by Corey Furman
The Way of All Flesh
Copyright © 2014 by Corey Furman
Cover Design © 2014 by Michael Moss
Book Website: http://coreyfurman.net
Email: [email protected]
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please contact the author at [email protected].
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Only Zarmina’s World itself may possibly exist, but it is greatly in question, and if it does, it is certainly not habitable. So, don’t go there.
Print ISBN-13: 978-0-9907415-3-4
eBook ISBN-13: 978-0-9907415-2-7
Print ISBN-10: 0990741532
eBook ISBN-10: 0990741524
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014956134
The Way of All Flesh
Coda
Luna adjusted the translucent container on the coffee table to better see the roses inside, then sat back down and snuggled her head into Maré’s lap. “Read it again, Chroma…”
She stroked Luna’s hair softly. “Again?” she asked playfully, knowing full well that she would give in. “I just read it last night…”
“Please? It reminds me of when we were children…”
Maré smiled. She loved the feeling of having her twin so close. Her physical presence somehow had an effect on her. With her this close, she could smell the soap she’d used earlier. Leaning forward, she brushed her ear with her lips. “If you like,” she whispered. “But then I want a story from our childhood.”
“It’s a deal.”
Sitting up, she reached for the small book on the end table next to the sofa. She paused to run her fingers over the knotted whorls and vines of its embossed cover reverently. It was quite beautiful and it occupied an important place in their family history, but it had been hard won, and it still filled her with mixed emotions. Sighing, she flipped it open to the first page, written in her great grandmother’s handwriting:
As she cafunéd Luna’s hair, she could feel her emotions brew. “You’re brooding; what is it?” she said, laying the book aside.
Luna sighed. “It’s hard to describe…”
Maré waited for her to find the words.
“We… What we have been through.” She looked about the quiet comfort of their modest home almost dazed. “What it took to get here. I’m finding that saying I forgive and actually forgiving are two different things.”
“Mmm,” Maré grunted, and her own cocktail of feelings threatened to bring tears to her eyes. She would have to help Luna whenever it swept over her like this. “Look, we’re together and we’ll work through it. It’s only been a couple of weeks.” She kissed the top of her twin’s head. “I have a feeling that if we stick with it, it’ll make sense looking back. Enough sense for some peace, anyway.”
“I’d like to forget about it for a while. Read to me please. Reading helps.”
She laughed, but she hummed a little as she continued to comb Luna’s hair, until she felt some of the unease leave her. Again, she picked up the book and flipped it open.
“There was once a beautiful queen who ruled from a grand castle. Near a fountain in the castle’s courtyard was a bright garden, and at the center stood two huge rose bushes, one of which bore white and the other red blossoms. She had two daughters who were like the two rose bushes, one named Snow White and the other Rose Red…”
Theme
The vibralarm in Joss Breylin’s watch agitated harshly against the skin of his right arm, snatching him halfway out of the grip of a fitful nightmare and startling him enough to thrash against the sweat-soaked sheet. The inky, greasy smell of burned plastic and flesh filled his senses. A half a second later, he recovered enough of his wits to realize where he was, and he began to uncoil. It was just a memory…
Normally the band exuded a cocktail onto the skin above the arterial bundle in his wrist in shots timed with the vibrations, and when it worked, it would bring his mind and cardiovascular system alive in a brilliant flash. That it didn’t happen this time could only mean one thing, and the thought of having to claw his way to consciousness without it made him anxious. He let the alarm continue to pulse, hoping it would help to jumpstart the various regions of his brain, though it would be so much easier just to roll back over and give in to the comforting abyss that wanted to devour him.
He was too far away from the edge of oblivion though, and thought relentlessly intruded.
Shit, the damn stimpack finally ran out, he thought blearily. I think there’s only one or two left, and the supply drop isn’t due for nine months. If the damn storms don’t delay it. He could already tell it was going to be yet another long day.
It seems like forever since I’ve gotten a decent night of sleep…
The vibrations continued to agitate a lonely warning against his wrist.
Almost nothing could be seen through the darkness of the bedroom. At times, the view from the enormous window beyond the foot of the bed showed a serene, unobstructed view of the edge of the perpetual sunset. It was so perfect that he supposed the house had been precisely situated where it was near the rim of Amity Canyon to present that exact view, likely for some long dead and forgotten mining exec. At the moment though, the view wasn’t available; Joss had drawn the opaque protective screens over the gigantic window at the start of the storm cycle, almost nine months ago, securing it against the often fierce gales that were generated. It was now just past the height of the cycle, and last night it had seemed as if the entire world tremored as the house had cleaved the irregular gusts that were even now seeming to be alive and howling under the roofline.
