Fire Eyes by Adam Bender

Author:Adam Bender
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: speculative fiction, dystopia, dystopian, surveillance, tagging, scifi action, dystopian short story, street art, government surveillance, graffiti artist

Continue the adventure in WE, THE WATCHED

Hey, this is author Adam Bender! Thanks so much for reading my short story. “Fire Eyes” is set before the events of my novels WE, THE WATCHED and DIVIDED WE FALL. If you liked what you read, I encourage you to continue the dystopian adventure there!

Please click to the next page for a sample of WE, THE WATCHED.

1

AWAKE

The light is blinding. I shake off the sweat in a shiver. A million needles stab, and something is hammering and pounding away above me. I roll into the cool shadow of a towering tree.

Stop. It’s just a nightmare. I’m still in bed; just need to open my eyes. Just get them open and this will all be over.

My neck itches—a tick, maybe. I picture the insect’s dark head sinking into my skin, its abdomen ballooning red. I sit up fast, scratching all the way. As I gasp for air, my eyes absorb row after row of gray wood.

I thrash about, a futile attempt to improve the reception. Nothing makes sense; all I get is static and a strengthened headache. The woodpecker hacks away.

Oh my God—it’s not a dream. I’m in a forest.

I close my eyes and let a warm breeze brush through my hair.

“Think, damn it,” I breathe at last. “How did you get here?”

My clothes are damp and feature spots of mud, but nothing is torn. Stranger still, my body aches, but my skin shows no signs of cuts or even bruising. It’s like I just up and decided to spend a night in the woods—but forgot the tent and sleeping bag. Was I drunk? I can’t remember anything about last night.

Frantically, I search my pockets. No wallet, no keys, no cell phone… only thing in there is a crumpled-up brochure.

“You have to be kidding me,” I groan, tossing it on the grass.

Unless…

I snap up the ball of paper, carefully unfurl it. Emblazoned across the top are miracle words: National Park Visitor’s Map. Better, someone’s drawn two circles with a marker—one around the end marker of a trail and the other around a station labeled MONORAIL. I must have used the map to get here. But why?

Sitting isn’t doing me any good, and the headache’s starting to subside, anyway. I’m sure things will come together as soon as I get home—if I can find it.

Shut up, you couldn’t have honestly forgotten—

No, I didn’t forget. I couldn’t have. I’m just disoriented still. This is what happens when you sleep outside on the grass all night. I don’t know what hallucinogen I did last night before coming here, but I’m never doing it again.

Okay, so where’s the trail?

I stare into the wilderness. Could I actually have taken a trail to get here? Was I too wasted to remember anything, but sober enough to stick to a path?

Wait. Is that—?

The tree on the other end of the clearing—something’s scratched into its trunk. I stagger to my feet and limp the rest of the way. My socks squish.

Graffiti—some idiot decided to take a pocketknife and carve the numeral 7.

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