The Eggman Chronicals III : Death drives with training wheels
ACT ONE
I had been awaiting they're arrival all week long, from the setting of the blazing summer sun, to the prominent rise of a slightly cooler moon. The lights in this house had been kept off the whole time, the driveway empty. To the untrained eye, the residents of this humble abode had gone on vacation and had not returned since - but to the trained eye, to my eye, it was an ambush.
The people in this neighbourhood spoke of "them" in hushed whispers and secured areas, never out in public and never out in the open. No one ever mentioned their names, names were not important, names were too strong an image for the human mind to bear. And every now and then, you saw one of "them" come down the road, creating a sudden hushed silence among the community. Faces forced happy smiles at their pacing, hands forced themselves to be steady. Deep inside, the people feared "them", and "they" loved every moment of it.
The people that originally had lived here, a happy couple with two honor roll kids and a lifetime of success under their belts, were makeing quite a few sacrafices for my ambush. The mother and children had left several days ago, fleeing at night time when "they" were not on the streets, finding refuge in another country while the father stayed back with me. His name was Mr Roberts, and I admired his courage for standing against the face of terror. Every day he fought the urge to call his family, wanting to yet knowing it was too dangerous. We both knew the risk of this, but more importantly, we both knew he would probably never see his kids ever again. Such was the price of freedom. Such was the price of eternal liberty.
On the cool afternoon of the fifth day, Mr Roberts had asked me if we were going to survive, words choking with emotion, eyes swimming with tears of anguish and dispair. I didn't know what to tell him, although I had reeled through my thoughts to find the answer. Survive was such a strong word in times like these. Survival was for the dreamers, the hopeful. We were neither of those two.
On the eighth day, "they" came, right on schedual. From the darkness of the kitchen, I had a feeling of their arrival before the sounds of society began to silence at their approach. It was a gut instinct, like a smell that tugs at your brain before you even know what it is. The chair I was sitting in, part of a classy and expensive table set, slid out behind me as I stood up slowly. Mr Roberts perked his head up like a rabbit in a hole. Slowly, I stepped up to the covered window of the dining room and pulled down one of the blinds slightly with a finger. Light pooled in on my face, on the quivering hands of the one behind me. It was all beginning to silence outside, the lawnmowers were turning off, the happy cries of children playing began to dim. Even the barking dogs had shut themselves up on instinct. It was a bizzare moment ; I dont think I could hear cars or machines anywhere else in the city. The world had turned into a desolate wasteland at the approach of those that we feared, where even the whisper of Nature's wind did not make a sound. Perhaps she, too, had left for another country.
Suddenly, there were two knocks on the front door, two harsh wraps on the oak surface. Roberts covered his mouth with two firm hands and suppresed a scream, eyes wide like saucers, breath like a marathon runner that was out of shape. I began to make my way to the door, slowly and surely. Inside my mind, rationality called out, begging to be heard. Turn back, hide in the shadows, do not confront "them"! I listened to it, but I did not obey it. I was too deep in it now to turn back, this family depended on me to liberate them - and liberate, I would do, even if it cost me my life.
My hand reached out for the brass handle, a fine circle of cold metal in my palm. I inhaled deeply, and I turned the knob, pulling the door open. The afternoon sun poured into the dark kitchen, lighting up utencils and plates still laying about on the counter. It cast my shadow behind me like a cut out from construction paper. It flashed the fear in Roberts' eyes behind me, a deer in the headlights of an apocalypse with an engine. Before me, stood one of "them". I did not back down.
This one was a younger one, one I hadn't seen very often. A baseball cap was on his head, twisted to the side. Grass stains were on the knees of his pants, in the white of his sneakers. Freckles spotted his face like the remains of tomatoes at a devestated farmer's market. A curl of blonde hair decided to rebellious and was poking out of the side of his cap, above piercing blue eyes. And of course, at the side, was the faded white bag that hung off a shoulder. I was having my doubts as I watched him, waiting, hoping it would be okay.
