“Fr...freed'm,” he wheezed through
flour-crusted, dry lips. The single word a herculean effort,
contracting his diaphragm to expel enough air sent arrows of pain
through his chest. Moments passed as he gathered his strength to
continue, he MUST continue, he knew. A man of considerable size, he
found it difficult to stand from his plastic bench throne. Shuffling
slowly across the dimly lit expanse on red, swollen legs the man
gazed at the beauty around him. He couldn't remember anything else
besides this place. When did he get here? Had it always been like
this? Such questions were irrelevant, all that remained was the
fight, the War. He knew his parents had been brave warriors too, and
their parents before them, generations of his kin battled the Enemy
and paid with their glucose tolerance. In the end it was for the
sake of all. Even if it meant the damnation of his body, at least
his soul-and the souls of all mankind- could be saved by his
rheumatic, sweaty hands.
Arriving at the dispensing unit, he
steadied himself and squinted at the list. What could he take in
this state? He knew he was nearing his time. He was 25 after all-or
so he thought, time passed strangely here. Finally it came to him
and as he mumbled and slurred-why did his lips feel so tingly- the
words required for his task, he could already smell the Victory as it
was prepared for him. In less than a hyper-tensioned heartbeat it
was ready for his glorious moment. A hush fell upon the place as all
eyes took aim to the would-be savior. The silence screamed at him to
win. His heart pounded, more than usual, as he unwrapped It.
Glorious, it was, gleamingly greasy and breathtaking to behold.
Touching it to his lips he felt ecstasy flow through him as those in
their seats murmured in approval. His heart beat
harder...harder...too hard! It was wrong, so wrong, and he knew it
in an instant. The two empty halves of biscuit fell to the tiled
floor, wails of agony echoed through the room, and the man's heart
rebelled.
Am I unworthy?! What have I done
wrong?! He was dying and he
knew it, he must escape. No matter what had just happened he could
not defile this...temple. Pain shot through his arm as he spun,
panicked, looking desperately for the exit. Chaos was erupting
behind him, wails of agony and despair. Some shouted it was a sign,
others a curse. The man didn't care, his instinct howled at him to
survive. As he burst through the long sealed doors, he faltered.
Even in his mortal panic, the light was blinding and terrifying. On
his knees now, crying, he felt his life slipping away. He gazed up
at the strange blue sky above him. Was this here all along? Silent
tears trickled down his pock-marked cheeks.
Suddenly
he could feel someone there, someone speaking to him, it felt, from
so far away. It's too late, I've failed, he
thought, slipping further away. Nothing to do now but...pain! There
was pain, incredible pain, worse than before. It was waking him up.
A rhythmic pressing on his chest that hurt more than anything he'd
ever felt. Seemingly an eternity passed before he opened his eyes
again to see a man hovering above him pressing on his chest. The
dying man was confused, what was going on? In that moment, the other man's mouth tightly close over his own! No!
NO! THIS IS THE ENEMY,
ISN'T IT?!
Spitting and
sputtering with all his strength, the dying man pushed his savior
away and wiped his defiled lips with a sweaty forearm. He glared at
the man above him,
“Fag...” he
coughed, and then the darkness took him once more.
