by David McAfee
Downie swallowed. Suddenly the room felt cold. He had seen photographs of Nazi medical experiments. He had met people burnt beyond recognition. He had helped children with no limbs. What could possibly be worse?
Then he decided: nothing. Nothing could be worse than what he had seen in his work. These astronomers spent their lives looking at stars; they were unaccustomed to ugliness. But he, Dr. David Downie, had been inured.
He stood up. "Let me see this photograph," he said.
The old man nearly fell over.
"Are you mad?" The professor rose to his feet. "It can destroy you."
Downie smiled thinly. "I am a psychiatrist, professor. It is my job to deal with trauma. If I am to help these people, I must view the photograph."
"I cannot allow it!" the old man said, his mouth opening and closing like a fish's. "You would be crippling yourself."
But Downie was already walking toward the far table, where the photograph lay in a box. "I have never shied away from anything, professor. Not if it can help my patients. It is my job to learn what frightens them, and I will do so here, as well."
"But this is no earthly horror!" the professor called behind, shuffling forward with his cane. Downie, however, was already opening the box.
"Stand back, professor," he said coolly. "You might not want to see this."
Before his curiosity and courage could desert him, Downie reached into the box and pulled out the photograph.
He stared silently.
It was a photograph of a woman. A young woman. Perhaps twenty years old. A woman? In outer space? Could this be the right photo? Then Downie noticed something odd. The woman had wings. And a halo. Downie wanted to laugh--just a girl in a Halloween costume--but instead, his breath died. He looked into the woman's eyes. Deep, blue green. Pure. Perfect.
Oh God.
Downie fell to the floor. His hands dug into the paper. The angel claimed him. He could see only those green eyes, her pink lips, her cream skin and golden hair. So beautiful....
The professor's cane hit Downie's hands. The photograph flew away, and the professor tossed his coat over it. Downie felt as if his soul had been wrenched from his body. He made a hoarse sound like a wounded animal.
"Doctor!" the professor cried. He was shaking Downie. "Doctor, look at me!"
Downie looked at him. He looked at the wrinkles. The white nose hairs. The pores. The crooked teeth. Then, in horror, he looked at his own hands, saw all his imperfections, the lines and dry skin, each flaw a mountain after the pureness he had seen.
"So ugly..." he whispered, then shut his eyes, fell over, and hit his head against the imperfect world he could never view again.
Standing above him, the old astronomer shook his head, shed a tear, and closed his eyes. Tomorrow he would cancel the telescope program. For now he lifted the photograph, pulled out his lighter, and brought the two together.
If you enjoyed The Ugliest Thing, please check out some of Daniel Arenson’s other works, including Blood of Requiem, Firefly Island, and Eye of the Wizard. Or visit him at danielarenson.com.
A Note From The Author
Dear Reader,
When I finished writing 33 A.D. and sent it off to see the world, I did so with the intention of writing a sequel. Several of them, in fact. The book is the first in what will be a series of novels set around The Council of Thirteen. The second novel, Saying Goodbye to the Sun, has been out for about 9 months or so, and goes into a bit more detail regarding the Council and some of its key players. Particularly Ramah, who is a personal favorite of mine.
Presently, I am putting the finishing touches on 61 A.D., which once again brings Taras and Theron into the picture. The story takes place during the Iceni rebellion in Roman era Britannia, when Queen Boudica sought to cast Nero’s forces out of the country. But before the book is released, I felt the need to delve a little deeper into the characters Taras and Theron and show you, the reader, what sort of “people” they will become.
Enter this book. Two short stories revolving around each character, designed to give you a better feel for them as individuals before I plunge them back together. As a bonus, I decided to include a small preview of 61 A.D. Please note that the preview has not been copyedited or finalized, so some aspects may change before the book is released, Particularly if my old nemesis, Captain Typo, makes an appearance.
In any case, I hope you enjoy getting to know Taras and Theron a little better, and please feel free to email me at [email protected] with any comments or questions. Whether you love my work or hate it, I still enjoy hearing from you. It is only through your feedback that writers like me can grow.
As always, thank you for spending some of your precious time with me. I hope you find it was well spent.
--David McAfee, May 18, 2011.
And now, just because I feel like it, one last (tiny) piece of weird fiction, just for you!
ABC
A. Asexual reproduction is the wave of the future! Someone cut off my arm and let's see if it sprouts a new me.
B. Be careful cutting it off. It's gotta be a clean cut or it won't heal right.
C. Careful, I said!
D. Damn it! Now all I have is a jagged stump!
E. Everyone’s gonna laugh and call me Stumpy McAfee
F. Fuck, that hurts!
G. Gosh, that was dumb.
H. Hey! The fingers on my severed arm are twitching!
I. Is it turning into a new me?
J. Just look at those things waggle!
K. Know what? This still hurts.
L. Losing a lot of blood here...
M. My arm...it's...it's...
N. Not turning into a new David, that's for sure.
O. Okay, I feel pretty stupid now.
P. Please call 911.
Q. Quick, before I lose consciousness.
R. Really. I'm blacking out.
S. Shut up, already! I know that was stupid. Just call the @#8!ing number!
T. That gesture was totally uncalled for.
U. Uh-oh. I'm getting dizzy.
V. Very dizzy.
W. What? I can't hear you.
X. X-tra honey mustard sauce? Huh?
Y. You can't eat that!
Z. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Table of Contents
Taras
Theron
Preview of 61 A.D.
Bonus Story: The Ugliest Thing by Daniel Arenson
A Note From The Author