" My name is Bradley, " the boy said. So they did have names, I realized. He must have been newer than I thought. " I'm here collecting for the newspaper. Are the Roberts home? "
Mr Roberts behind me almost screamed again, I hoped the kid hadn't heard it over the silence that preceeded his existance here. My hand was clutched on the doorknob still, and allthough I didnt know it then, my knuckles were a ghastly white with the intensity of my grip. " They're not home, I'm the house sitter. " Smooth, I thought. Real smooth.
Brad tried to look over my shoulder, then shifted his piercing gaze back into mine. I could feel him reading my soul, my thoughts, my life. I felt him look into every thought, every cell that journeyed through my body in the adventures of their tasks. Even the very atoms that composed my being were not overlooked. Creepy. " I'll be back later for the money they owe us. " And with that, the kid turned on his heels and proceeded back toward the street. Neighbours that had huddled close to watch the event scrambled to get back to work when Brad was facing them again. I closed the door.
With the click of the door shutting, Mr Roberts broke down sobbing behind me. " I'm fucked, I'm soooo fucked! " He managed through his cries. " I dont have two dollars for them, I cant even break a fucking twenty because they'll catch me on the way to the store! " I tried to comfort him, but no words came to mind. Atleast the nightmare was almost over for him - the next time "Brad" (if that was infact his name) came back, it would be the last time. For whom, however, was up to fate to decide - and fate was not being a good camper if he put us in this position in the first place.
It would be a long time before I realized I was still gripping the doorknob.
The phone rang twice before he picked it up.
" Talk to me, Bradley. "
" The Roberts, they dodged me again. I'll be returning back to base emptyhanded. "
" How long do they think they can avoid us, Bradley? How long do they hope to escape the swift hammer of justice?"
" Do you want me to return and use force? "
" No... There is no need for that. Return back to base, I shall assemble my other Boys. We will return, all of us, tonight. "
" Will we get the two dollars they owe us? "
" We'll get more than that, Bradley. We'll get to deliver the Roberts what they deserve, instead of the newspaper. "
" You always know what's best, sir. "
" One more thing, Bradley. Can you get me a big mac on the way here? My wife gave me grain bread again in my lunch and I cant stand that shit. "
" Yes, sir. Supersized meal? "
" Supersized. "
To be continued...?
I had been awaiting they're arrival all week long, from the setting of the blazing summer sun, to the prominent rise of a slightly cooler moon. The lights in this house had been kept off the whole time, the driveway empty. To the untrained eye, the residents of this humble abode had gone on vacation and had not returned since - but to the trained eye, to my eye, it was an ambush.
The people in this neighbourhood spoke of "them" in hushed whispers and secured areas, never out in public and never out in the open. No one ever mentioned their names, names were not important, names were too strong an image for the human mind to bear. And every now and then, you saw one of "them" come down the road, creating a sudden hushed silence among the community. Faces forced happy smiles at their pacing, hands forced themselves to be steady. Deep inside, the people feared "them", and "they" loved every moment of it.
The people that originally had lived here, a happy couple with two honor roll kids and a lifetime of success under their belts, were makeing quite a few sacrafices for my ambush. The mother and children had left several days ago, fleeing at night time when "they" were not on the streets, finding refuge in another country while the father stayed back with me. His name was Mr Roberts, and I admired his courage for standing against the face of terror. Every day he fought the urge to call his family, wanting to yet knowing it was too dangerous. We both knew the risk of this, but more importantly, we both knew he would probably never see his kids ever again. Such was the price of freedom. Such was the price of eternal liberty.
On the cool afternoon of the fifth day, Mr Roberts had asked me if we were going to survive, words choking with emotion, eyes swimming with tears of anguish and dispair. I didn't know what to tell him, although I had reeled through my thoughts to find the answer. Survive was such a strong word in times like these. Survival was for the dreamers, the hopeful. We were neither of those two.
