temper though. You’re a mother now, she told herself. Think of your babies. It worked. Thinking of her babies always worked. She took a few deep breaths to regain her composure and then tried again with the old bat.

“Look,” she said, trying her best to prop-up a smile. “I have to drop off little Kevin at daycare. I’m already running late for work. If you make Tristin come home with me, then I’ll be forced to call off today. I’m on a third warning, you know? Can’t you help me out?”

The woman on the other side of the counter nodded her head slightly while Kelly talked. Kelly could feel hope begin to rise inside her. I’m finally getting through with this old hag, she thought. Come on lady. Just say yes. The woman looked like she was about to say something when a door suddenly opened at the rear of the office. Another woman, this one younger and dressed a bit more fashionably walked in, leading a six year old boy by the hand. She walked the boy to and through a side office door and passed his hand to Kelly. Then, she turned and walked away without saying anything. She didn’t have to. The look of contempt that she flashed at Kelly when she let go of young Tristin’s hand was enough.

“This is such bullshit,” she said to the old lady behind the counter. What am I supposed to do?”

“Take your son to get his vaccinations,” the woman said, not unkindly. Bring us back the vaccination record and he’ll be allowed back at school. It’s the law Miss Mathews and it’s a good one. We vaccinate our children for a reason.”

Oh great, now I’m a fucking deadbeat mother, Kelly thought but didn’t say. What she did say after a long, deep sigh was, “Awesome.” Then she hauled her two kids out of the school office.

Getting the boys into their car-seats was done in record time. Kelly paused momentarily before starting her car so she could text her boss that she had an emergency and would be late. She wasn’t really worried that she would be fired. In reality, her boss loved her – L word style. He phone vibrated just before she pulled into traffic. Kelly pressed the button on the side and the screen displayed a winking smiley face. She genuinely smiled for the first time that morning, made her left turn into light traffic and headed for the Interstate 5 on-ramp.

“Oh fucking great!” Kelly said a few minutes later when traffic on the I-5 deadlocked. “What, does Murphy ride along in my fucking purse?”

“Fuck!” Tristin shouted from the back-seat.

“No! You don’t say that word!” Kelly scolded her six year old son with her eyes through the rear-view mirror. “That’s a mommy word, not a baby one.” Directly in front of Kelly’s car, a blue pick-up with a “Bush-Cheney” sticker sill affixed to its tailgate began to move. Kelly pressed on the gas and felt a momentary release of all spitefulness, then the truck stopped again – “fuck, fuck, fuck!” She didn’t know why she was angry at the person driving the blue truck, but she was. Inside, she understood that whoever was in the truck, they were in the same position as her. Hell, she thought. They’re probably cussing out the poor bastard in front of them. I shouldn’t be mad at them – but this asshole flying up and between the lanes behind me on his rice-rocket – well now, that’s a different story.

The person riding the motorcycle was clad in a yellow and white jumpsuit with a matching helmet. Both the rider’s outfit and helmet matched their yellow and white motorcycle perfectly. To Kelly, bike and rider looked like a Yellow-Jacket buzzing between the barely moving cars. Fucking bike riders, she thought as the cyclist came closer. Why do they get to just buzz on past while the rest of us have to fucking sit here for hours. Fuck them all. The motorcycle buzzed past Kelly’s car and disappeared in front of the blue truck. “Asshole,” she said. “I hope you fucking die.”

The force of the explosion from up ahead blew out the windows from the truck, but not Kelly’s car. She didn’t feel the heat of the blast, but did catch a glimpse of something being thrown through the air to the other side of the freeway – something yellow and white and on fire. Her heart stammered in her chest, the children were screaming from the backseat and when Kelly rolled down her window, more screaming poured in from outside. All around her, people were getting out of their cars and staring at something up ahead, something that was out of her view. Tristin wailed again from the back-seat. She reached into the backseat and held his hand. “It’s going to be okay baby. Mommy’s here.” Another blast from up ahead shook the car violently and the back window gave way. Glass shattered into the backseat, sparing the baby’s eyes, but peppering his forehead with tiny cuts. Kelly bolted from her car, opened the back door, and pulled the baby from his car seat. She searched his head for damage, but couldn’t find anything too serious. Relieved, she held her screaming baby to her breasts and called in after Tristin.

“Unhook yourself and climb out to mommy.” Tristin extracted himself from the car seat with no problems and climbed out of the car.

“Where are we going?” Tristin asked

“Let’s go,” Kelly said and began to walk. Everyone was out of their cars. Some of them made their ways to the shoulder while some crossed the median. Up ahead, a small family, two adults and a child stepped onto the shoulder– then they disappeared into a loud roar of flame. The explosion ripped across all five lanes, leaving a wall of fire in its wake. Kelly squeezed Tristin’s hand tight and started toward the median of the freeway. Just as she reached the middle lane, the fourth and final explosive detonated – not from down the road, but from the shoulder about fifteen yards away. There was a momentary, bright flash of light behind Kelly and her children. They never heard the thunderous roar that followed.

