Just John

John's grandfather had told him of days when men built skyscrapers and machine guns, and John dreamed of those days like he dreamed of God. He thought about the salvation that would arrive if those technologies ever reached them; technology like that would destroy the crying ones and elevate their town to new levels. The siege was infrequent but constant as well. Some days they were surrounded, some days they were gone. John fought them off when he could, along with the other spearmen.

Their town was called Hamlet, and it had been founded hundreds of years ago as a trading post. They didn't trade anymore, but it was instead a bastion of humanity. Their population rose as refugees flooded in. John had seen those stalwart survivors from Los Angeles arrive two years ago, and together they'd built Hamlet’s walls further out and expanded their town to meet the needs of the larger population. John knew the inner workings of these activities because his father was mayor.

But John spent most of his time, spear in hand, defending Hamlet from the crying ones. He would kill them and then put on leather gloves to carry the bodies to a funeral pyre, which served as a disposal as well as a towering pillar of smoke for survivors to flock to. John didn't like the refugees anymore, though. The more people there were the more they quarreled. And if he wasn't defending the town against the crying ones, he was defending it against its own people.

There was one bar in town, and one morning a man with a rusty revolver tried to hold it up. John was called in immediately to deal with it. "Drop the gun or I'll kill you," John said as he entered.

"What are you supposed to do,” the robber said, “Stay where you are or I’ll shoot. And I don’t want to kill no kids.”

John proceeded to show him that spears can be thrown; years of spearing crying ones for sport offered its advantage here. He never missed, and that day he’d aimed for the eye.

But one cold winter day he killed a crying one and then began to cry. He was at first afraid that he was infected, that he'd feel depression like he'd never felt, and while he felt depression like he’d never felt, he checked his tears constantly and they were never bloody. He detailed this story to his father, who said that it was merely him growing up and having trouble with his Hormones. “In time, your hormones will quiet down, and you’ll see these people as I do.” John did not know what Hormones were, and thus the advice did not help him.

So he went down to the bar and detailed the story to the barkeeper.

She grinned, "It's this damn prison your father's got us in. I was hoping someone other than us would realize how bleak it all is. The crying ones are outlasting us, and we don't have a steady enough stream of supplies to deal with our growing population. Everyone feels trapped and everyone is too afraid of your father and the spearmen to do anything about it.

And so John asked her what her advice would be.

"I’d deal with it," she said, and poured him a second glass.

The night passed, mostly uneventful. As the hours passed a rougher group entered, and soon it was full and full of noise. A bearded man sat down on the stool to John’s left and proceeded to order a drink.

The barkeep apparently recognized him and said, “So this kid here is tired of this here town, what do you recommend?”

"Well I'm achin' to try to get out of here," said the bearded man, turning to face John. "If we can get out past the wall's guards then we might be able to book it all the way down to Sacramento. I hear they're doing much better there."

“I can use my status to get us out,” John explained. “They know me and they’ll believe if I say we’re just pursuing something.”

“That sounds excellent,” the bearded man said.

"What's your name, sir?" John asked.

"My name is Jack Carentan," Jack said. "What's yours?"

"John," John said, "Just John."

"Alright, Just, I'm going to get together some men, supplies, and ammo, and then we can head out. Let's meet back here, midnight. A week from now."

"That sounds..." John said, trailing off. "I'll try to show up."

"Good," grinned Jack, "Can't wait to see you there, Just."

John went home, feeling rather dizzy from the drinks and fell asleep with his head swimming with ideas. The next day he awoke and gathered his spear and went back to the wall, where a crowd of some fifteen crying ones had gathered. He leapt in and sated his depression, transmuting it to anger.

As he went to sleep that night, he did not even remember Jack with the Beard; the only thing on his mind was killing and more killing.

The rest of the week was a week full of bloodshed, and there isn't much other than that to say. The pyre burned brighter than he'd ever seen it (he admired this as thinking it was a week’s work well done), and as he walked back home he saw Jack standing with a few others outside of the bar. He realized that it had been a week, and that it was midnight. He decided to tell Jack that he'd decided not to come when John's father rushed past him with some other spearmen.

John saw Jack pull up a rifle and fire, knocking down one of the spearmen. But the spearmen were too numerous, and like John, deadly accurate with spears. Jack was the only survivor; after pulling a spear from his stomach he fled, shooting down another one of the spearmen before he vanished. The other men who were there with Jack lay dead.

John's father walked over to John after seeing him, and said, "These men wanted to betray us. They forgot that this town offers untold amounts of protection. I have to keep them safe, and if anyone gets out that will make the others think that it’s a good idea. They don’t know any better.”

But John’s father’s words did little to alleviate John’s misgivings of the situation. He went to sleep thinking of poor Jack and the trapped people in the city.