The hell with it for a few more minutes, he thought, and he reached over and touched the screen of his wristband, temporarily hushing it. As he lay in the empty gloom, he pushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes and futilely tried to resist the thoughts that kept trying to steal his attention. Time was an impatient taskmaster though, and the precious seconds ticked away as sleep continued to elude his grasp. Though his mind was still stuffed with lethargy, the meaningless activities of the coming day fought for more consideration, and won with short, quick thrusts.
I hope I didn’t misjudge the fuel in the lift… I don’t think I did. I better get a couple of cylinders from work just to be safe. They’re bigger, but I should be able to adapt the connectors. He knew the ride to work wasn’t short. If he ran out of hydrogen, it would be hours before the collectors grabbed enough to get back up. It would be just my luck to end up sitting in the middle of nowhere, he thought dourly.
Running out of fuel wasn’t the only issue on his mind. Knowing that today he’d be headed out to the subsolar region, he’d have to spend time around the simulant work crew that did most of the heavy labor. He wouldn’t really have to interact with them – his boss, Harry, would do most of that, if he came out to the site – but he hated being around them regardless. Trusting them to do even simple tasks could prove to be foolish.
Harry was usually an even tempered guy, but he could be a real pain in the ass when he wanted to get things done. Joss was thinking about the kinds of samples they w
ould need to take, and whether the lousy gas taps would need to be moved, when his alarm buzzed again. Life wasn’t going to go away this time, the smug bitch.
Vaguely angry at being defeated yet again by even something so small, he reached over and smacked the band, killing its tiny victory dance. He threw back the coverlet, sat up, and put his feet on the cool, textured floor.
In another part of the room, Maré was lying on her thin pallet in the corner. She had just been lost in a dream of Luna, of the comforting smell of her twin’s hair and the happy way it would tickle her nose when she used to bury her face in it in their clamshell bed at night, when she sensed the vibrations emanating from his wristband. She came awake instantly, adrenal glands just starting to pump and filling her with the urge to do something. Despite that pressure, she didn’t move, because she was here with him, and she knew better than to make any noise while the lights were off. Disturbing the peace of the house was very impolite. Worse, it was unacceptable.
He stirred, and the vibralarm ceased. He must have muted it, she thought fearfully. Strange… Normally, he likes to get up right away. Maré silently begged the deaf stars above that it wasn’t a sign that when he got up he would be sullen and brooding.
Her bladder was an insistent need, but it wasn’t yet an emergency. When he finally rises, I will hurry to the kitchen and get his breakfast around. After that, I should be allowed to use the facilities. It might only be a miniscule measure of control, but planning her steps gave her something to do, and maybe increased the chances that she would avoid a painful confrontation. So many things could go wrong though…
The winds moaned their annoyance outside, causing the old shutters to pop and tick in their frames, and she shivered. Idly, she wondered if the fittings holding them in place would eventually give way. Slowly easing her blanket tighter around herself against the cool air that crept along the floor looking for the gaps in her protective shell, she was again glad for it, and her pallet. She had been doing well, and as a reward, he had given her a few of her possessions back. The floor wasn’t very cold, but the hard, textured plastic was particularly uncomfortable without them, making it difficult to get any rest, especially when the winds called to each other in their oblivious voices.
If I can just stay focused on doing my chores well, maybe he will let me have my pillow back. Maybe I can even have some of my clothes, if I am extra good.
She knew that line of thinking was futile, though; one way or another, somehow, she would do something stupid, and he would be forced to teach her a lesson. She would try to focus, but she knew the trouble would come regardless.
The thought of screwing up turned over and over in her mind, and the fear wormed its way into her gut. I’m always making mistakes, dammit. It’s no wonder I have to be corrected so often.
But then she started second guessing the inadequacies he was quick to point out. Relax, Maré, she thought. Get a hold of yourself. You haven’t done anything wrong yet! And Luna would tell you that you can do this! As the image of Luna’s fine hair and smooth, ruddy features came to her, her pulse began to slowly regulate. The grief of their time apart had been so very hard, but she would try to take strength from her missing Chroma; she would have wanted it that way.
Fear, guilt, loneliness and a desperate twist of optimism were still working together to make her sweat when she sensed the alarm again. Maré held her breath for a time measured in a stream of seemingly endless heartbeats. Then she heard him quash the alarm and rise.
As he sat on the edge, Breylin turned on the light on the low table next to the bed, creating a small pool of light around his feet and dimly illuminating the rest of the room. She scrambled to a respectful position on her knees with her hands clasped on her thighs. Her quick movement seemed like it must have startled him, as if he had forgotten her existence. He recovered quickly though, oriented himself towards her and continued to sit on the brink of the mattress looking at her with eyes made of shiny fragments of graphite. If felt as if he were studying an insect that had crawled onto his arm – right before he crushed it.
Carefully she said, “Good morning, Mr. Breylin.”
“Good morning, Maré,” he replied quietly, and stood up. “Let’s have a good day, shall we?” he called over his shoulder as he walked into the bathroom with his loose lounge pants swishing with each step.
