6 Experimental Phase

6 Experimental Phase

Precision. Routine. Sentiment. These things marked my next few days. His precise routine. At the beginning of his shift, he came, checked everything in exactly the same, mechanical manner. He came every hour, on the dot. There was no clock, but I knew. I just knew he would never be late. Just like I knew there was a living, feeling heart underneath that robotic facade. Because, every time, he stopped in front of my freezing prison. And, for a whole minute, forever was not just a word.
               Twelve times, he just came, stared and went. But, at the end of his shift, he whispered, "Good night." It must have been just a silly impulse. A moment of weakness. A sign of a human being, desperate to connect. To share. At least something. Anything. A meaningless utterance noone was supposed to hear. But I did.
               Everything else is a blur. The only really conscious moments were those marked by his presence. By my desperate need to do something, anything. To touch the glass and melt the frost, so I could look into his eyes. Just that. So close, so out of reach. Two worlds separated by a glass wall. Just a few centimetres, we couldn't have been further apart.
               The soldier and the monster. No. I refused to be that. I refused to be their monster. I am my own maker. I determine my path. I am my monster.

               "Good morning, beautiful." He was smiling. I knew he was. Just a bit.
               All I wanted was to see him smile. It was a desperate, nonsensical whim. Something I yearned for hopelessly, clinging to the last spark of life in me. Ironically, the very last thing in me still fighting was the human. The human I tried so hard to dispose of. The human I loathed. But, back there, I felt it in me, screaming, slamming on the glass.
               "Move! Move!"
               I clenched my hand into a fist, the pain inside me was much greater than the pain of anything I could have possibly done. Anything they could have possibly done to me. So I moved. I reached out. All I wanted was to touch that glass. To touch that impenetrable barrier between us. I guess I was a little overeager. Too happy something was finally happening.
               I hit the glass. I smashed it hard. It cracked. It shattered. An alarm went off. He was not smiling anymore. I think he still hates me a bit for that moment.

*     *     *

You're not mutation, you're evolution.

Major Cain, Resident Evil: Apocalypse, 2004

5 Heading North Gone South

5 Heading North Gone South

It was very silly of me, the whole thing. Heading north, being considerate. But who am I kidding, it wasn't my first mistake, or last. And it didn't end up badly. I have met my first friend. Not that he wouldn't shoot me in the head, repeatedly, but it's a start. All things considered, it's very romantic. Let me explain.
               I originally planned to head east, to reach the ocean. No real reason, but it was a long journey and I needed time to think. After the Swamp, I reconsidered. There were things happening to me. Things I didn't understand. Things I didn't like. Couldn't control. And it felt good. That worried me. A lot.
               So I went north instead, hoping for a dead zone. I thought it could be refreshing after the meeting with the new world's flora. For some time, it seemed just like I hoped. I followed the Mississippi River upstream and, for a while, I was completely alone. There was absolute silence. Peace.
               Then the landscape changed. Woods. For miles and miles. Wilderness. The creatures living in there were quite bizarre. And overgrown. The trees had strange colours, mostly as if it was autumn, but some turned blue or purple. They made weird, periodical noises. The grass underneath them was also strange. As if made of glass, it sparkled and broke when I touched it. It made quiet shattering noises. And, in the centre of all this, there was something. Something I couldn't comprehend back there. Something beautiful.

                I walked through the forest, among the creatures. They passed me, they didn't care about my presence. I was just like them. I was one of them. A creature. I walked for days.
                Something whistled next to my ear. It was fast and small. I turned. Another whistle. It hit my neck. Shoulder. Leg. Neck again. I fell to my knees. I was angry and dizzy. Angrier. Dizzier. Tired.
                I woke up, probably hours later. Everything hurt. I wasn't tied, no. It was much worse. There were tubes hanging from me. I could barely move. I felt cold, a strange kind of cold. There was nothing but freezing pink mist around me. It covered the glass with frost. There was someone standing behind it, watching me.

*     *     *

She generally gave herself very good advice, (though she very seldom followed it).

Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland, 1865

4 Toxic Dinner

4 Toxic Dinner

The first thing I remember, clearly and exactly, is the Swamp. I believe it used to be Louisiana in the old world, I checked a few maps. It's a curious place. Swampy. Foggy. Beautiful. Toxic.
               "Well, who would actually bother to nuke crayfish and gonorrhea..."
                The fog was the first conscious thought after weeks of blank staring and mindless walking. I went through what was left of the cities and I felt pain. It was different than before. Pain didn't bother me until then. But suddenly, I took a breath and it burned as if I had acid in my lungs. My eyes started tearing, and I involuntarily touched my face. I was crying blood, bright red, cold and sticky.
                "What happened here?" I asked myself, and my voice emerged as a dark shadow from unknown depths, echoed in my head and shattered all of me. I was blinded by pain and awareness. I was alive. I was. I. Reborn.
                And then, rage.
                "The weak are meat and the strong do eat..."
                Darkness. I blinked. I just blinked and it was night.
                "How long have I been here?" I whispered to noone.
                I realised I was still in the Swamp, except I was in a city as well. Nature went wild around here. It couldn't have been more than two months ago, but it seemed like decades. The trees were taller than the buildings, covered by moss. Everything was covered by moss. It was thick, soft, bright green, luminous, radiant. Glowing. The moss was glowing. And moving.
                "Hungry..."
                I was standing on a street, knee deep in it. It was warm and strangely structured underneath the plants. I felt as if I was standing in a freshly gutted corpse. It burned a bit, but it smelled really nicely.
                "Hello."
                I turned around quickly. I could see twenty one of them, but I knew there were more. Hiding, lurking in the shadows and under the surface. They were beautiful. So full of life, just like this place. Colourful, tender, moving slowly. Flowers in the rain. Reaching.
                "Come, join us," they sang. "Come, be us."
                 Mesmerising. Glittering. So gentle. Blossoms carried by wind.
                "So hungry."
                I moved towards them. They were smiling. Swaying. Messing with my head. They surrounded me, dancing wildly, laughing.
                "Mother is so pleased you are here! We haven't had a visitor for weeks!"
                They reached for me and, as their small, gentle fingers, covered with moss, touched me, I felt it again. Pain. Horrible pain. As if I was digested alive.
                "Stupid."
                 I was being digested alive. The Swamp was nibbling at me since the moment I came there. And these creatures were its hands. Its teeth. Its tongue. I was bathing in Nature's stomach.
                The only thing I'm sure of after this point is that I lost it, completely. I got angry. Never before was I so angry. So filled with rage. Disgusted. Furious. Loathing.

                I woke up next morning, covered in drying, green goo. The scent was amazing. I was lying on the same street, but there was no Swamp around me. It receeded a few meters from me. Nothing was touching me. The Swamp was watching me closely. Mother Nature, offended. Scared.
                I started walking and a path appeared in front of me. The Swamp was filling the space behind me carefully, slowly. It showed me the shortest way out. A fragile truce.
                "Live and let live," I told one of the biggest trees.
                I saw them as I was leaving. They were waving sadly in their diminished numbers, praying that I will never come back. The cult of toxic sirens. A very unhealthy meal. Looked good, tasted funny. Not very nutritious, either. But I was rather hungry.
                
                Oh, yes. I have crossed the Swamp's Leftover Bin on the way out. Strange place. It showed the true power of the monster devouring the land. Nature, taking back what belonged to her. Nothing organic was left, only plastic and metal. There were clothes of thousands of people. Uniforms of at least a brigade. Torn PPEs, ripped gasmasks, broken firearms. And a few tanks, opened up as if a child was impatient with a can.
                It wasn't much, most of it was too damaged, but I have found a few nice items.

*     *     *

Curiouser and curiouser!

Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland, 1865

3 Panic Station

3 Panic Station

And then, the rain stopped. And then, everything just went crazy. People, mostly.
               It started with the weather. Heat waves, storms, blizzards, tornadoes. Then wildfire, floods, drought. Then earthquakes, landslides. Then hurricanes, tsunami. You just never knew, what's next. People were grilled alive, frozen solid, drown, crushed. Some starved or died of dehydration, of course. Firearms did the trick with most of those who were left. The world was finally full of surprises.
               I remember walking the streets in the heat, people collapsing around me. The pavement was so hot, it burned my feet. The fires spread quickly, the smoke smothering everyone, covering everything with a thick black coat. Scorched corpses, reaching. Mummified bodies, everywhere.
               I remember the water, flushing everything away, leaving just wrecks and an awful stench. I remember walking knee deep in mud, in fields of neverending sludge. There were cries in the distance. And every once in a while, something moved underneath the mud. I never saw a corpse, only scattered bones, torn clothes, leftovers.
               I remember the storms, so wild I could not see my fingers in front of my face. I remember it was so cold my hands were blue and stiff and I could barely walk. And around me, statues, frozen in the middle of their path. The clouds had strange colours, a bit green, a bit brown. Etched remains were pressed desperately under roofs, bridges, cars. The lightnings were so strong and intense, the mere sound was strong enough to break windows.

               Humanity went nuts. They turned on each other like savages. I remember all the screams. The shootings. And then, the silence. Some tried to save those that were already doomed, some killed those that could have been saved. It was chaos. Madness.
               The army went to high alert sometime during the rain. Most survivors believe they knew what was actually going on. I met some soldiers and I know for sure they still have no idea. The officers knew the local situation, if they were lucky, but noone had a clue what was going on in the rest of the world. Can't blame them, there was no time for that. They weren't prepared. Nobody was.
               And I guess it got much worse after they nuked half of the planet, they say that was day 9, I think. It doesn't matter.

*     *     *

Earth's doomsday is close, dancing on the ashes of the world, I behold the stars. 

Dirge for the Planet, Firelake, S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Shadow of Chernobyl, 2007

1, 2, 3, 4, fire's in your eyes

and this chaos, it defies imagination

5, 6, 7, 8 minus 9 lives

you've arrived at panic station

and I know you will fight for the duration

2 Rain of Terrors

2 Rain of Terrors

The first thing that I do remember is the rain. For those inside, it seemed like normal precipitation. The streets were wet and quiet, except for the silent hum of raindrops and cars in the distance. People were grumpy, wearing raincoats and carrying umbrellas. There was no wind.
               But it was different, when you were outside, getting wet. The water didn't feel like water at all. It was warm and sticky. It smelled funny. It tasted funny. It was sugary, for some reason I can't explain. It wasn't sweet, it wasn't nice at all, but I remember kids opening their mouths and sticking out their tongues, as if trying to catch every possible drop.
               It was awfully quiet and peaceful during those rainy days. I don't really remember why, but I remember thinking that life just got to the point of being boring to death. Ironic, really. Knowing now that those were the days when life held its breath as hard as it could, struggling, refusing to let go. And then, it did.
               I smiled a lot during those days. I watched my hands, wet, cold. I sang. Nobody knew, back then, what was coming. All those little bits and pieces, gentle warning signs, were there, unnoticed, ignored. Life carried on to its last moments oblivious, uncaring, bored, and a bit annoyed. And all that mattered back then is now gone. And for some reason, it makes me smile again.

               My memory of that time is strange. I remember everything around me. Every sensation, even the smallest details. But it makes little sense. There is something missing. There is someone missing. I remember a shell. I felt movement, my own. I remember all that I saw, in flashes, randomly playing through my head. I remember the emptiness. The vacancy inside. I remember that noone noticed. Noone cared. From the very beginning, I was alone.
             

*     *     *

It's no use going back to yeasterday, because I was a different person then.

Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland, 1865

1 Memory

1 Memory

Memory is a tricky thing. Most people have very little actual control over it. They forget. They remember ugly things at inconvenient moments. They can't remember. They forget.
               I don't remember much from my past life. It's too far gone and there's nothing to remind me of it. It's like a dream, a distant, unreachable world, hidden behind a curtain. Little pieces that don't make sense, utterances without meaning. Places that don't exist anymore. Faces I can't recognize. Feelings I can't connect to. Things that don't matter anymore. And fear, I think.
               I used to think memory matters. That it has a meaning, a purpose. Value. That the past can teach us something, help us have a better future. If only we could learn from our mistakes. From everyone's mistakes. If only we weren't doomed to repeat them over and over again. If only we were not doomed.

               I used to think that remembering would help me. Help me understand. Understand to make a difference. A difference big enough to change the world. But I know now my world might be young, but it's build solid. And what has been done, cannot be undone. We are doomed.
               What is still frustrating though, I don't actually know what happened. But I don't think memory would help me with that. I have heard many stories, most of them contradicting. It was back then, when people were still mostly people. When they were used to talk. When there was still hope. When some still believed that all of it will make sense one day.