Looking Through The Eyes of a Fool

As I was sitting here, ruining my life

a thought ran through my head

You start with a little

you end with a lot

and by ‘end,’ I mean that you’re dead

Don’t want to be special

Don’t want to be cool

just want to be one of the guys

But I know you’re looking though the eyes of a fool

and you know this too

but it doesn’t sink through

because you just can’t see past the highs

The highs are so great, that you’d just hate

for that wonderful feeling to go

but the feeling you befriended

suddenly ended

and left you feeling low

The lows were so bad

that you just had

to find a way to make your day brighter

Then, to your surprise

in front of your eyes

appeared a pipe and a lighter

you were afraid to touch

you’ve taken so much

what the hell, you decided to be brave

You got dizzy for a spell

you stumbled and fell

and landed right in my grave

The Dream

This morning I awoke from a terrible dream

In my mind, I heard people screaming

but didn’t know that I was only dreaming

I choked back my tears, refused to weep

and forced myself to go back to sleep

But before I could safely wake

returned the dream I couldn’t shake

I tried everything, woke up screaming

I had to escape from this terrible dreaming

I went to the doctor and guess what he said

take two aspirin and go back to bed.

Urilla

 

Urilla’s lips were close, almost touching my ear.

“I love you Wyatt,” she whispered.

I reeled back slightly, surprised by the sudden sound of my wife’s voice. I turned around in my chair and saw her standing in the center of the room, holding our son.  

I eased myself up and walked to her, then wrapped her into a warm embrace – careful not to crush the bundle between us. After a few moments, I held her out at arm’s length and looked her up and down.

“I’ve missed you Urilla,” I said. “You have no idea how much.”

Urilla looked at the bundle that was nestled in her arms and began to rock it back and forth as she paced the room. She walked to the partly open bedroom door and peered in at the half-naked woman lying sprawled out on the bed.

“It doesn’t seem so.”

My face turned red with embarrassment. I hadn’t seen Urilla since Dodge City, and that had been a couple of years ago.

“Well Godammit Urilla,” I said. “It’s been over two years since I…”

“Shhhhh…,” She pulled one hand off of her bundle and lifted her index finger to her lips. “You don’t want to wake your wife; do you?”

I crossed the room and closed the bedroom door.

“We don’t have to worry about her,” I said. “When she takes her medicine, sometimes she stays in bed for days. Besides, we ain’t married.”

Urilla seemed to like this answer. She gave me a pleasant smile and then strolled over to me again, holding the baby out. I took a couple of steps back and her smile faded.

“He’s your son Wyatt.”

“I know,” I said. “I know he is. But…well Goddammit Urilla, he’s dead! Don’t you see that?”

She uttered a half chuckle that would’ve evolved into full blown laughter if she hadn’t looked down. The baby was half formed. Its skin was devoid of moisture, and the color of black reserved only for extremely ancient things. She let out a gasps and dropped the bundle. When it hit the floor, it exploded into a puff of ashes – then she screamed.

Holding my breath, I ran to the bedroom door and cracked it open a bit so I could look inside. Mattie was still laid out in the same position that I had left her in; dead to the world. I let out my breath and closed the door again.

When I turned around, I saw that Urilla was now sitting at my desk; the chair turned around facing me. She had her face in her hands and was crying softly. I walked over to her and knelt beside her, placing my hand on her arm.

“Urilla,” I said. “You know that our son was never born. I don’t know why you always show up with him.”

When she pulled her hands away, her tears had stopped falling. The expression on her face was pure contempt. She grabbed a hold of my hand and threw it away from her, then stood.

“You were supposed to protect us Wyatt!” she said.

Without waiting for me to respond, she walked past me and looked out of the open window. I stood and followed her, then embraced her from behind, buried my nose in her hair and breathed in. I had always loved her smell. It was the one memory I had of her that hadn’t faded at all.

“There was nothing I could do Earlie,” I whispered. I sometimes called her that. “Sometimes good people and babies die. I wish they don’t, but they do. That’s just how it is, I suppose.”

My tears began to flow then. They lit a trail down my cheeks and were quickly absorbed by her hair. She reach up and placed her hands on mine; pressing them in toward her chest.

“What are you going to do about her?” she asked.

I thought about it; waited to respond until I was sure that my voice wouldn’t be taken over by my emotions.

“I dunno,” I said. “I expect that she’ll just go away like all of the others.”

I closed his eyes again and took another deep breath of her hair. I hoped that my answer would be enough to satisfy her. I didn’t really love Mattie; not really.

“Not her;” she said.

She pointed out of the open window at a woman who was crossing the street, approaching the saloon on the other side.

“Her…”

I looked out the window, in the direction that Urilla was pointing. Just as I saw her, Josephine looked up and waved at me; smiling. She approached the saloon double doors, then turned back and blew me a kiss before walking in.

“Is she just going to go away?” Urilla said.

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t think that Urilla knew about Josephine. How could she? I released my grip on my wife and returned to my desk. Instead of sitting on the chair, I sat on the desktop.  Urilla followed right behind me. Even sitting on the desk, I was still a good foot taller than she was standing. At that moment though, I felt as if she was towering over me. I snatched my hat off of the desk and put it on, then pulled the front of it down to hide my eyes.

“Do you love her?” Urilla asked.

I didn’t answer her. I pulled out my knife and began to clean my fingernails; ignoring her. Urilla reached out and snatched the hat off of my head and threw it back on the desk. I acted as if I didn’t notice.

“Do…you…love…her?” She asked again. “Answer me you son of a bitch!”

I didn’t know what to say. If I told her that I wasn’t in love with Josephine, she would probably not believe me. If I told her that I did; I didn’t want to think about that.

“I don’t know,” I said.

Urilla let out a loud chuckle and began to pace again around the room. On her third pass, she snatched the knife from my hand and began to twirl it around as she walked. She was still smiling at me when I looked up at her. She stopped walking and began to talk to me again; motioning at me with the blade of the knife every time she said a word.

