The Child in the Box
After Dark II: End of the World After Party
Man has chosen this path, to exchange fire with fire, and now they will reap what they've sown. The world is ablaze. What lies in these flames?
Hate. Hate. Hate. It is hate.
The creature senses the end is near and begins coiling up underneath the heart of the world, ready to catch it when it falls.
The end of the world. How different can it possibly be?
• • • • • • • •
With his head tilted up towards the turbulent skies, Yun continued embracing his companion. His diamond tears refused to cease, leaving deep grooves on his cheeks. "So there was no point. No point at all. The Master commanded me to show you your beloved Kana... that she had no future. But this, I did not expect. This. Hopelessness, personified."
Screeches and roars accompanied the march of the smoky titans as they advanced, relentless and unforgiving. The four bringers of the apocalypse breathed in the grand night promising no morning. They screamed, they sighed. They laughed, they cried. An ending... worth waiting for.
"Conquest. I'm a little curious. What did you show that coward back there?"
"A little curious?"
"Okay, okay... maybe a lot."
"Just a small piece of our past."
"What the ? Did you show that fool mine, too? That's supposed to be private!"
"Relax, War. After this night is over, he will disappear with the rest. What are you afraid of?"
"It's already a pain that you know."
"Hey." Famine nudged Conquest. "I want to know, too. What's this deep dark secret about? War's been on edge ever since you gave him that talk back in the bar."
"Shall I tell them, War? How you wailed like a newborn babe?" She teased. "I mean... Famine will probably not remember a thing after a drink or two... because he's an idiot." Conquest smiled.
"Hey! I'm right here! Don't you look down on me."
Death yawned as he reclined. "Does it really matter? Our mission is complete. Let's enjoy the moment while it lasts."
The greedy entities pushed forward, devouring everything in their path. Conquest, War, Famine, and Death pressed a hand to their lips in a ritualistic manner. For the world, a last goodnight kiss.
To them, the distorted mangling sounds of obliteration was like a bedtime lullaby... a final sweet goodbye.
• • • • • • • •
"The Child in the Box" (Experimental Section 1 of 4: Conquest's Reflection)
Click
Click Click
Quick Click Quick
Goes the gas.
The oven. The hot gas oven. Undress, my father would say. The glint in his eyes. Oh how he wishes to toss me in. My small hands against his. Not big enough to resist.
I shed.
Flesh.
Only flesh.
I sit in the grey corner where walls meet and spiders greet. Hot. It's hot. The stove's on just outside my box. My room? Mine. As large as a droplet in the sea. Effortless. I can touch the ceiling. I can measure the distance between the walls with the peeling skins of my lips. If only. If only I'd stop eating them. I'd have enough. To plaster the walls of my box, my room. It lacks. Smiles. Echo: But none of your concern.
The air presses down. Heavy hands. My head's down. Between my knees. My head's down. Low? No, no, no. Not low. There's no low in my box.
My box.
With corners.
My box.
With sides.
No highs no lows.
No skies no groves.
My box.
A box. This box. My box.
Do I breathe now? Hard to say. Can I? Echo: No you can't. Okay. I hold my breath. See how long I last. Corner to corner. Side to side. The things to do for amusement. Trailing the corner of my box with a finger. From here to there. To there to there. To here again. A never-ending loop from beginning to beginning. But this isn't a loop. It's a box. A box. My box. Echo: Undress.
Okay.
I shed.
Or try to.
Flesh.
None left.
Father isn't amused. I try again. Again. Again. And Again. Nail-less fingers. Bloody hands. Boils and blisters with eyes swollen shut. Still. I try. Echo: Defeat. Defeat. Away with you. I cry invisible tears. Imagine them race. Without victory. Voided, even in dreams.
I close my eyes and welcome the darkness. I wonder. Can I die by simply closing my eyes? To lull the hurt to sleep. Only for a little while. I promise.
Slumber short-lasting. I wake from a nightmare to sink into another dream. Strangeness surrounds me. My box. Where? I'm afraid to open my eyes. The smell is strong and utterly wrong. I lay still. Waiting. Waiting to fall asleep. Waiting to wake up again. To let the dream dissolve. Return to my box, my room.
My dearest echo, I whisper. No responds. Not even a snort. Not even to mock. Father, I whisper. No click. No quick. None at all. I will my eyes to open. Face the strangeness. Walls too green. Ceiling too high. Not my box. Not at all.
I wonder. Do I call out? Who will answer? Not my echo. Not my father. Who?
Where am I? Where am I?
The infirmary.
I shiver.
Cold. It's cold.
The doctor will be here directly.
In a desolated trance, I wait. For a man who's not father. Where am I? Who are you? Why am I here? Where is here? A gleam of interest. Do you not know where you are? Forgive my rudeness. I am the Master, the head medical examiner here. I don't understand. You came here voluntarily for treatment. What treatment? For epilepsy, a form of mental disturbance. A dawning realization. Am I in a madhouse? Rather, an enlightening institution. An establishment dedicated to curing diseases of the mind. A madhouse, I repeat. I'm in a madhouse.
Without the clicking. Without my box. I struggle to understand why I'm here. Why do they call me by a name I recognize not? Insistently. Giving me bitter draughts. Sending me off to sleep. So I can wake in delirium? Aware but can't move. To dream in fear. To awake in fear for I find myself still here. Not in my box. But here. An enlightening institution. An establishment dedicated to curing diseases of the mind.
A madhouse—
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