               The fascination with one's origin is a very human thing. To be rooted, to belong somewhere, to someone. To have a place to come back to. It gives them a sense of security, I think. Heritage, maybe. Legacy, even. It's gone now, all of it. Well, at least all that could have been destroyed. But there is something humanity left after themselves. The destruction, that is their true legacy. Complete destruction. Not death, though. The world is a little short on that.
               And it doesn't matter if we came to this by accident or plan, good intention or bad, government or terrorist, one person or a group. The result is the same. The old world has been forgotten, left behind. The past matters little when your life is measured by minutes. The days are the same, an endless routine of fight, survive, rest. This new world is strong and fierce. Humanity is facing extinction. And I'm here to watch it, a cold, distant observer.

*     *     *

My name is Alice... and this is my world.

Alice, Resident Evil: Retribution, 2012

NOTE: This story is a tribute to the art of Luis Royo, 

especially his Malefic Time: Apocalypse series

My grave

My grave

My heart was fixed on a simple thing,

On the need to love to survive,

To be a queen, I need a king,

In my kingdom of gray, sleeping,

Dead for so long, suddenly alive,

Now I know what I was missing.

the cold rain is falling down my face

erasing my tears, every trace

now I'm lost, out of place

a feeling to erase

come for me, my love, it's a race

My heart ran at an incredible pace,

And then, suddently, it stopped,

I was thrown out of time and space,

Broken, frozen, nowhere to go,

The iron gates are now locked,

Prisoner of my personal limbo.

come now, my love, find me

I'm waiting patiently 

at the cemetery

don't worry

what's dead doesn't die easily

*     *     *

You won't try for me, not now
Though I'd die to know you love me
I'm all alone

And if I sleep just to dream of you
I'll wake without you there
Isn't soumething missing?

Alone

Alone

LOVE

leaving to stay

staying to leave

soon far away

not that naive

Cannot fight the distance

All I feel is endless gloom

There's no point in resistance

Only waiting for my doom

leaving, not there

out of reach

staying nowhere

both and each

HATE

***

With you I am ALONE

AWOL

AWOL

POZOR!

... tisíce slov ...

... temnota ...

... probuď se...

Čas,     

jak tiše tiká,     

jeho krutý rozsudek,     

zbydou jen vzpomínky.     

Chladný had v temnotě,               

jeho hebká kůže,               

tiše škrtí,               

jed.               

... sny ...                              

Utíkáš před koncem,                                        

vrať se, dezertére,                                        

probouzej se se mnou,                                        

nauč se zase žít.                                        

... útěk ...                  

Vášeň,      
žhavé doteky,      
ukradené vteřinky,      
tohle je přece mnohem víc.      

     Tisíce kradmých pohledů,
     city nejsou okovy,
     lehkost bytí,
     strach.

          ... naděje ...

                             Nevěřím ve věčný led, 

                             budu tvé něžné jaro,

                              bouře, hromy a blesky, 

                             voda nového života. 

                    ... ticho ...

     Oheň,

     roztopím tě,

     zapálím ti křídla.

Dokud je čas,     

shořet.     

H  
N
     E
D


*     *     *

a ty se zeptáš
kdo že jsem
pak řeknu nevím
mám své stíny

a jedno srdce v němž se pletu
a hořkost krásy jiných světů

jsem ze dna moří tichý host
tlumené světlo škvírou dveří
zbývá mi z tebe

jestliže nikdo neuvěří
má duše shoří na němost

Tomáš Pektor

Skřípote střípků

*      *      *

My Beloved Complication

My Beloved Complication

I'm struggling with every word

As if I had nothing to say,

This whole thing is so absurd,

And I won't submit to your way.

You're so complicated,

like a distant daydream,

forever is so overrated,

you're already on your way,

you can't hear me scream,

so there's nothing left to say.

Mind of a confused conundrum,

all is hidden behind a wall,

inside, it has gone so numb,

no attention you can spare,

no wonder you can't hear me call,

back and forward, going nowhere.

Confused, almost delirious,

always prepared to leave,

the solution is so obvious,

but you aim for the extreme,

I will stay here and grieve,

once there's nothing to redeem.