The next morning John awoke with a goal in mind. He would find freedom. As he walked around Hamlet, he saw two children playing make believe; one miming a crying one and the other gripping a stick as though it were a spear. He stopped them before anybody got hurt, but the children looked up crying as their fun was stopped. Their mother came out and scolded John; "How dare you touch my children, you tyrant."

And John thought about how they would have hurt one another if he had not been there. He thought about how Jack and his men might have died if they had escaped, infected by crying ones or killed by bandits.

John found Jack lying in an alleyway and offered him a drink and his shirt as a bandage. "Thanks," Jack said. "I didn't know your father knew about my plan. Listen, you have to get out before it's too late. I think your father wants to control everyone, and I don't know if it will pass onto you if you stay here."

"I don't know, I think it is passing on already," John said, thinking about the children he'd interrupted. "I need to leave."

"Take this," Jack said, offering a rolled up parchment, "It will give you access to Sacramento; it's like a key to the city. Just show it to the gate guards there. Once I'm better, I'll follow."

John nodded, "I'll see you in some time then, Jack Carentan."

"I'll see you too, Just John," Jack said smiling. "Safe travels!"

John used his status as a guard to get to the gate, and then reported having seen a crying one in the forest. "Go after it then," said the guard on duty, "But come back as soon as you can so you do not get surrounded."

"Can I have a spear?” John asked. And then realizing he was already holding one, asked, “An extra spear, I mean?" He’d need it in case he lost his first one.

"Sure," said the guard. "I don't see why not."

John took it and tied it to his waist, and then ran off into the woods. He kept running until he found the road going south, and followed it until he saw a sign with a word similar to the one on the parchment. Night fell and he slept in one of the metal bodies (that he thought were cars), and then in the morning kept running.

He came to a bridge at nightfall and started to cross it, but as he was halfway across he saw a horde of crying ones on the other side. He gripped his spear and started in, slashing amongst the ranks of the enemy.

He leapt backwards from the swarm, amazed that there still remained enough to effectively keep him from crossing the bridge he was fatigued and decided to turn around and find another way to cross the river to Sacramento. He turned to see another horde blocking the other side of the bridge. He realized they must have been following him, and his time on the bridge must have given them time enough to catch up. They were a horde that was larger than the one in front of him. He knew there were too many. He knew they would turn him into one of them if he stayed where he was.

And then he remembered why he left Hamlet, he remembered how he wanted to escape the control, the utter depression. And here was the ultimate symbol of control and depression. The crying ones would turn him into one of them, and he'd be crying, in eternal sadness, unable to stop, controlled against doing so.

He looked at the rushing water below, and thought about how he still had a chance to control his life before it ended. He could choose. He could choose to end it. He climbed to the edge and then turned, to see the crying ones were now completely around him. He slashed and slashed and then lost his footing.

Falling, he called out into the air. "Freedom! Freedom forever!"



Jack Carentan found John's mangled form downriver, at the second bridge. It was rotted and at least a week old, but he saw the spear tied up at the figure's waist and knew who it was that would have carried it.

Jack dragged the body to the ground and dug a quick grave. Sacramento, just three miles down the road, could wait for an elegy for a dead child.

This kind of thing happens all the time...

“So you said they just found him here, at the foot of the Memorial Bridge, half-eaten by sea vermin,” I asked, “This being… Charles Kooper?” I glanced at the body on the slab, whom met my verbal description perfectly.

“Yes, this being Charles Kooper. He jumped over sometime around twelve yesterday. Midday at least,” the coroner said. “Listen, I know you think there’s something more to this, but there isn’t.”

“But what about the guardrail? It was broken," I said. "That could easily mean someone pushed him off. He was connected to several criminals, so it could be a revenge burn."

“The guardrail was broken?” The coroner asked, “How absurd! Of course it was broken,” the coroner said. He walked over to his desk and sat down in front of his computer. “You know that the city has never taken measures to keep that bridge safe. At least not lately.”

“Oh I haven't lived here long, only a few weeks," I explained.

“Oh!” He exclaimed, “So you don’t know then.”

“Don’t know what? About jumpers?"

“This kind of thing happens all the time," the coroner said, a disinterested look in his eye.

like where when why

like:

...you've put extra weights on your shoes and your legs ache all day
...swimming in cement and it's just getting thicker and thicker
...dancing on Jupiter

where:

...the birds are stone and fall like bits of broken planes
...store clerks steal your money at the cash register
...the homeless beg for mercy beneath the feet of God

when:

...the sun is red and the skies are too
...you've realized it's too late to change your order
...the gas is almost out and you're hoping that you have enough left

why:

...the politicians never cry
...diamonds shine brightest in the light
...criminals only come out at night