15 a day

[Clem is Me]

Steve walked right in. No one stood on formality here. No one was afraid of offending anyone else. All that was meaningless. The iron doors were massive and hot to the touch, but again, that was meaningless. They opened into a vast space, brightly lit and perfectly comfortable looking. Deep carpets, soft chairs and sofas. Lamps for reading and meeting. Compared to Steve's general working area it was cool and quiet. Ironically cool and quiet.

The room, vast as it was, was dominated by an enormous oak desk. Intricately carved and inlaid with delicate designs, it curved in a half moon around it's occupant. Back to the door, the desk-keeper had his feet up on a vast window sill that looked out from the office to the world below. He sat in an offensively inviting executive chair mumbling to himself as was his wont.

Steve walked purposefully to one of the seats nearest the massive desk, took it and waited. Formalities were uncalled for, but Steve new the man in the chair wouldn't talk until ready. And he also knew that if one tried to start a conversation "ready" would become further and further in the future. Time was not really an issue at all events, so Steve simply sat taking in the grand office spectacle.

A great deal of time would have passed had anyone bothered keeping it. Then the Desk man spoke. His vioice was velvet. "Steve. Good of you to come."

"You called, I came. What else was there to do?"

"Just so. Steve, how are you? It's been a very long time, hasn't it?"

"I suppose. Time is not a priome concern of mine or anyone else's. This office is hilarious."

"Isn't it? I know executives who would drown in their own drool over it. And may yet. Yes, it's a fine office. Fitting. There's even a liquor cabinet. Care for a drink, Steve?"

Steve spat.

"Always a gentleman. Steve I have a problem. WE have a problem."

"I didn't imagine you asked me here just to show off."

"Hyram is missing."

"Missing? Missing from..."

"Yes. He has gone to the project."

"How can this be?"

"A subtle joke, perhaps. Or a little lattitude gone too far again. I suppose I will deal with the 'how'. Not that it matters, really. Uncertainty is part of the process, after all. But Hyram needs to come home. The project is incapable of handling Hyram. You need to get him."

"Figures." Steve slumped in the chair. "Fulll incorporation?"

"Afraid so."

Steve swore hopelessly. "Why me?"

"Because, Steve, you have been here from the start. You understand the project as well as anyone. You appreciate the gravity of the project. We need someone who can withstand immersion in it. Better or worse, that's you."

More cursing. "I can't refuse."

"None of us can, Steve."

 

[Clem is Me]

More from Steve







Snow fell in isolated flakes that would leave a tiny wet dot on your arms or face that would evaporate before another one would hit. Late March and colder than normal the night was not quite cold enough to keep the snow flakes from meklting. The real cold came from the dampness of the air, the kind of cold that made you think of fireplaces and placing your hands out to bake away the clamminess.

Steve emerged in a confluence of shadows between two small houses in a cul-de-sac composed of rickety old homes, abandoned garages and various shacks and sheds. The street was paved but the dirt and weeds from the yards had crept onto the edges. In the dark and damp it was hard to tell where soil ended and paving began. His appearance was noiseless, and there were no flashes or glows. He simply stepped from a slightly deeper shadow.

He was clothed in the flesh of a human, and that was clothed in a simple suit and overcoat. There was a fedora of a type perhaps fifty years out of style, but it was more of a joke than apparel. In Steve's inner coat pocket was a wallet with five grand, a driver's licence and a library card. Steve could request more supplies, but he imagined this would be enough for the job at hand.

At first the flesh he wore was numb, but very quickly it began to sense the world around it. Steve braced himself, but the sensations were far too powerful to ignore or control. He tried rather to contain them. Keep himself from howling or screaming or wailing as the waves of sensation hit him. It drove him to his knees, brought tears to his eyes. His muscles spasmed and flexed, caught in a loop of action and reaction. Sweat drizzled from his face, teeth chattered and moans escaped his throat.

He knew it was coming, had tried to steel himself ever since he had recieved the assignment, but it was all he could do to keep from tumbling over in a seizure. Pain. He was aware of pain, of course. His real body could feel pain. But his soul was not emotionally connected to sensation. He felt and reacted to pain, but never with his mind. His mind - soul - spirit? - simply observed pain, pleasure, all sensations from a distance. Pain didn't "hurt" him.

But in this universe, in this flesh pain was emotional. And it HURT. Everywhere. All the time. The inhabitants of this universe didn't noticve it, of course. They lived with pain on some level or another their whole lives. It was there but they were inured to it. But Steve was experiencing all of it without any tolerance. It would come, and quickly, but for the forst few moments it seared and crushed and itched and stung.


