short short story

December 3, 2012

The Other Side: Part Three

The Other SideHis mom had kissed him when he left. She hugged him and told him to follow the rules, and not to think about what he was in line for. She never had to think about it, never had to wait in line. She was sterile. Was sterilized after he was born sixteen years ago.

They changed the legal age from eighteen to sixteen this year, and so here he was: only sixteen and waiting; hoping like hell he will see his mother again.

He tried not to think about the inside of The Roulette, but his mind seemed trapped there. Will I make it? Will I make it?

His mom had cried when he left. He couldn’t remember what she was wearing this morning when he left. She made a big thing out of what he’d put on. The thin T-shirt, his favorite jeans with the gaping hole in the left knee, and sneakers. If he didn’t make it through, he at least wanted to be wearing something he liked.

She didn’t believe he’d make it. He could see it in her eyes. When he stepped off the porch and onto the road that led to the end of this line, she was already forgetting his face, his name, his voice. He didn’t think she meant to do it. It was just easier for her that way. He never really existed anyway. He was just a number in a long line. The taller boy thought he was going to cry. What did it matter? The tears. He would have to pass through those doors anyway, tears or not. He felt a sadness, one that could never really be lifted because nothing really existed, did it? There was only the waiting, and the scarcely seen other side. He didn’t cry. But he would have if he could.

“Hey, man.” The smaller boy tapped him on the elbow. “Hey, man. Snap out of it. We’re next.”

The taller boy looked up and saw the doors, only the doors. They had finally arrived at the beginning of the line. Or was it the end?

The smaller boy took a long drag off his cigarette, and then tamped it beneath his foot. He laid a thick, slightly trembling hand on the taller boy’s shoulder.

“Hey, man. This is it. I’m a free man. Good luck to you, man. Nice talkin’ to ya.”

“Yea.”

The smaller boy smiled a strange smile, then turned, and stepped into The Roulette’s jaws.

The taller boy waited, holding his breath. And he heard it. The shot sounded like the crack of a whip, swift and merciless. Then it was his turn. He stepped inside. He could smell the blood and decay of many dead and even stronger, the smell of gunpowder; sharp and potent like rotten apples decomposing in the late summer sun. They put the gun to his temple. It was so cold. Somewhere in the darkness a prayer was whispered, then a pause, the sniff of fear, his mom’s long black hair, his room, the first verse of his favorite song, and his father’s voice, so harsh like the sound of a . . . gun!

CLICK.

He was shoved out of the way to clear the path for the next in line. He emerged out the other side. It was only a blank field, as dead as the bodies fallen behind him. No people, no family, no party. Only a road that led back to an existence that didn’t really mean anything. He wanted to laugh and cry and scream at the gray building at his back. Instead he remembered because that was the only thing that could beat The Roulette. He remembered the smaller boy. He stroked the jacket he’d given to him when he was cold. His name had been Jason. He will remember, and next year he will tell his truth to someone in line, and call himself lucky.

End

Part One here and Part Two here.

More short stories here.

Image Credits (stock used with permission)–
“The Other Side” (image above) is a photomanipulation created by NIKOtheOrb, using stock produced by:
Julia Star, “Open Road”
Nuno Artwork (silhouette figure from “Industrial Decay”)
Fairie GoodMother, “Statue of Liberty Park”
Funerium, “Cosmos7_0007”, distributed by Resurgere Stock

Related articles
November 24, 2012

The Other Side: Part Two

Ain’t a story. It’s the truth. My friend told me. He doesn’t lie, man. He ain’t got no need to. He’s made it three times. He’s free, man. He can do whatever he wants.”

“And the guy who made it’s brother, what about him?”

“He was ahead of us. He went in already.”

“Did he come back out?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“No. I guess not.”

They waited in silence, taking hits off their cigarettes and watching the line shrink until they were at the front and someone else was way back there where The Roulette looked like a gray dot on the horizon.

The taller boy envied those behind him. He wanted to go join them, start other forbidden conversations with another kid, and hear another truth. But he couldn’t. They, the guards, would get him for sure if he stepped out of line. At least by waiting, he had a chance.

“Hey, man, you all right?” the smaller boy asked. “You’re shakin’.”

“I’m just cold, man. I’m just cold.”

“Okay. This your first time through?”

“Yea. You?”

“Nah. Third. Last time, man. Then I’m free. Free, man, free! You know what that means, man? Freedom? You can go anywhere. Do anything you want, man. You never have to worry about nothin’. Jesus, man. Free. I want it so bad, I can taste it.”

