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

Avalanche

It’s like an avalanche when you see it
His hands cupped to the sides of his mouth
The mountain comes crashing down
The stones are mixed in the snow like
The pebbles in the snowballs you used to throw
And they overtake the town
And all the buildings fall over
And the dust is a warning sign
So that everyone downhill can get clear
Because light travels faster than death
At least for now

The Gift of Learning

Learning is a gift, a gift we abuse.

And what is a gift without proper use?

Something no one can appreciate.

Don't ever stop learning and teaching.

For without it, we have no use.

Give and receive, this is the gift of learning.

War

War is a game which we all play

They send out pawns so they can stay

Some loose their lives and fade to gray

We fly their colors to make the day

Text Adventure: Urban Survival 4

Max’s eyes shot open and he looked around. He was dazed and felt that his head was spinning, but soon everything that had happened sunk back in. He shot up only to realize that his hands and feet were restrained and that he was lying on his side. His vision was still blurred but he could make out several Ayra figures and a bright fire nearby.

Soon he noticed one of the Ayra moving towards him. He recognized her as the Ayra from before who asked him for help and got him in this mess in the first place.

"How are you?" she started to say but stopped when she looked at his face and stared at him awkwardly, her brown hair was in a ponytail draped over her right shoulder.

Max ignored her look and started talking himself, “How am I. How am I? Oh that’s right, I’m tied up!”

She pulled some kind of cloth out of a pocket on her belt and began to reach for his face. Max instinctively pulled away at first but realized that there was no way for him to resist so he gave in.

She rubbed the cloth against his right cheek and he winced as the damp cloth touched the large gash from where the one Ayra had hit him.

“You’re a very stupid Human…”

“Risky,” he corrected.

She looked at him and cocked her head.

“I’m risky, not stupid.”

“Risky, stupid. They’re the same thing. Traveling alone in a world like this is both risky and stupid.”

Max thought back to when he was separated from his squad a few days ago. He hadn’t chosen to travel alone they had just run into trouble on the way to the evac zone.

He shook his head, “so many things went wrong.”

The Ayra stopped cleaning the wound, “what?”

“Sometimes things don’t happen as planned,” Max said thinking about how his battle buddy and right hand man was killed just the other day. “Especially in this world, one small mistake and everything is jeopardized.”

The Ayra looked at him intently.

“After that mistake, risks have to be taken. You can’t hesitate or all can be lost.”

There was a pause as the Ayra studied him. He shifted in his restraints and found that he could sit up.

Without saying a word, the Ayra reached into a different pocket and produced an adhesive strip of cloth. Reaching towards Max again, she placed the bandage over his cut.

Max looked at the other Ayra in the room. The room was well lit by the fire they stood around. He could see the smoke drifting up to the ceiling twelve feet above. A hole in the ceiling acted as a vent, letting the smoke out to who knows where.

Max looked back at the Ayra who had bandaged him, “if the Ayra hate Humans so much, why keep me alive?”

She laughed, “don’t worry, we’ll find something for you to do.”

This Ayra didn’t seem to hate humans at all; in fact she seemed almost, “you know you don’t seem to hate me, you seem kind of friendly. Aren’t you mad that I killed some of your friends back there?”

He had no time to react as her hand flew through the air and slapped him across the face. She was surprisingly strong and Max’s cheek felt as if it were on fire.

Looking up, Max expected to see an angry face but to his surprise she didn’t look mad at all, she looked unusually calm.

“You may be stupid but you’re not unwise. We made a mistake. We were sent out to get supplies,” she looked down at her knees, “but it was raining so we thought there was no harm in trying to wait it out. Those weren’t my friends you killed, I hardly knew them. They were just part of the selected scout party. they’re from the lower levels of the building where the Na’li Ayra live. They despise Humans. I was just one of the lucky ones to get chosen for the scout party. ”

“How many of you are there?”

“There’s a whole colony of us surviving here. The Na’li has a couple hundred who live in the lower levels of the building and we have, maybe, a hundred of us who live up here in the upper levels.”

“And what are you?” asked, his eyes wide with amazement; he had no idea there were so many Ayra in one place.

She laughed again, “We’re the Myrx. We don’t hate the humans. After all the Ayra and the Humans are virtually identical to each other.”

Max studied her in the dull light and saw she was right. He had never really noticed it so much before but she could pass off as a Human.

“So if the Myrx don’t hate me, why am I tied up?” Max asked confused.

“I still haven’t been able to work something out with Jaq,” she said.

“Who’s…”

“Jaq is a Na’li and sort of like the leader of our colony. I mean we have different groups in the colony, but everything that goes on in our safe house has to be brought up with him first.”

The Ayra paused, her face stiffened as if she were thinking really hard and then her face light up with excitement.

She got up abruptly and began running towards a door, “I’ll be right back.”

“Wait! Hey wait!”

“You can call me Aeila,” she called back right before she went through the door.

“Aeila,” Max whispered to himself. “Hey, Aeila wait!”

It was too late, she had gone, Max looked at the other Myrx in the room. One walked over to him and handed him a plate of food, “Here eat something.”

He stared at the food for a second and without answering he dug into the food, he was starving.

-------------

Max sat there for what seemed like hours listening to a few the Myrx conversations which he actually found quite interesting. But something caught his attention and he look up at the door. He...