“Do you know how many times I have saved you Wyatt?” she asked.

“Urilla, I…”

“Do you know how many bullets had your name on it; and if not for my inclination to help you, would have ended you?”

I didn’t want to make her angrier. I got up from the desk and slowly approached her, and then I placed my hand, gently, around the hilt of the knife. At first, it didn’t seem like she was going to let it go, but then her grip slackened and I pulled the knife away from her.

Her fury seemed to melt away when I pulled her against me. I ran my fingers through her dark brown hair. I didn’t know what to expect; whether or not she would attack me, but my anxiety loosened a bit, when I felt her tears wet the side of my neck.

“If you marry that woman Wyatt, you’re on your own,” she said.

“I don’t plan on marrying anyone”

Her tears flowed generously; our embrace tightened. I felt her lips on my neck, kissing me all the way up to my ear.

“I should’ve let you die Husband. Then I could have had you with me all this time.”

At certain times in my life, I had wished the same thing. I loved my wife until her dying day, and every day since.

“Will you?” I asked. My voice was cracking under the pressure of an emotional floodgate.

She pulled her face away from my neck and gazed up at me with those soft brown eyes of hers.

“No,” she said. “I just couldn’t bare it.”

“Wyatt!”

The sound of my Brother Virgil’s voice drifted up through the open window.

“Wyatt! You up there?”

I released Urilla, walked over to the window, and looked out. Down on the street, my Brothers Virgil and Morgan were holding shotguns; looking up toward the window.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s the McLaury’s and the Clantons!” Morgan shouted.

“They were seen spotted down by the O.K. Corral,” Virgil said.

I gave them a puzzled look.

“So?” I said. “That ain’t no crime.”

“They’re armed Wyatt,” Virgil said.

“Ahhh damn,” I said to myself. “Why today?”

“We’re going to take away their irons,” Morgan said. “You coming?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll be right down.”

I turned from the window and looked at Urilla, who didn’t look at all concerned.

“I gotta go take care of this,” I said.

I walked past her, to the coat rack and pulled down my long coat and put it on. Then I grabbed my pistol belt off of the desk, fastened it around my middle, and then located my hat. Dressed for duty, I pulled down my shotgun from its usual place on the wall.

Urilla came to me, wrapped her hands around the back of my neck and pulled me to her. Our lips met, followed by our tongues. When the kiss was done, I didn’t push her away. It was her who nudged me toward the door.

“When will I see you again?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Hopefully soon.”

“Well, if this don’t go my way, it might just be real soon!” I said.

She gave me a final kiss before I walked out of the room, and then smiled up at me.

“Not today,” she said.

I smiled back at her, tilted my hat, and walked out, closing the door behind me. I imagine that Urilla stayed by the door for a few seconds before vanishing, listening to my footsteps as I walked away.

I met Virgil and Morgan in the middle of the road. We checked our shotguns and shooting irons to make sure that they were fully functional and loaded then began to walk in the direction of the O.K. Corral. Before we took more than three steps, the doors of the saloon burst open and Doc Holliday came stumbling out. He staggered up to us, and then fell in line. I thought that Doc may have been just a little too drunk for a fight, but I would never tell him so.  Before moving out again, I cast a final look up to the second story window of the room that I shared with Mattie, but Urilla wasn’t there. Then, I looked at the saloon window, and saw the framed, beautiful face of Josephine staring out at me; her eyes were wide with fear. I tilted my hat toward her, winked, and then set off again toward my destiny.

Airlock

 

The sirens wailed throughout the station. Security Patrols, decked out in armor, stomped through the corridors, in search of their target. This will be the third time this month that a rogue clone has gone off the deep end. As the Patrols passed through each section of the station, they locked it down behind them. They were guiding their prey; pushing it toward the North end of the facility.

Samantha Stone didn’t have to wonder what their overall plan was. She knew what was located on the north side of the station; the air-lock. Clones do not get a trial. Such things were for actual people. She had no compassion for clones; they weren’t actual people after all.

The only reason Samantha felt bad at all was because now, the force would be another man down. More work would have to be distributed to the remaining staff until a new clone could be created, and that took ninety days.

Samantha heard loud noises coming from outside in the corridor and looked out of her small office window. The Security Team was gathered at the far end of the corridor. She assumed that the clone had been chased into the airlock, and was now safely secured inside. She unlocked her office door and stepped into the hall.

“Did you get him?” She asked.

A member of the Security Team – Samantha assumed it was the leader of the bunch – turned toward her.

“Ma’am,” He said. “Ma’am, please go back into your office”.

Samantha began to do just that, but the sound of a woman’s scream caught her attention. She turned back toward the Security Team, who was gathered around the outside of the airlock door when a face peered out at her from the small window that was set in the upper center of it. The face was hers.

Instantly, Samantha found herself trapped inside the airlock, banging on the door to be let out. She could see the faces of the security officers staring in at her; their eyes pitiless.

“Let me out!” She screamed at them, but they wouldn’t.

She began to bang more frantically.

“I’m human!” She screamed at them. “I’m not a clone!”

One of the officers curled his hand into a fist, slammed it hard against the big red button that was mounted on the wall just outside of the airlock, and then smiled at her. A loud alarm echoed inside the small airlock. Samantha knew what that alarm meant. She let out a scream that was cut off by her sudden ejection into space. Then, she woke up.