*     *     *

Love is a word

You gave it a name

Love is right now

So don't close your heart

I've been waiting all my life

For this moment of our love
With you

Wait for Tomorrow

Wait for Tomorrow

wait for the blade to turn into rust
and then, go if you must...

The rain taking all that was dead
I stood there and I was broken
Again, so many things were said
And still, so many left unspoken

You're a limited edition
of all I ever wanted
like a stalker on a mission
you're a ghost, I'm your haunted

Let me bury all my sorrow
I don't need any fucking forever
all I hope for is tomorrow
little pieces of never ever

Stop saying goodbye
over and over and over again
because, every time, I die
and it won't help me with the pain

I don't care if it's love or lust
stay for now, you're all I trust
let the corpse turn into dust
and then, go if you must

*     *     *

And nothing I could ever write 

Would help you understand this life...

Modern "Love"

Modern "Love"

This modern "love" is sick and twisted,

it's all digital and 24/7 online,

just review all the reasons listed,

romance is dead and I mourn,

now, it's sexting, tweets&likes, combine,

today it's all just about HD porn.

Cool kids enjoy their first lust,

skinny bodies, sticky liquid,

well, enjoy STDs and my disgust,

all the things you commit,

as if you were addicted,

I look at you and want to vomit.

They say my notions are medieval,

I'm not a saint, I like to flirt,

but the rest just caused an upheaval,

no photos, especially nude,

I'm not meat, you stupid pervert,

you make me sound like such a prude.

I want a knight born in blood and sweat,

it's really hard to have a conversation

with a yuppie in the hottest corvette,

so go elsewhere and good luck,

all you think of is penetration

and I literally don't give a fuck.

I think I've lost it,

I'm against any prohibition,

but to deal with this

I need ammunition!

Creepy Confessions

Creepy Confessions

I have a confession to make

and this may be a big mistake,

but all things that may have mattered

were left behind as I was shattered.

hold me so I can fall

your gentle violence

your words and silence

for me, you have it all

So tease me with those little lies,

whisper all those naughty wishes,

seduce with those blackened eyes,

please, bite my neck until I bleed,

your every touch is so delicious,

and fight me, so I can concede.

my cold, distant lover

sweet, tender, little vicious

always a bit suspicious

with a heart to rediscover

*     *     *

"Last night you were unhinged. You were like some desperate, howling demon. You frightened me. Do it again!"

Morticia Addams

You may be a sinner, but your innocence is mine...

I want to reconcile the violence in your heart,

I want to recognize your beauty is not just a mask,

I want to exorcise the demons from your past,

I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart...

It's Not Me, It's You

It's Not Me, It's You

To the Critics

Critics of the world

Throughout space and time

I must confess

To a horid crime

Because of you I can't express

A single thought on my mind

A girl who likes to rhyme

It's just personal, not rafined

TS Eliot, I hate you, bastard

I used to care

But now I'm plastered

So go you-know-where!

*     *     *

"The emotion of art is impersonal. And the poet cannot reach this impersonality without surrendering himself wholly to the work to be done."

FUCK YOU!

Vodka Honesty

Vodka Honesty

The only poem I want to read 

Is the one written in your eyes

Time travels at an enormous speed

I found myself lost in your lies

An Angel falling from the sky

You're the Devil rising high

The Love that I hate

My Sin, it's too late

ripped out your heart

still bleeding in my arms

my care, your grief

make loss an art

crying in disbelief

now filled with rage

you worship the cold Princess

she knows the right charms

so go to your Priestess

nevermind this stupid jealousy

you were never really here

fuck me out of courtesy

go, chase those stars

each and every one

forget me, i am the closest

and i burn like the Sun

XII, the hanging cadaver

the other point of view

the little disaster

ignore me, i am true

write for your Inspiration

Delightful or whichever

i am just penetration

but i am forever

*     *     *

I don't care if I will miss you, please just fuck me till we disappear...

Anyway...

Anyway...

I wrote my heart on a piece of paper,

take it now and love me later.

Sure, I might be a bit insane,

but it takes two for this campaign.

I'm sending you an electronic kiss,

since it's online, I cannot miss.

And if I do, then no dismay,

you'll get a real one, anyway.