I Have No Mouth & I Must Scream

by Harlan Ellison

I shamble about, a thing that could never have been known as human, a thing whose shape is so alien a travesty that humanity becomes more obscene for the vague resemblance.

To see an almost certain horrible death—you know how crowds all sit on the edge of their seats, praying subconsciously for a spectacular accident—and then to be whisked away from it so suddenly—brought to the edge of tragedy, and then to have their better natures win out, showing them how much nicer they always knew they were—that was the supreme thrill.

And the other thing, the thing that really stopped us from trying to help him, I think, was that Sam wanted to die. He could have teeped out of that noose at any moment, but he didn’t. He let them lynch him. He had squared away with Claire. We finished our tour on Giuliu II. Sam had been right: it wasn’t much like Heaven.

But belowground … The terrible thing began in earnest. What had lain in wait for twenty years, now snarled, leaped, and threw itself at the throat of beauty on Topaz. They found him meditating.

He had the audacity to weep and cry as he burned, wailing, “Do not kill me! There is so much for me to see, so much I do not know!” He sobbed for the knowledge and visions he would never glimpse. And it was good. The fire was beauty. (If only he had been wise enough not to scream!)