An Hour after she woke up, Samantha ruffled her daughter’s hair as she poured milk into a bowl of cereal. Task completed, she took the seat next to the little girl and stared at her while she ate.

“No breakfast for me Hun,” her husband said as he walked into the kitchen adjusting his tie. “I have an early meeting with the board this morning.”

He pulled on his suit jacket, gave a Samantha and his daughter a kiss goodbye, then left.

Sondra, the nanny, walked into the kitchen a few minutes’ later – just as Samantha was rinsing Dasia’s bowl out in the sink – and assumed kid duties for the day. Samantha greeted the nanny with a smile, let her know that Dasia had a doctor’s appointment that morning, and then she went upstairs to change for work.

The body suit was tight. It always took a minimum of five minutes for Samantha to ease it over her curves and smooth out the bunched up places. Included in her work attire was a Travel-Tracker, which strapped to her wrist. As soon as Samantha strapped the Travel-Tracker in place, the screen in the center of it lit up.

An assortment of flashing colors ran across its small screen as the Travel-Tracker calibrated itself, and then ran a test on her vitals. Once the tests were completed, the screen displayed:

All Systems Normal…

The screen blipped out for a moment, and then it flashed:

Ready For Deployment…

She turned off the Travel-Tracker by un-strapping the Velcro bands that held it to her wrist, and then she put it back on. The small monitor lit up again, running the initial tests.

She always ran the tests twice. A mechanical or biological failure while she was deployed could leave her stranded, or worse. After the monitor confirmed that she was ready for deployment a second time, she placed her thumb on the center of the screen for five seconds, locking the system.

Ready to go, Samantha glanced at her watch; still eight minutes to report. She walked back to the kitchen, where Dasia was attempting to eat a frozen yogurt bar. The nanny was busy, scolding the young girl for dripping yogurt onto the floor.

Samantha gave the nanny a few last minute instructions regarding Dasia’s doctor appointment and pointed out the insurance card that was lying on the kitchen counter; then gave her daughter a swift kiss goodbye.

“Mommy will see you after work,” she said.

She checked the time again; four minutes until late.

She took long strides down a narrow hallway and slipped into a room at the end. Once she was inside, she closed and locked the door behind her and climbed inside what looked like a large, rounded coffin. Reaching up, she grabbed a handle that was located underneath the lid and swung it shut. Somewhere inside the coffin shaped transporter, machinery began to hum.

The humming continued to grow louder until, at the height of its noisy acceleration, a bright flash of light filled its claustrophobic interior. After the flash of light winked out, the transporter winded down; fell silent.

Samantha pushed up on the lid, latched it in place, and climbed out. The metallic floor felt cold under her feet as she walked across the room, to a rack full of hanging body suits. She pulled down an outfit, and then repeated the long process of getting dressed again – thankful that the transporter clocked her in when she opened the lid.

Fully dressed, Samantha entered her code into the keypad of the safe that was attached to the wall next to the body suit rack. When the small metal door sprung open, she reached inside, pulled out her –away- Travel-Tracker, and put it on. Then, she walked over to a small port window and looked through it, at the all too familiar view of Isis-12; its bright green surface reflecting the light from the system’s closest sun. It was a bright reflection too, since the entire surface of the planet was covered by water.

During the two years since she began working on the Isis-12 research station, Samantha’s research team had found over 3000 different forms of life. She estimated that millions of other life forms were down there as well, just waiting to be located, tagged, and documented. Field Researchers shuttled down to the surface in rotating shifts, while the engineers worked around the clock to construct their first submarine.

Samantha had never been to the surface herself. The company felt that she was too important to risk. This upset her at first, but after she saw how much time was required for her to catalog and update information on the various species they had found, she knew that there wouldn’t be any time for the fun stuff; not for her anyway. This is as close as you will ever get, she told herself while staring down at the giant green planet. She let out a long, drawn out sigh, and then turned away from the window. Her work was waiting.

Back in her office, sitting behind her desk, Samantha switched on her work station and set to work, updating the species catalogs with the various files of data that was gathered over the weekend. It was quite a lot to sift through, but she felt that she could get it done by the end of her twelve hour shift – providing that there was no trouble from rouge clones, that is.

Data could be shot out to Isis-12 almost instantaneously, but physical matter couldn’t. The wormhole that the data was sent through was small, but its intense gravitational pull would rip a single human cell to pieces. Until scientists figured out that problem, the workers would continue to be uploaded into meat suits until their shift was over.

The clones were a pain in the ass in Samantha’s opinion, but they were essential to the mission. The first trek out to the distant planet took over two-hundred years. The clone technology was stored aboard the unmanned spacecraft. When the station reached its destination, employee DNA codes were transmitted to it. Then it set to work, building the clones of the workers who would be uploaded.

The durability of the clone bodies was another issue altogether. They began to destabilize after a couple years. The usual turn around for a clone was two years at most – unless they went nuts – then it was time for a fresh one. It took ninety days to completely grow a new clone, so the process usually ran concurrent with the work schedule alongside the clone that it would be replacing. Samantha’s clone was about a year old. She often thought about how weird it would be, when there would be two of her on the station at the same time. Some of the staff would go down to the lab and watch their clones as they develop, but Samantha didn’t – They kind of creeped her out.

When the clones went crazy, they didn’t go psycho – running around the station, hacking people to pieces – they simply woke up, on their own, and thought they were real people. This presented a couple of problems. First; they weren’t supposed to be conscious or self-aware – with self-awareness comes that pesky little survival instinct. Second, and most important; the actual worker who needs the clone cannot upload into it. Nobody knew why; but apparently only one consciousness could reside in a clone body. When the clone spontaneously grew its own mind, the entrance was boarded up – a no trespassing sign hung.