“You’ve come out the other side two times? What’s it like on the other side?” the taller boy asked, awed.

“It’s wonderful. Sometimes you got family over there, sometimes not. But the third time, man, they say everybody’s over there. Even the President, man. The President. He gives you this award or some card that says you’re a free man. And then you party, man. Party `til your legs fall off, man. Damn, I want that.” The smaller boy fell silent, seeing his party; the President, giving him his free papers. He free to roam, untouched by anything. Free.

“Do you think you’re going to make it?” the taller boy asked the smaller boy.

“Huh? Oh, yea, man. Definitely. I come from a family of lucky kids, man. My two older brothers made it, hell, even my sister made it. They’re all free and they’ll be waitin’ for me on the other side.”

“How can you be sure, man? It’s all chance. You might not make it. The guy in front of you might.”

The smaller boy was suddenly angry. He grabbed the taller boy by the front of his T-shirt, snatching him down to his level.

“When did you become such a fuckin’ expert? Don’t you ever fuckin’ say that to me again, man. Ever. I’m gonna make it because I’m lucky, man. And I’ll spit on you, man. So, fuck you, man. FUCK YOU!” He released the taller boy, shoving him a step out of line, warranting them their first and only warning from one of the guards along the line.

They waited in silence once more. They were so close now that the taller boy could smell the pungent odor of sweat and fear The Roulette burped from its throat. Faintly beneath that, he could smell the other side. The sweet, summer honey smell of freedom. He shivered in spite of himself.

“You cold, man? Here.” The smaller boy handed the taller boy his jacket. Beneath he was bare-chested.

The taller boy put on the jacket thankfully. The smaller boy didn’t apologize for his outburst, and the taller boy didn’t ask for one.

The line moved and they moved with it. It was terribly silent now that the two boys had stopped talking. The taller boy watched the bodies swallowed by The Roulette and wondered if they will make it. He thought of their families, of his family. His mom, really. She was his only family. He’d had a father, he had been shot by one of the guards when he tried to run. And an older brother, but unlike the smaller boy’s lucky lineage, he never saw the other side.

. . .to be continued.

Part One here and Part Three here.

More short short stories here.

*Image credit: “Desert Tree” by StockF8.

Related articles
November 12, 2012

The Other Side: Part One

“How long you been waitin’?” the tall boy asked the smaller one ahead of him.

“About two hours. You?”

“About the same.”

The two boys glanced down the line ahead of them. Fifty or more people snaked out of the doorway of The Roulette. They didn’t mind. They were in no hurry.

“What’s your name?” the taller boy asked.

“Jason. Yours?”

“Terry. Nice to meet you.” They shook hands.

“Yea,” Jason agreed.

“Know anyone been through and made it? Cigarette?” The small boy pulled a crumpled, nearly empty pack of Smokes from his jacket pocket.

“Nah,” Terry said, taking a cigarette. “Thanks. You?”

“Yea. Had a friend, knew this kid once, his brother.” He lit their cigarettes. He took a long drag, and then said, “About ten years back when they first opened The Roulette here. `S been about half a dozen or so around, but this was the first one here. This kid’s brother was part of the first bunch of kids to be selected after they stopped takin’ adults and started using kids. He was about, oh, I don’t know, think he was about the twentieth person in line. He was behind this red-haired kid. But uh, they got to talkin’. You know, small talk. Don’t really mean nothin’. Just talkin’ so’s not to have to think about what you’re in line for, right? They get to be about fourth or fifth in line, and this red-haired kid starts freakin’, right? This kid’s brother’s like trying to keep him movin’, right, hollerin’ and cryin’, prayin’ and all that, man. This kid’s brother starts getting’ nervous, you know? Starts thinkin’ that if they think he’s with ‘im, and just take `em both now, you know? They can do that” The small boy paused to take a hit off his cigarette.

“Go on, man. What happened?” the taller boy urged, glancing down the line. The building loomed closer, the line shorter.

“They let the kid sniffle and scream `til they’re right at the door, man. Next, right. These huge guards snatch him outta line and take him through this other door. This kid was kickin’ and screamin’ the whole way, man. Bawlin’, right?”

“Chicken shit.”

“Yea, right? The brother watches them all the way, man. Just starin’. Just before they drag the kid through the door and into whatever hell beyond, the kid stops cryin’ and looks at this brother, man. Right in the eyes, man, and just stares. His eyes are blank, like nothin’ behind `em. He says somethin’ to him. He says: ‘I saved you.’ Freaked this guy out, man. Then they pull `im through and there’s nothin’. Just silence.”

“Wow.”