Jordan had been playing in the sheds behind the garages, dispite the hour. His dad was drunk again, and hios mom was asleep. Better to be out here where his imagination ruled than inside where dad's temper was lord. Dad never noticed when he was gone, but he had a knack for noticing when he was around. He had found an old piece of wood that nearly resembled one of those spaceships the lobster people used in Star Wars and he was pretending an old tin shed with a missing door was a space station of the Empire. He had few toys and they were all old a broken, but in a way he appreciated having to make what he found in the yards and empty drives in this circle into starshuips or swords or battletanks. It was his world, and instead of being at the mercy of dad's moods JORDAN was in charge.

He had just gotten bored with attacking the station when he heard someone moaning around the corner.

 

[Clem is Me]

Jordan stopped in his tracks, tried to stifle his breathing which suddenly seemed very loud. The sound was coming from between the old garage who's lot he was standing in and a little two room shanty that no one used anymore. Big holes in the floors and roof. The moaning kept coming, spiced with tiny retching sounds like in between heaves when Jordan had a stomach bug.

Was it a bum? Sometimes they found their way down this road, but not often. Jordan didn't know why. They did come, however. Maybe this was one of them. Her sounded like he was real sick. Maybe Jordan should take a look. If he needed to call an ambulance he could run to the corner and use the pay phone. Someone at school had told him that 911 was a free call, even fropm a payphone. He wouldn't dare use HIS home phone. His dad would hear him and probably become agnry...

He heard a muffled growl, then the moaning stopped. He could barely hear muffled panting. He needed to see. Walking with as much care as he used to on Christmas morning so as not to wake his dad and get yelled at and forced back to bed, he made his way toward the garage corner and peaked around.



Steve was over the worst of it. His body was still racked with pain, but it was dulling. His brain was adjusting. He knew it would. This wasn't the forst time he had travelled to the project. The pain never left, of course, but it became manageble. The forst few minutes were the worst of it, and these had passed now. He stretched his mind out and found the connection with his home. Then he began feeling out with his senses, getting used to the information inflow. His eyes opened and he saw the darkened street with violent clarity. His nose breathed and he smelled mud, water, paint, oil...pollution. Weeds. Trees. His ears awoke and he heard... a small child's steps. Behind the building to his right. Trying to keep quiet. He knew they were a child's by the lack of heft and slightness of spacing. This would be awkward.

Jordan's face eased around the corner of the garage. With his right eye he saw a man, crouched, sillouetted against the street lamp halfway down the road. He was BIG. Bigger than anyone Jordan had seen before. Even crouched Jordan could tell. This man looked like if he tretched out he would be as long as a taxi. GHis shoulders and legs were bulky. His head bald. He see,ed to be covered with sweat. He was breathing heavily, and his body seemed to grow double with each breath and deflate as the man exhaled.

 

[_sunshinegirl]

(15)

(its not a lot by far, but alas this was a new concept)

Captivated by the fallen shadows amidst the large stained windows, she wept. Alone, in a world of pain, death and decay she allowed herself to feel for a moment for the loss of her son. “He was only 19”; she cried in the empty room, her anger vibrated the walls. Lost inside herself she did not know what to do. How would she carry on? What would be the point? Suddenly, inside as if injected with an invisible serum, she felt peace. Peace over what was, what is and what should come. Peace she decided that would one day go away, and she would be left alone again to her own devices, struggling day to day with nothing to live for. That never happened though, the peace never left, her sadness never returned. Instead her last days where carried out with more joy and happiness than she had known all her life. It was only there, on her deathbed, did she realize ‘what’ had happened that day in the church. Broken, beaten without anything in the world, she gave her life up to the Lord. Allowed Him to lead, Him to carry her forth, for she felt the love and understood that He had wisdom beyond anything she could ever imagine. “Footprints in the sand”, she laughed. “He’s carried me all these years, surely He can do the same for you.”

 

[Lessien]

Not my best....

The shadows crept closer, ever closer. Catava could feel as well as see them, as they drew nearer and nearer. They were coming for her. They wanted her, though she didn't yet know why.
Great, black-robed figures looming over the tiny, frightened girl. She tried to scream, but all she could manage was a muffled squeak. They loomed closer, imminent doom. They seemed to sense her fear, and relish it.
Closer, ever closer they came to Catava. Nearer, ever nearer, stifling life and cheer, 'til only death and incomprehensible terror remained.

 

[Clem is Me]

Hey hey, never relate to these in terms of good or bad. These are exercises to get blood flowing. They can't be bad.

 

[Lessien]

lol. OK, OK. I won't. lol.