Samantha pulled up her sleeve and looked down at the small serial number tattooed across her clone’s forearm, and shuddered. One of her greatest fears was that, while she was occupying the clone body, her real body died. She would be trapped. If she was lucky, the news of her demise would reach the station. They could produce new clones for her to hop into every couple of years. The thought made her shudder again. Better not to think about what you can’t control, she thought. Just complete your shift, and go home.

About two hours into her shift, Samantha was busy updating a file on a new species of whale-like mammals, when the alarm rang through the station. Just great, she thought. Here we go again. She stood up from her desk and walked to her office door, intending to lock it; but just before she could swipe her Travel-Tracker in front the small red eye of the control panel, the door slid open.

The clone closed the door to Samantha’s office. It was fully dressed in a body suit and breathing heavily. Samantha’s first impulse was to run to her desk and press the panic button, but the large metal bar in the clone’s hand gave her second thoughts.

The clone raised its hands in front of it, trying to appear unthreatening. Its user must have loved to wear make-up because her tears left black tracks trailing down its cheeks.

“Samantha,” it said. “Oh my god, Samantha. I don’t know what’s going on”.

It started to move toward her, but Samantha took a few steps back, raising her own hands. The clone stopped advancing on her; looked her up and down, and then recognition dawned on its face.

“You think I’m one of them; don’t you?” it said.

When Samantha didn’t respond, the clone burst into tears again. It dropped the metal bar to the floor and pulled its face into it hands.

“I don’t understand,” it said, hands still covering its face. “Why do I remember everything? This just doesn’t make sense.

This is my chance, Samantha thought. Perhaps my only chance. While the clone had its eyes covered, Samantha took the last few steps backward, reached under the monitor, and hit the panic button. Her monitor flashed a couple of times, and then a red stripe appeared across the center of the screen with – Security Breach – neatly centered inside it. Now I just have to keep it busy until security gets here, she thought.

“Angela,” Samantha said, approaching the crying clone slowly. “It’s going to be okay”.

The Angela-clone was still covering her crying face when Samantha gently placed her hands on its shoulders.

“Hey,” Samantha said in a soothing voice. “We’ll get it all worked out”.

Samantha felt some of the tension leave the clone’s shoulders. It dropped its hands from its face, and stared at her with watery, bloodshot, black ringed eyes.

“They’re going to put me out the airlock; aren’t they?” it said. It didn’t say this in a tone of desperation – it was more like resignation.

“No…no,” Samantha said, patting the clone’s shoulder. “We’ll just explain to them that you are really you. That there’s been some mistake and…”

“You bitch!” the clone said.

Startled, Samantha jumped slightly from the sudden outburst. The clone was no longer looking at her. Samantha followed the clone’s gaze and saw what it was looking at – the monitor; the warning message was still displayed on the screen.

“Wait,” she said. “Just wait and we’ll explain it to them when they…”

“Bitch!” the clone yelled.

Samantha had no time to react. The clone grabbed her around the neck and threw her to the floor. One second she was standing; the next, she was face down on the hard metal surface, arm twisted behind her back. She felt the sudden release of pressure as the clone tore her Travel-Tracker off of her wrist. Then, it pulled back Samantha’s thumb and placed it, flat on the screen. There was a small beeping sound as the devise unlocked.

Once the clone fastened the Travel-Tracker onto its own wrist, it released its grip on Samantha and stood up.

“I’m not going out the airlock,” it said, staring down at Samantha.

The clone stepped over Samantha and walked to the office door. It swiped the front of the Travel Tracker in front of the red eye, and the door slid open. Before it walked out, it looked back at Samantha again, seeming to consider something.

“It could happen to you too,” it said; then it walked out.

“There she is!”

Samantha heard the voice of one of the security officers out in the corridor. She got to her feet and ran out of her office. Five officers were gathered around a door, trying to open it. But, it wasn’t the door to the airlock. To Samantha’s horror, she realized that they were trying to get into her transport chamber.

“We’re going to need an emergency override for transporter room two-three-zero-zero-three,” one of the officers said into the small communications devise that was attached to his wrist.

Samantha rushed down the corridor, toward the group of officers. By the time she reached them, the door hissed and slid open. Two of the officers held her back as the other three entered the transporter room. Through gaps between them, Samantha saw the officers approach the transporter, open the lid, and check the Travel-Tracker on the clone’s wrist. One of them turned to the other and shook his head, and then they all looked back at Samantha.

Later, in her manager’s office, Samantha was staring out of the port window at the large green planet drifting in an ocean of nothingness. The manager was busy talking back and forth with his counterpart on earth through a private, head mounted communicator.

“Did you find the tracker?” he asked.

He paused for the response.

“No sign of the clone; huh? Did you try Angela Brooks; see if it made contact?”

Another pause.

“Okay then; keep us posted,” He said, and then disconnected.

He pulled off the head set, then turned toward Samantha, wearing a grim expression.

“Your body’s gone,” he said. “All they found in the house was your tracker, sitting on a table next to your transporter.”

“Can you still track it down?” Samantha asked.

“That’s just it,” he said. “The clones have locators built into them, but humans don’t. There is no way to find her other than to keep looking.”

“How long will that take?” She asked.

The manager considered her question.