“This kid’s brother’s next now, right. And he goes in and comes out the other side, man. But the kid behind him: No.”

The line moved up. The two boys could see those ahead of them entering the dark mouth of The Roulette. They heard nervous almost insane laughter, and some tears ahead. They were the only ones talking. It was against the rules to converse with the person in front or in back of you, but no guard had been by to warn them to shut up.

“What’re you saying, man?” the taller boy questioned, his voice shaking only a little. But he wasn’t nervous, just a little cold. That’s all.

The smaller boy rolled his eyes. “I’m sayin’, if they hadn’t dragged that kid outta line, he’d’ve been the guy on the other side and this kid’s brother . . .”

“Shit, man. Shit. That’s a helluva story, man.”

to be continued. . .

Part Two here and Part Three here.

More short short stories here.

*Image credit: “Buckner Building” from Granny Moo Stock.

Related articles
November 3, 2012

Where Time Stands Still

            Hello! And welcome to the 26th Dimension. Careful, you will encounter many unusual attractions. Please mind where you step, the floor in the 10th dimension can get a bit runny, and the walls in the 17th dimension disintegrate altogether. Of course, by the 20th dimension, the telescopic ceiling will evaporate for your mental safety, but you’ll not be able to forget the pregnant pull of event horizons on your body I promise you that. No, please don’t touch that, the material feels and shatters like wedding china.

If you look to your mirror left you should find the bloated gases of infant galaxies comforting, and to your asymmetrical right you may see carbon planets coalescing in the dense, elemental heat. Ah, yes, the explosion of faraway bangs gravid with potential, peaceful isn’t it? I must warn you, Time will dance with the oscillating furnishings before you, and after you, if you pay close attention, but, only briefly, and only with your permission.

Are you chilly? I’m sorry, but I have only a blanket of anticipatory silence to offer you. Stay close, the perverted mobiüs strips of these corners can cause confusion and loss of coordination.

Yes, these five dimensional doorways do belch an ambiguous bouquet. I smell it too. I suppose you could cry out, but the reverberation of collapsing space would swallow it before it reached the end of your face. Apologize for bringing you here? I guess I could, but who (or what?) would bother to wipe up the mess? You could leave this particular dimension, but I wouldn’t if I were you, the doorknobs tend to move with the ticking of the space-time continuum, and you would definitely get lost in some obscure year or century, and I wouldn’t want that on my record. I’m looking to be Tour Guide of the Month, you know. Yes, those bulbous masses of what seem like satisfying sofas are ages scrolling forward and backward, but rest assured, presently we are still. No, I wouldn’t open my eyes just yet, infinity multiplied by infinity tends to stare back, I’m afraid. Even if we did remove, odds are we’ll begin again at the end, so it’s best to just move on to the end of the beginning, don’t you agree? We’re nearly around the room. So glad you noticed, the day breaks (and quite literally too!) here, often, while strange geometrically impossible shapes flap against that upside stairwell. Nothing equals nothing, so something refuses to exist here. Speaking of something, some thing with slobbering jaws and comfortable shoes just floated past your shoulder, and I think you’ve begun to grow a sixth appendage from your ribcage. No matter, the water still tastes like water every other Friday, and like cotton on every opposing Tuesday, that is, when such concepts as “Friday” and “Tuesday” bother to exist. I’m Contradictory? I suppose it may seem so. I can’t tell anymore, I’ve been here a long time. At least, I think I have. It’s difficult to know, all the clocks here are figured in modular arithmetic. Well, believe me, I don’t mean to be cryptic, but numbers are theoretical here. No, if you lean against that wall, you’ll lose viscosity, and you wouldn’t want that, would you? I know you’re tired, but we’re nearly through. See? Here’s the way in again. Oh, you needn’t worry about anything, your senses will reconstitute when you return to your own dimension.

Thank you and I do hope you enjoyed the tour. For your pleasure, there is a universal whiskey bar that serves cosmic-strength caffeinated coffee at the opposite end of the spectrum, a mere six billion light years to the negative sixteenth power from here, and a café that serves three dimensional tea that tastes faintly of summer ginger with a pinch of relish may open in an hour, when and if the hour decides to re-present itself.

Mind your step at the edge of Time on your way out.

*Top image: “Where Time Stands Still” by Thy Darkest Hour
Second image: photomanipulation by NIKOtheOrb using stock “Cosmos 4_0008 “and “Starfield” by Funerium distrubuted by Resurgere Stock and “Yoga Model” by Stock Gallery
Third image: “Constellation of Time” by FractalAngel-Stock

Related articles