Artificial Flowers

by J. A. Hailey

  “You may have received some silly and absolutely unreasonable notice from an insurgent group by the name and style of SPCT. This is clearly a band of folks determined to disrupt Screenside life, but we say pooh to them, and intend to demonstrate our contempt for their interference by playing together. It is all set up - Screenside’s biggest ever European street party. And you, intrepid adventurers and lovers of trogfer sports, are our chief guests and players. Ingrid and I shall join you in your bus, for the drive into Madrid.”

  They agreed without comment, nodding, though this was the first ever information of the planned, and seemingly ongoing party, or of anything to do with being chief guests and contestants at a trogfer event in Madrid.

  “My goodness, my goodness!” exclaimed Ingrid, on spotting Esmeralda. “You are far, far more beautiful in person than you are in pictures, and on screens. Ulf, look!”

  “I have already met her, when her program caught me in formlessness,” said Johansson. “She is indeed an astonishing beauty. But Ingrid, my love, there is no denying your beauty either.”

  Madrid had been converted into a party zone, into which thousands of trogfer sports enthusiasts had flocked. Although its residents numbered only a few thousand, fully ten times that number had descended on it, in response to the call of the Stockholm Club. Crowds of Scandinavians, fanatical about trogfer sports, were on the main streets around Plaza Mayor, Madrid’s main square.

  Johansson, the once-and-never-again loner, was irrepressible and irresistible, refusing to consider any point of view but his own - points of view always loudly and publicly proclaimed.

  Supporters and a reporter rushed to him, and he rose to the occasion, with natural, somewhat dumb, aplomb. “Yes, we are going to party all night, here in Madrid, aren’t we? Madrid’s HC has given permission to keep public establishments open until daylight, and issued licenses to one hundred plus open air street kiosks to serve drinks and play music, while three famous music bands have also come in. Of them, The Screensiders will perform in the stadium, and the others in the Plaza Mayor. There will be music and dancing all night, after the Stockholm Club team has played these champions of Africa.

  “What is the game? Oh the game. We want to show our love for trogfers, and we are going to show it to all of Screenside, including the secret, intolerant, insurgent grouping that calls itself SPCT, in which we have found a strange member, Mr. Noxi Norton!

  “How are we going to show our love for trogfers, you ask? Simple. Trogfers are thinking, caring animals, with a lot of plans. We are going to help them get to their goals, and to also go further in life! We aim to show everyone how much pro-trogfer we really are.”

  Johansson was irrepressible. “The beautiful Miss Esmeralda has agreed to captain the African Adventurers, currently changing into match uniforms in their team buses, and Miss Ingrid, our Nordic beauty is, as usual, captain of our club team.”

  He then got into the bus in which Esmeralda and BC were holed up, and handed them two shopping bags, “Your uniforms. Team of eleven, including a goalkeeper. Different clothing for goalie. Boots are already at the stadium, in your changing rooms; dozens of boxes, lots of sizes. Need good boots to kick trogfers hard. Let’s move to the stadium.”

  Driving slowly, behind hordes of trogfer sports fans heading to the stadium, they eventually entered it, and Johansson exited the bus, saying, “By the way, the girls in your team have been given bikinis, like ours will wear, Of course, the bikinis are in the colors and styles of your team uniforms – with African lion logos on chests and bums. For your information, the stadium has a capacity of over thirty thousand spectators, and much of Screenside could be watching live.”

  While changing, Omar volunteered to be goalkeeper. “We play football, sometimes, in a game club I’m a member of,” he said, by way of explanation. It was quite disorganized, but nothing on this scale had ever been done in Screenside. Johansson called out, and they left the bus, to be directed to the changing rooms. “Wait, until you hear African Adventurers being announced on the public address system. Then run out, like football players do in Humanside.”

  About ten minutes later, they had the call, and ran out, led by Esmeralda, to rapturous applause from an absolutely packed stadium. Then, the Stockholm club team came out.

  Johansson was on the microphone from the field, as he had additional responsibilities, being vice captain of the club team, too.