“It could be awhile,” he said. “Our best hope is that she will get sentimental and hang around places that Angela Brooks holds dear. We got some smart people on this. Try not to worry too much. My suggestion for you is to head down to the dormitory and get some rest. We should have it sorted out by the time you wake up.”

Samantha thanked him for his help, then took him up on his advice and headed down to the dormitory. The stress of the whole situation had left her feeling drained to the point of near exhaustion. After the door slid shut behind her, the manager pressed the small button on his sleeve communication devise.

“Security,” a voice answered.

“George?” he asked.

“Yep,” George said.

“This is Jeff, up in research. We got another one.”

“Another one?” George complained. “When are these idiots going to learn to keep their damn offices locked?”

“Yeah well, that’s not the current issue. We need to take care of this Samantha Stone. Get a team down to the dormitory and flush her out of there. We can’t have some damn rotting clone stinking up the place.”

“Same plan as always?” George asked.

“Yeah,” Jeff said. He let out a long, drawn out sigh. “Just maneuver her into the airlock and flush her out.”

Choir of the Damned

Reblogged from DarkWorks Entertainment:

I know all about the voices in your vexing beautiful head
No amount of medication can silence them
These declarations of madness fill your brain and taint your soul
This I know

The feeling of contempt within
No amount of therapy will help
The voices sing a chorus disdain in exasperation of your suffering
This too I know

I am not as disconcerting as you may think…

Read more… 239 more words

Douglass S. Taylor's writing is like a paper cut. It shocks me a little at first and then nags the shit out of me later.

Chujo

Inside the rotted out remains of what once had been a serviceable shack a cold mist begins to creep slowly from between the floor-boards. Formless, it hovers less than a foot above rotted out planks of wood and then begins to creep slowly to – and then under the door. If someone were standing in the back-yard; they wouldn’t have seen the slithering fog through the tall, untrimmed grass and weeds. It glides along the ground until it is stopped by a large rock in its path. The mist doesn’t glide over or around the rock, but slowly squeezes under it. It’s found a new home, for now.

Within minutes, the back door to the house opens slightly and a small white and brown Chihuahua skips out onto the porch and begins to immediately sniff around for a good place to relieve itself.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Kelly Andrews says. “You go out on the grass like a good boy.” Her voice is soft and sweet. She knew better than to yell at Chujo. The small dog would only startle and let loose right where he was standing. Chujo stopped, looked back at his owner and then promptly lifted his leg. “No…” Kelly warned. “Bad boy… go on the grass.” Chujo dropped his leg quickly, made an excited lap around the porch and then stopped right next to Kelly’s potted plants. “Chujo…,” Kelly warned. “Don’t you dare!” It was no use. She was going to have to take him out to the yard. She slipped into her slippers and stepped out onto the porch. Chujo ran to meet her, yipping and trying to climb up her leg. Kelly reached down with one hand and curled her small dog under her arm like a football, ignoring the cool beads that she felt on her arm. She walked down the steps to the grassy back yard and gently put the dog down. Chujo ran off in search of a good place to do his business.

The Chihuahua sniffed along the perimeter of the grass, lifting his leg every few steps to mark his territory. Eventually, he came to his favorite place in the backyard – the large, white rock that he’d sometimes lay beside during hot summer days. He paused by the rock, lifted his leg and then cried out as if he’d been kicked. Kelly was playing Angry Birds on her phone when she heard the little dog’s yelp. She looked up, surprised and saw Chujo scooting his rear end with his hind legs spread out in front of him and issuing a high pitched cry. The scene would’ve been comical to normal people, but not to a dog’s owner. She ran to him and lifted him up into her arms. He struggled back and forth, trying to get away from her.

“Calm down,” Kelly soothed. She inspected his legs and torso, thinking that perhaps the little dog had been bitten by something. “I don’t see anything,” she said, rubbing her palm along Chujo’s soft belly. Her fingers rubbed along the inside of the dog’s back legs and came too close to his rear end. His head snapped downward and his small teeth sank into the soft flesh between Kelly’s thumb and index finger. “Ouch!” She cried and dropped him. The dog landed on his feet and spun to face her, growling. “You bit me, Chujo! Bad boy!” Chujo would normally cow away when Kelly scolded him. It surprised her that he didn’t even flinch. His growling stayed steady and low in his small doggie throat and thick ropes of greenish-brown phlegm began to descend from the sides of his little doggie mouth. His head was pointed toward the grass. “Chujo, are you okay? What’s wrong baby?” Chujo raised his eyes to meet Kelly’s and her heart nearly stopped in her chest when she saw the tiny, red, glowing orbs peering up at her. “Chujo?” Kelly said, barely above a whisper. Chujo took a step toward her, his growls becoming louder as his small mouth opened and displayed his teeth at her. As Chujo became more excited, he began to spritz the grass beneath him with urine. The grass withered, smoked and then caught aflame. “Screw this!” Kelly said and ran for the back door of the house.

When Kelly sprinted away, Chujo was right on her heels, yelping and nipping. She gained ground when she bounded up the back steps. Chujo jumped at the first step, missed, and slammed his forehead into the hard wood. He cried out and began to rub his face against the ground as Kelly burst into the house and slammed the screen door behind her. Chujo took the steps, one at a time until he reached the back porch. Then, he walked to the middle of the porch, sat down, and stared into the house, stared at Kelly as she fumbled with her phone and dialed 911. The operator came on the line and asked her what her emergency was. “It’s my dog,” Kelly said. “I think he has rabies or something. He attacked me.” The operator asked where the dog was and Kelly said that he was locked in the back-yard. “Don’t go back outside until Animal Control arrives, Ma’am,” the operator said. No shit, Kelly thought.

