| Brave New Real World Chapter 1 "The Man In The Moon" |
Once you've seen it, you can't miss it. The man in the moon, I mean. A few people can't make it out no matter what, but most can. The japs say it's a rabbit and, if you try, you see it: an upside-down bunny on the moon. I mainly see the face and in my childhood it always seemed happy and surprised. Now, it just looks shocked. I feel sick and responsible for a sec. Shit. I didn't blow up the world. I was minding my own business. All that color coded bullshit and it was just...BOOM. I forget what color we were in at the time. That was somewhere around Christmas years ago. What was it 2073 AD? It's now like 14-15 PE. Post Event they call it. AD ended with fucking Armageddon. My formal name is Sulamithayn. It's not the name I was born with. Everyone just calls me Smith, though. I couldn't care less. My papers are in order. I am who I am. Two camp whores stand nearer than I remember, looking too hard away from me. Something of mine isn't mine anymore and there's nothing I can do about it. I curse in their direction without feeling too much of anything. The women flow like liquid gold, in and out of the camplight, into the shadows between the tents and are gone. Other people ignore me, busy with their own business and not alarmed by this common theft. I take a look at my pack but can't tell what's missing in this greasy light. Outside used to be just a place to pass through to get somewhere else. Outside is too unpredictable ...too many stangers, too many bugs. I just like your basic comforts. I like to sleep without worrying about getting your ass ate up by something hungry. I like a place with locks. I unroll my blankets on the ground. Due to a touch of epilepsy, as my me-ma used to call it, I don't spend much time making the camp liveable. The funny thing is where epilepsy was not exactly a life-enhancer in my before-life, it is a more purposeful cross to bear now in the real world. Crazy or holy both work in the realworld and it doesn't really matter which. I keep to myself, do what I need to and stay as rocked as possible. The herb controls the fits a little and helps me see (some of us can see these days and that's more than I need to tell you).The herb grows like kudzu everywhere. Superherb. It keeps me peaceful. A person can do some damage if they slip into childish behavior. Which I have and did, but they had it coming. Not that everyone agreed on that point. So I try to stay mellow. At any rate, I am coin of the realm. A stoned, epileptic POC (person of color) with a shitty attitude. But, I can see and that makes me a valuable commodity with few options. I've been traded and I've been taken into custody in the middle of the night. This is my fifth camp in the last four years. All the same to me. I'm not that motivated and I won't pretend I can survive alone. Just leave me be and I'll tell you what I see. Don't mess with my system. I go looking for a place far enough away to take a dump. The trench latrines are great if you're in the mood for company and stench, which I'm not. I push through the tall, wet grass toward the thickest trees, work my way around and over until I find the right place. I take my time and finish with some leaf work, peaceful with my thoughts. Until I hear that scream; short and savage and female. I'm moving, pulling up my pants on the way. I stumble run in the dark, face whipped by branches I can't duck in time. The moon suddenly spotlights her, through the trees, white and quiet under a gigantic wolf. There is a creeping red stain in places where the light falls on her. The wolf lunges for another go as I thunder up behind him. My blade goes through the base of his skull at the end of a wide sweeping arc. He twists and grumbles and slumps. Dead. Sorry, can't have you hanging around here with a taste for human. I push him off the dead girl, except she's not dead and she sucks in some air with a whoop to prove it. Splattered with blood and white as a ghost as she was, I would've shit if I hadn't already. Debate my options. Reaching toward her causes nothing more than movement of her eyes as she grabs each breath. I scoop an arm behind her shoulders and one under her thighs. Wait for hysterical screams. She just stares at me with eyes bluegreen as a magazine sea. Her ripped dress drifts in the wind as I pick her up. She's light like a little kid and sighs against me, her eyes closed. Still breathing, needing help. Home, Smith. Her home. I couldn't see her fate there, her mind dark as it was. I didn't need to see to know what her fate would be otherwise. |
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