  “Two teams,” he announced. “The bad person in each team is the goalkeeper - the one who shall attempt to deny a poor trogfer its dream, and prevent it reaching its goal in life. See those two goalposts? This very serious game, for poor trogfers, is penalties, soccer style. The shooting team is going to be trying to help trogfers achieve their goals in life.”

  And, with spectators laughing, the game began - exactly the same as a penalty shootout in soccer. Omar proved to be a good goalkeeper, saving three shots, despite getting soundly bitten in the process. It was just too darn tricky, handling trogfers.

  The Stockholm goalkeeper was a cowardly sort, allowing all trogfers to get to their goals. Esmeralda mistimed her kick, to loud cheers from the spectators, but her trogfer found its goal by actually running and hopping into it. Thus, the Africans won the game.

  The Screensiders immediately went into a rendition of The Loveliest Girls in the Universe, with the entire stadium singing along, and with cameras putting the six bikini-clad Africans on screen. There was no doubt that ‘the most beautiful girls in the univerrsse’ were in Screenside, as The Screensiders sang. The band said farewell at the end of the second encore of the hit song, and exited to become part of the street festival.

  “Now, an exhibition of the latest trogfer sport,” announced Johansson, whose badly mistimed kick at an alert trogfer had been saved by Omar. “The trogfer hammer throw, which helps trogfers who have achieved their goals, to go further in life.”

  He explained on the sound system, as he demonstrated. “First carefully catch trogfer. Then examine trogfer closely. Ah, there is trogfer tail. Then unwind tail, round, round, round, round.

  “As you may observe, trogfers have surprisingly long tails, which they cunningly hide. Then dangle trogfer by the tail. Then twirl trogfer like hammer throw, round, round, round, round. And then hurl it for distance. Yay!” But Johansson got muddled and launched his trogfer into the near stands on the short side, where the snapping beast instantly attached itself to a blond, bearded Nordic chap’s nose, causing the fellow great distress, until he heeded Johansson’s frantically screamed loudspeaker instructions. “Shake your head violently and bang trogfer into hard immovable objects, like walls and lampposts, or tree trunks. That’s how we do it in Malmo.” The screeching Nord finally did just that, and decoded the trogfer, also almost decoding himself with a hard blow to the head, as the trogfer suddenly vanished!

  The Africans did not participate in the street festival, preferring to carry on driving overnight towards Paris, hoping to beat the tiredness and to make love, while looking forward eagerly to sleeping in the next morning.

  The first great wilderness adventure in Screenside had ended, and Screenside celebrated its successful conclusion, basking in the glow of having laid claim to the huge world it had constructed, utterly unaware of the astonishing upheaval that was waiting to convulse it, just around the corner, a few short days later!

  55

  What had he done? What had he done? BC wandered alone through the empty streets of New York. At one point, he had sat on the pavement itself, sometimes shaking his head, sometimes holding it in his hands, shame consuming him. He had been kicked out of the apartment, by a tearful Esmeralda. She would never see him again. It was just punishment. What had he done? How could he have not accepted that ‘no’ meant ‘no’? Instead, driven by inner demons of lust, he had held her by force, as he had raped her!

  And she had kept saying ‘no,’ and ‘BC, no, stop it, no, no, no,’ but he had not stopped his assault on a helpless female, using his vastly super
ior strength to gratify himself. And now he had lost the most beautiful girl in the universe. Rightly punished, and forever. The shame; the everlasting shame, of approaching her with the desire to feel her partly bare breasts, and then progressing in a manner, and at a speed, where she needed more time, obviously, but he had been so determined to have his way immediately, that he had enjoyed her against her will, on the sofa itself. And she had made it absolutely clear, her refusal, screaming ‘no’ many times, her garments ripped off by her own partner and protector.

  Oh, why had she not abandoned physicality, and spared him? What was he thinking? He had no right, requiring her to take defensive measures like abandoning physicality, and that, too, against her guardian. Perverse. How dared he violate her rights, her body, her will? Shame! She would never have him again. He groaned, head between his knees. Again and again, he kept returning to the defense put forward by every rapist - it was her fault! Why had she not disabled her physicality? That was a sure way of preventing what he was then doing. But she had not, and now he was a rapist.