Kelly hung up the phone and stared at her small dog through the back screen door. Chujo just looked back at her. He’s just sitting there, she thought. Maybe he was just hurt and acting out. Maybe he’s better now. She walked to the screen door and looked down at him. Chujo looked up at her and cocked his head to the side, inquisitively. Then, he let out a whimper that made Kelly’s heart melt. “Are you okay, baby?” Kelly asked. Chujo cocked his head to the other side as if his master had just spoken to him in Martian. Slowly, Kelly creaked open the screen door. Chujo launched toward the opening so fast that Kelly barely had time to slam it shut again. Kelly backed away from the screen-door while the small dog slammed into it and jumped up against it. “Chujo!” She yelled at him, hoping that her voice was stern enough to get his attention. “You stop that right now!” Chujo stopped and peered at her through the screen. He cocked his head to the side again and gave another small whimper before lifting his leg and spraying the screen door. The screen began to smoke and melt before Kelly’s eyes.

Kelly ran to her bedroom, slammed the door shut, and crawled on top of her bed. She fumbled around for her phone but couldn’t find it. I must’ve dropped it, she thought. Oh please hurry. Where the hell is Animal Control? Within a minute a small bump against the bedroom door made Kelly jump in surprise. She scooted herself to the wall and pulled a large pillow in front of her. Please, please hurry? She thought when she saw the first signs of smoke wafting in from under the door.

Chujo waited patiently for the door to burn away enough for him to fit his body through and then shot into the bedroom. Kelly’s scent invaded his senses. He knew that she was on the bed – smelled her there. He reared back and jumped, missed the edge of the bed and fell to the floor with a thud, and then everything went dark.

Kelly sat on top of the metal waste can and caught her breath. She knew that it would only be a matter of time before the little booger burned his way out. I need to make it to the back door, she thought. It’s wide open. The front door wouldn’t be any good. The dead bold was engaged and the little shit would be on her before she could get it open. If she made it to the back yard, she could jump the fence and get the hell out of there. She took a couple of deep breaths and then ran for her life.

The bin flipped when she pushed herself off of it and Chujo sank his small teeth into the back-side of her ankle before she could get the bedroom door open. She gave her foot a violent shake and the dog flew across the room, taking small bits of her flesh with him. Kelly flung open the door and bolted down the hallway, Chujo on her heels. When she reached the kitchen, she flung open the screen door and ran onto the back porch. Chujo ran back out through the hole in the screen and sank his teeth into the flesh behind Kelly’s other ankle. She screamed and fell forward, over the steps, onto the grass. Chujo was on her in an instant, tearing at her arm with his tiny teeth and claws. Kelly screamed and turned her body in circles. She tried shaking her arm, but she couldn’t get the small dog off of it. In the heat of the moment, she saw that the large, white rock was a few feet away from her. She scooted on her back until she got close and then slammed the dog against the side of the rock. Chujo yelped and let go. Kelly didn’t pause to think this time. She sprinted toward the gate, but Chujo blocked her path – snarling and growling at her.

“Okay, then,” Kelly said. “You wanna fight? Let’s do it.” She turned as if to run and Chujo sprinted after her. At the last moment before he reached her, she turned back around and kicked the small dog directly between his front legs. The dog issued ear-piercing yelps all the way over the neighbor’s fence. Sobbing, Kelly fell to her knees.

“What the hell’s going on here?” A man’s voice said from behind her. Kelly turned and saw a man in uniform. Animal Control stenciled neatly on the arm of his shirt. He looked Kelly up and down, pausing at her arm and legs. “You need an ambulance?” He asked. Kelly shook her head no.

“I’ll take myself to the hospital,” she said and got up and began limping toward the house.

“How big is your dog?” The Animal Control officer asked, looking around as if it may jump out at him at any moment. “Where is it?”

Just then, a blood-curdling scream rose from the neighbor’s yard followed by a billow of smoke floating gently above the fence.

