Intentional Dissonance by pleasefindthis & Thomas Iain S

Author:pleasefindthis & Thomas, Iain S. [Thomas, Iain S.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: dystopia, love, poetry, politics, apocalypse, technology, time travel
Publisher: Central Avenue Publishing
Published: 2012-12-03T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Now

Somewhere in the last city on Earth, a street child gives his last piece of bread to his hungry younger brother. He writes his name on a wall in chalk, just in case someone will see it and say it aloud one more time. He dies in his sleep that night. His name was Simon. Now you know and Simon will live forever in electrical charges in your brain. You may forget Simon, but never completely. Simon is pure energy in the minds of everyone who reads this, forever.

Inside the United Government compound, a breathless guard is battling to open a cell door, struggling with the keys. The white industrial door isn’t budging but he can see inside through a small window.

“He’s hung himself!” yells Deformed. Jon’s face is bloated and blue and bare of signs of life.

His death mask is beautiful: an evident calm that may have escaped him most of his life. The guards finally manage to open the door. One of them picks up the dead weight of Jon’s body and grunts as he lifts it off the hook in the ceiling and ever-so-gently, like a baby, he lays the corpse on the ground.

“The doctor’s going to fucking kill us,” says the smaller guard.

“Shut up and help me get this noose off his neck,” says Deformed.

“Why’s it so tight?” asks the quieter one.

“Just fucking cut it. He’s probably ripped some of the cabling from the wall and used that,” says Deformed. They take out heavy-duty bolt cutters and work on the cables around Jon’s neck. They groan with the effort and it takes both of their combined strength to do it but eventually, with a satisfying snap, the noose falls away.

And they are left looking into the eyes of an angry, brown-eyed, half-man, half-tree.

“Who’s a coffee table now, numb nuts?” asks Edward as he slams his good arm into Deformed’s face, crushing his skull in the process. The smaller guard tries to back away but Edward is on him in an instant, sharp splinters of wood in his hand and ripping apart the frail human body; the smaller, quieter guard is quiet forever. Jon appears from under the covers of one of the bunks.

“How the hell did you manage to make them think I was you?” asks Edward, breathless and covered in blood.

“Easy. It’s the ability, the gift I told you about. I just imagined killing myself where you were standing. They thought I’d hung myself, and then removed your collar for you, thinking it was a noose around my neck,” says Jon, picking up Deformed’s gun from his remains. He’s more than a little taken aback by the sheer brutality of Edward’s attack. Blood drips from his leaves.

“You’re quite a vicious guy, Edward,” says Jon, surveying the carnage.

“We need to get going, there’s bound to be more of them,” says Edward, ignoring whatever Jon just said. As if on cue, an alarm begins to sound, no doubt triggered by the lack of a pulse in the two now very dead guards lying in front of them.

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