  Oh, the sense of loss! The eternal void waiting! The beautiful stubborn look that he loved so much, bewitching in its guilelessness. That incredibly kind and questioning mind. All gone forever! Lost, lost…

  He rose slowly, like a being in pain, and stumbled past a street cafe, full of quiet, seated males, drinking, every single one avoiding his eye. Had news of the rape already been broadcast? After all, it was also a crime.

  The occasional passerby said a muted, “Hi, BC,” but he heeded not. It was over. His dream was over. ‘I dream, therefore I am’, she had taught him. And she was the dream itself. Now lost forever. He had raped his love, his dream! Why had he not stopped? All the way to final climax? Why? Why? Beastly… Disgusting!

  He entered and exited a crowded, silent bar, without drinking, and wandered aimlessly through the streets, occasionally sobbing for his love, lost by his own hands. At dawn, he found himself near their apartment, and walked blindly up the steps to the door. It was open.

  He could see his ex-girlfriend squatting on the carpet, in shorts, and working in the virtuality.

  She looked up.”Oh, hi, BC. I was about to get a coffee.”

  “The door was open…”

  “No problem, BC. The rapist lives inside.”

  It hit him like a physical blow. She, who had never said an unkind word, was now sticking the knife into him. But he deserved it. He thought he might call everyone over and confess his awful crime, in hopes of forgiveness. But how do you forgive such a terrible deed, committed by your partner, lover and protector?

  Wordlessly, too ashamed to meet her eyes, he stumbled into the kitchenette and made coffee.

  He saw what she was doing – working on the virus and antivirus identifier program she had put off for so long.

  She accepted her mug of coffee from his trembling hands. “Border guard, part two?” he asked, in a croaking voice.

  “No, not yet. Just a visual identifier, to help Screenside virus fighters decide what to tackle first, or next. Body shapes for viruses. Rats, gutter rats for the weak viruses.” And he looked and saw that her identifier was a very slimy looking rat.

  He noticed a small replica of himself, slightly larger than the rat, being readied to be released. He cleared his throat and found his voice. “Esme, my likeness could be bigger than that, as I can handle greater and more vicious viruses than entry level gutter rat ones.”

  ”Oh dear, oh dear, BC,” said Esmeralda, pouting, looking infuriatingly sweet and stubborn.”Baby BC is a rapist. Not antivirus, but virus. And he’s about the right size, sort of, gutter rat family type.”

  BC could not help chuckling helplessly at her stubborn, pouting look, as she gave the finishing touches. “Go, join your brother rat legions,” said she, and made baby BC run very annoyingly, in a lopsided eager manner, to join his gutter family. And yet, BC just had to marvel at her incredible fortitude and tolerance; some hours ago, she had been raped by her life partner!

  A few minutes later, he got a call from Caesar, “Hey man, what have you been up to? I’m hearing reports that a virus identifier program is being released into Screenside, and that your image is a virus. What’s up? Only Esmeralda has permission to issue a virus marker program. What? Fighting?”

  “Yes, sort of,” answered BC, ashamedly.

  “Hey, I’ve got hassles with Rosa, too. What say we meet at the Dancing Bear Cafe, and pass some time, moping together?”

  BC and Caesar met, a short while later that morning. Everyone at the café was male, and all were gloomy. “Bloody hell,” said BC. “Looks like everyone got out on the wrong side today.” Many males were moping, making no eye contact, staring into teacups and juice glasses.

  BC was surprised to get a call on Caesar’s phone. “Esmeralda,” said Caesar, grimly, handing the device over. This was it, BC knew. She would tell him officially to never return to her. It was over.

  Esmeralda was giggling, surprising him even more. “I’ve got Candy and Jen here, so come on home, BC.” She laughed hysterically. He had damaged her mind! Home? She had said home. It was the final stab, he knew, and her mind had become totally unhinged!

  There was no option but to somehow stumble to her, through the haze that was now his world. The door was shut, but unlocked. He turned the handle and went in - to what was actually a shocking scene. The three girls were on their backs on the carpeted floor, giggling, waving their legs in the air, and singing “No, no, Noxi; Noxi Norton, no, no!”