Till Death Do Us Part

The first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes was that I couldn’t feel my legs – those tools for travel that I’d taken for granted my entire life. When I would need to get something, or go somewhere, they would obey me without delay, carrying me faithfully to and from. The useless, twisted logs beneath the starchy hospital sheet may as well have been severed. It may have been easier to handle if they were.
I turned my gaze from the pair of traitors below my waist to the tearful face of my wife, Judy.
At first, I was confused. My dazed, drug-addled mind couldn’t function much beyond acknowledging where I was and the condition I was in. It never even ventured into the realm of how I came to be in such a state. It didn’t take long for it to come back to me though. The car, the accident, Holly.
“Holly. Is…is she…”
 “She’s gone, Dave. You’ve taken her away from us – our little girl.”
 She comes to the bedside and holds my hand. There’s a loud, metallic sound and I realize for the first time that my wrists are handcuffed to the stainless steel railings of the hospital bed. “What the…”
 “You were drunk,” Judy says. “You veered off of the road and hit that tree. I tried to grab the wheel, but you were lying against it.”
 “I’ve never drove drunk in my life! I wouldn’t’ve put Holly in that kind of danger.”
 She lets go of my hand, stands and wipes her tears from her face with the sleeve of her baby-blue sweater. She sucks in a deep breath of air and I can see a change in her. A dark, pitiless expression comes over her face that could only be worn by a mother whose child has been put in danger.
“You were drinking, Dave. If I’d known, I would’ve never let you drive.”
 The memory comes back. I helped my brother Richard change the break-pads on his car. Holly helped out for a while, handing us tools, but grew bored as any seven year old would and opted to play in the yard.
“We had a couple of beers, that’s all.”
 “Oh sure,” she scoffs. “Everyone passes out after a couple of beers! I should’ve known. Why didn’t I see it?”
 She sits back down on the chair beside my bed, fetches a pair of nail clippers from the bedside table and grabs my hand.
 “What are you doing?”
 “I’m taking care of my man.”
 She grabs the forefinger of my right hand, slides the cold, sharp lips of the clippers under and over the nail and squeezes them shut, taking the top of the nail and a large piece of flesh with it. I scream from the pain and try to pull my hand away from her, but she is too strong, my wrist too bound by the handcuffs. She holds my hand up for inspection. Trails of fresh blood ooze from the top of my finger and drizzle down the sides like a fountain.
“Nice, but that thumb nail is much too long.” She grabs my thumb in her vice-like grip. I beg her to stop – tell her I’m sorry, but she takes the tip of my thumb as well. If I wasn’t paralyzed from the waist down, I would’ve come up off of the bed. Instead, I screamed, louder and louder, hoping that someone would hear me and come in. She lets my hand flop loose and stands again, frowning down at me.
“You’re not acting very appreciative, Dave. I’ve been here, taking care of you, even though you took my baby from me.”
“Please baby,” I beg. “Please, I’m so sorry about Holly.” The tears that had formed in my eyes from the pain that she was inflicting were instantly refreshed by the pain that I had inflicted on us both. “I’m so sorry,” I cry. I could feel the warm, wet trickle of liquid pain flowing down my face, stinging my eyes.
“I know,” she says, running her fingers through my hair. “You’re always sorry. Shall I brush your teeth?” She picks up something else from the bedside table. My eyes grow wide when I see what’s in her hand. It looks like a toothbrush, but instead of the customary soft bristles, the bristles were hard metal. She brings it close to my mouth, but I tighten my lips. “Open wide!” She says. I shake my head no like a stubborn child.
“Okay,” she says. “Have it your way. Here comes the train. Choo-choo!” She puts the business end of the bristles against the soft flesh of my lips and presses inward. It feels as if a thousand hypodermic needles and inserted into my lips at once. Then, she begins to brush back and forth. It only took two strokes before I opened my mouth to scream, but by then, my lips were destroyed. As she scoured away the soft tissue of my gums, I rotated screaming with unconsciousness. In the end, the darkness prevailed.
When I awoke, she was sitting at my side again. I tried to speak, but couldn’t. Not because of the damage that she’d done to my lips and gums, but because my mouth was sewed shut. A shadow, off to the side caught my attention, but by the time I looked toward the hospital-room door, it was gone. Another shadow passed in front of the fogged out window in the center of the door. “mmm…mmm!” I tried to hum as loud as I could. Two more passed. “mmm…mmm!”
“Hum as loud as you want to,” Judy says. “Even if they do hear you, they won’t care. You took my baby from us and they know that. No, I’m afraid that you’re stuck with me.” She stands again and pulls down the sheet, exposing my belly. “But, since I won’t be busy taking her to school, drying her tears, watching her get married, or spending time with my grandchildren, I guess I will just have to spend time with you.” She reaches somewhere beyond my vision and produces a scalpel. She places the blade of the scalpel against the flesh of my belly, but I don’t feel it. “Let’s see if maybe you’re hiding a new baby in there – whatcha think, hunny?” She dips the tip of the scalpel into the soft flesh of my belly and opens me up. By the time she zips the blade from my left side to my right, my midsection looks like a large, grotesque smile. My eyes stare in horror as she dips her hands inside me and begins to pull out long, blood-soaked strands of my innards. I couldn’t feel any of it, but the sight made me want to scream louder than I ever had – if only I could. She smashed the innards into her mouth and began to devour them. The bile rose up from inside me, but I couldn’t expel it. I began to choke on it, feeling the acid eat into the delicate lining of my throat.
Suddenly, she stopped, spit out what remained of my insides and began to cry again. “This is your hell,” she said. “You get to spend eternity watching me tear you apart, piece by piece.” She leans forward and slides her hand into the wound in my belly and digs upward until only her elbow is showing. I can see her arm twisting and working toward something inside me. “My hell,” she says, still wiggling her arm, “is that I will have to know that somebody else will get to raise my baby girl…” she pulls her arm out from inside me and holds up my beating heart for me to see. “And, that I will never be able to kill you.”
As I stare at my bloody, still- beating heart with wide-eyed horror, the world around me at first fades slowly, then disappears. I come to, sometime later and realize that I am put back together again as if nothing had happened. Judy is sitting at the foot of the bed, crying.

The Stake

Through the haze-filled night

almost devoid of light

I lie broken and dying in fear.

As time slowly passes

they drift toward me in masses

those ghosts of my past drawing near.

As the spirits that found me

slowly surround me

the throes of death take their turn.

The ghosts stand waiting

Anticipating

Will I see the light or burn?

As I too wonder

the ground splits asunder

the heat of the depths creeping out.

The hands that arrest me

pull me toward a fiery sea

and I fall through the earth with a shout.

Til eternity passes

I shall suffer with the masses

I scream and plead for my mother.

I plead for help from the ghosts

before the earth slams closed

and see one give a dollar to another.