On the eighth day, "they" came, right on schedual. From the darkness of the kitchen, I had a feeling of their arrival before the sounds of society began to silence at their approach. It was a gut instinct, like a smell that tugs at your brain before you even know what it is. The chair I was sitting in, part of a classy and expensive table set, slid out behind me as I stood up slowly. Mr Roberts perked his head up like a rabbit in a hole. Slowly, I stepped up to the covered window of the dining room and pulled down one of the blinds slightly with a finger. Light pooled in on my face, on the quivering hands of the one behind me. It was all beginning to silence outside, the lawnmowers were turning off, the happy cries of children playing began to dim. Even the barking dogs had shut themselves up on instinct. It was a bizzare moment ; I dont think I could hear cars or machines anywhere else in the city. The world had turned into a desolate wasteland at the approach of those that we feared, where even the whisper of Nature's wind did not make a sound. Perhaps she, too, had left for another country.
Suddenly, there were two knocks on the front door, two harsh wraps on the oak surface. Roberts covered his mouth with two firm hands and suppresed a scream, eyes wide like saucers, breath like a marathon runner that was out of shape. I began to make my way to the door, slowly and surely. Inside my mind, rationality called out, begging to be heard. Turn back, hide in the shadows, do not confront "them"! I listened to it, but I did not obey it. I was too deep in it now to turn back, this family depended on me to liberate them - and liberate, I would do, even if it cost me my life.
My hand reached out for the brass handle, a fine circle of cold metal in my palm. I inhaled deeply, and I turned the knob, pulling the door open. The afternoon sun poured into the dark kitchen, lighting up utencils and plates still laying about on the counter. It cast my shadow behind me like a cut out from construction paper. It flashed the fear in Roberts' eyes behind me, a deer in the headlights of an apocalypse with an engine. Before me, stood one of "them". I did not back down.
This one was a younger one, one I hadn't seen very often. A baseball cap was on his head, twisted to the side. Grass stains were on the knees of his pants, in the white of his sneakers. Freckles spotted his face like the remains of tomatoes at a devestated farmer's market. A curl of blonde hair decided to rebellious and was poking out of the side of his cap, above piercing blue eyes. And of course, at the side, was the faded white bag that hung off a shoulder. I was having my doubts as I watched him, waiting, hoping it would be okay.
" My name is Bradley, " the boy said. So they did have names, I realized. He must have been newer than I thought. " I'm here collecting for the newspaper. Are the Roberts home? "
Mr Roberts behind me almost screamed again, I hoped the kid hadn't heard it over the silence that preceeded his existance here. My hand was clutched on the doorknob still, and allthough I didnt know it then, my knuckles were a ghastly white with the intensity of my grip. " They're not home, I'm the house sitter. " Smooth, I thought. Real smooth.
Brad tried to look over my shoulder, then shifted his piercing gaze back into mine. I could feel him reading my soul, my thoughts, my life. I felt him look into every thought, every cell that journeyed through my body in the adventures of their tasks. Even the very atoms that composed my being were not overlooked. Creepy. " I'll be back later for the money they owe us. " And with that, the kid turned on his heels and proceeded back toward the street. Neighbours that had huddled close to watch the event scrambled to get back to work when Brad was facing them again. I closed the door.
With the click of the door shutting, Mr Roberts broke down sobbing behind me. " I'm fucked, I'm soooo fucked! " He managed through his cries. " I dont have two dollars for them, I cant even break a fucking twenty because they'll catch me on the way to the store! " I tried to comfort him, but no words came to mind. Atleast the nightmare was almost over for him - the next time "Brad" (if that was infact his name) came back, it would be the last time. For whom, however, was up to fate to decide - and fate was not being a good camper if he put us in this position in the first place.
It would be a long time before I realized I was still gripping the doorknob.
The phone rang twice before he picked it up.
" Talk to me, Bradley. "
" The Roberts, they dodged me again. I'll be returning back to base emptyhanded. "
" How long do they think they can avoid us, Bradley? How long do they hope to escape the swift hammer of justice?"
" Do you want me to return and use force? "
" No... There is no need for that. Return back to base, I shall assemble my other Boys. We will return, all of us, tonight. "
" Will we get the two dollars they owe us? "
" We'll get more than that, Bradley. We'll get to deliver the Roberts what they deserve, instead of the newspaper. "
" You always know what's best, sir. "
" One more thing, Bradley. Can you get me a big mac on the way here? My wife gave me grain bread again in my lunch and I cant stand that shit. "
" Yes, sir. Supersized meal? "
" Supersized. "
To be continued...?