  They burst into laughter when they spotted him. “Loverboy, rapist!” screeched Esmeralda. And she jumped up and into his arms. “Bye, girls, see you after he rapes me again.” She undid her shirt buttons and pulled him into the bedroom, as her friends went hysterical outside. And she was right. BC saw it as his last chance to enjoy her one final time, and raped her again!

  “No, BC, no. Stop it. No. No. NO!” Esmeralda scolded him at the top of her voice. When it was over, she rejoined her giggling friends, “No, no, Noxi; Noxi Norton, no, no,” they sang together, clapping the beat and laughing ceaselessly.

  Jennifer got a call on her phone. “What?” she said, after listening for a few seconds. “Ha, ha, ha,” she laughed.

  Esmeralda went and dragged the cringing BC out of the bedroom. “And I thought I was irresistible…” she moaned, theatrically. “It’s okay, darling. Don’t feel so down.”

  “Down!” shrieked Candice.

  “Maxine, of HC,” screamed Jennifer. “She got raped, and instantly decided to discipline her rapist. They’ve been together about three years. So she viewed a dominatrix movie on very fast forward, took her clothes off, put on thigh high boots, started swishing a riding crop about and started strutting around, looking strict and saying NO!”

  “No?” laughed Esmeralda.”

  “Yes. I mean no. She lost count, but she was determined to teach him, domina style. She thinks he raped her about ten times… anyway, lost count. She has now fled to HC, and is in hiding there. But no worries. As long as no one’s on his case, he won’t be raping again.”

  “What’s happened?” asked BC. “What is so funny?”

  Candice answered. “Maria’s figured it out. Practically every female in Screenside has been raped, many repeatedly, last night onwards. Some rapes are probably going on right now.”

  “How, how, how, what, what?”

  “It’s okay, darling,” said Esmeralda, kindly. “You’re not a real rapist. It’s Noxi Norton’s fault.”

  “You see,” said Candice, “at the last General Assembly, Goodfellow pushed Noxi into the sex enhancement group headed by Christine. Mr. Norton, you are too inventive a programmer to be wasted like this. POP’s always on your case, rejecting, denying, or some typical Goodfellow crap encouragement, in his typical silly fashion. Why don’t you join Christine, and help her advance her programs? Or something like that. Screenside will be eternally grateful to have the benefits of your irregular mind. So very different. Maria told me,
a short while back. And, by the way, Goodfellow’s the only non-rapist in Screenside.

  “And thus Noxi Norton joined Christine’s team, in the final phases of the latest sex enhance pack. In that program, Christine says she thought she would place a lot of sexual initiative into the female’s hand. Her program was sight of breast and the words ‘come ON’ to be a command code – irresistible! And then she handed it over to a fellow who is actually quite brainless, and whose name starts with N-O-N-O. Noxi Norton. So what does he do? Obvious. He puts ‘come NO’ into the command. Sight of boob plus the word NO, especially if repeated, equals rape. Boob is the visual, ‘NO’ is the audio. Practically all were raped last night. Jen and I were raped. We have to forgive our rapists. The command is irresistible.”

  “Goodfellow would never have been told no by Margaret, after all the years she’s suffered,” said Jennifer. “That is why she didn’t get raped. Didn’t give the rape command.”

  “And, so it’s all okay, darling,” said Esmeralda, kissing BC. “But you’re off to HC, to uninstall. Immediately. I’ve been raped twice!”

  And she pushed an incredulous, though relieved, BC out of the door.

  But the girls were not done. As BC stood on the road, at the building entrance, waiting for Caesar, who had called to say he was walking over from the café, and that that Noxi Norton had actually made a ground breaking discovery, needing their immediate attention, the three girls exited onto the road, singing, “No No, Noxi. Noxi Norton, no no. Gimme an O! Gimme an N! What does it spell? NO!”Giggling and laughing, they danced like rag dolls down the street, immediately collecting a crowd of raped females, on passing the corner café. They danced away, in single file, singing and shrieking.

  Caesar, Singh and Chang showed up together.

  “Picked them up as I was passing Frank’s Bar,” said Caesar. “It’s the haunt of rapists. You should see the gloom.”

  “I felt it last night,” said BC. “I thought news of my status as rapist had been broadcast. Couldn’t imagine that I was in a den of them!”