Maré rose. She folded her blanket, rolled up her pallet, and put her things in her cabinet, hoping that the activity would take the chill off of her nakedness. “Did you sleep well, Sir?”
“No… I dunno. Well enough, I suppose.”
“What are your wishes regarding breakfast, Sir? Should Maré make you something?” she called out in what she hoped was a compliant voice. His demand for strict obedience was complete, but sometimes he appeared to take an approving note if she put her heart into it.
“I will take two meal supplements with me.” he replied over the sounds of water sloshing around in the sink.
After opening the shutter on the bathroom window, he leaned on the counter and let the water run to get hot enough to make an angry, moist cloud of steam shoot upward, hazing the mirror above the sink. His morning ritual of obscuring his own face wouldn’t be complete without it.
Today wasn’t a regular day, though; today was one of those rare days where he felt like punishing himself. He reached over and used the edge of his hand to expose the mirror, leaving behind water beads in narrow, even streaks. He studied his own echo wreathed by the remaining haze. Collar length sandy curls, now darkened with sweat. Even so, it looked a little lighter in spots than normal, and that might be a trick of the sunlight flowing through the bathroom window, but he wondered if maybe a few were more grey than blonde.
He stared deeper. Crow’s feet at the corners of my eyes. Did they always look so pronounced? Or are they heavier? You’re not eighteen anymore, Joss… Bags under the eyes, but that’s not surprising given the lack of decent sleep since the fire…
Spotting the shadow of stubble on his cheeks and jawline, he resolved to use the razors he hated. Thick neck, strong shoulders. Square chest and large arms, a little more fat than they once were, but still heavy with musculature.
All in all, a decent looking guy, though not so good looking as Riss had once thought. He took in the entire reflection… and he hated what he saw.
She padded out to the kitchen and packed the food he wanted into the small, green satchel he carried with him every day. As she was folding its top closed, she regretfully realized that she had forgotten to ask him about coffee. Pestering him was a gamble that gave her pause, but if she did well then maybe he’d reward her. Moving back to stand just outside his bedroom, she could just make out the patter of sprayed water hitting the glass shower door. “What about coffee?” she called out. “You usually want that, Sir.”
“Do you think you should try?” he replied. “I will show you one last time if you need it. I don’t think either one of us wants a repeat incident from the other day – the coffee is too precious.”
Wanting to avoid unpleasant subjects, she considered quickly and made her reply. “Maré will be very careful, Mr. Breylin! She remembers how you showed her you wanted it made!”
She returned to the kitchen and began to get things around. First, she got the kitchen scale out, then the ration canister of coarse, brown powder. Being very careful, she measured out precisely 9.60 grams of the stuff with a tiny spoon. She started to put the container away, but then she began to doubt herself. Had she gotten the weight right? What about the tiny amount of residue that would never make it into the cup? She realized her error, and reopened the canister. But how much would be left in the basket? she wondered. She waffled back and forth for a minute, but she finally ended up settling on 9.62g. She hoped it would be right.
As the water ran down over his hair, Breylin’s thoughts drifted back to his beloved wife, obliterating the trivial ideas of what the day would hold that had been nagging at
him. A wave of loneliness washed over him. In a gesture of abject weariness, he rested the back of his head on the white, plastic wall, and the tepid water washed over him. Without realizing it, he slowly beat his fists against the wall behind him. I miss you Larissa, my beloved. Without you I merely exist here…
As he returned to washing himself, he noticed a few strands of his long, blonde hair slip towards the drain and circled around its soap-slick edge. They lost their purchase and plunged in, never to be seen again. He knew it was irrational, but he was envious at their escape.
He shut off the water, stepped out onto the small mat and reached for the large, threadbare towel. Feeling tired and fed up with the daily drudgery, Breylin briefly considered returning to bed as he dried off. The hell with the damn gas taps, Harry, and everything else. Instead, he forced himself to move, completed his ablutions and slowly got dressed in work fatigues. The sooner I get out of this house and away from her, the better.
Ignoring the growing urge to pee, Maré put the reclaimed water into the kettle and set it over the fire on the gas stove. Knowing not to waste the gas, she set the fire to a medium flame.
He came into the kitchen, dragged the chair reserved for him out and sat down. Maré was still fussing with the kettle, but she could sense his mood right away. She fidgeted as she waited, the asymmetrical stone pattern of the floor irritating the bare soles of her feet. Outside of herself, the only sensations in the room were tension and the steady hiss of escaping gas.
Breylin began to tap his index finger on the top of the kitchen table using deliberate, measured strokes. Snick. Snick. Snick. It produced a deafening punctuation in the cramped space, and managed to ratchet the tension a few notches higher. The message was clear to Maré: don’t make me wait. Nervously, she set an empty mug in front of him; it was better than doing nothing.