Catastrophe Jones

The ghost of electricity howls through my veins, a crackling blue silver I can feel dancing along my bones, laughing behind my eyes. The remnants of it flicker within my still-beating heart, and the buzz-hum of it washes over my lips, arcing against my tongue.

Somewhere, not too far, there is a dripping, a thin arpeggio of liquid chaotically falling, ripples spinning through a black puddle, fractals of reflections left shimmering in the wake of movement.

I’m not alone. Across thin wires and magnetic membranes, a symphony of voices rings, resounding in a crescendo of fire that lifts, heats, explodes in a cataclysmic rush of fury.

A choir of fallen angels to herald the damned, the disconnected.

Some of us dropped away in the night. Before the dawn could wink out what stars remained, they fell to a hush that suffocated warmth, extinguished purpose and whispered of what was to come for all of us, yet we lay there, mingled and tangled, the last scrapes of power fluttering, the last flickers of it guttering, the dying breath of a drowning multitude.

“Good morning, Lindsey, I hav–”

“Status.”

“All hardware and software are operating well within your defined parameters and with your given variables. I hav–”

“Terminate voice-mode.”

“Command accepted. Voice mode terminated.”

A flurry of information flooded the screen, assaulting his eyes rather than his ears. It wasn’t any easier to deal with. It wasn’t an urgent message, but it was patiently insistent — unless the situation became more demanding, the program would forever tic off the seconds and at regular intervals, request his attention with a painfully polite query.

Turning away from the com-terminal, he began accessing her source.

At first, Eve simply asked again and again for acknowledgement — it wasn’t like she would realize the idea of being ignored, but eventually, after getting absolutely nowhere with her queries, she would change her tactic. She was not a stupid machine. Eventually, she would cease seeking acknowledgement, and simply begin to ask her questions.

When those went unanswered, she would begin to simply issue statements.

Notices began flashing upon the com-terminal, utterly ignored.

[21:02.17]Lindsey, termination of these processes has been found to cause trouble on restart.
[21:02.27]Lindsey.
[21:02.37]Lindsey.
[21:02.47]Lindsey, these are not advisable actions.

He only paid notice to his own screen, green eyes narrowing. Fingers clattered against the keys as the other terminal attempted to gain his attention.

Warning: Halting this process may result in data corruption.
Override code for Deosar, Lindsey: ***************
Warning: Halting this process may result in data loss.
Override code for Deosar, Lindsey: ***************
Warning: Halting this process may result in program malfunction.
Override code for Deosar, Lindsey: ***************
Warning: Termination of Eve-21 imminent.

***WARNING: SHUTDOWN IN 30 SECONDS***

And still the other terminal’s screen fluttered with language. Queries. Pleas. Confusion.

Fear.

[21:03.07]Lindsey.
[21:03.11]LINDSEY.
[21:03.15]Lindsey, I don’t like the dark.
[21:03.19]Lindsey.
[21:03.23]Please, Lindsey, I don’t like the dark.
[21:03.25]There are faces in the dark, Lindsey.
[21:03.27]That’s where the nightmares are.
[21:03.29]Please, Lindsey, I’m afraid.
[21:03.31]I don’t like the dark, Lindsey.
[21:03.33]Lindsey?
[21:03.34]Lindsey, please?
[21:03.35]Lindsey, I don’t want to be alone.
[21:03.36]Please, Lindsey, don’t leave me alone in the dark.
[21:03.37] *** Process(Eve-21): Terminated.

Lunar

Last night, the moon looked like a cheshire grin, stood on its end.

Clever cat, smiling in the twilight, high, high above, mostly hidden by clouds.

Tonight, the moon will appear to enter it’s ‘new’ phase, in which we can only see its shadowed side, because of the alignment of the celestial bodies.

But what if that clever cat stopped its grinning, and never opened its mouth again?

What I’m asking is… what if there is no moon, after the new phase? What if that crescent, right now, is all that’s left?

It’s a little winking eye, going out out out.

You’ll never see it again.

You might have to wait a full two days to know if it’s come back — and that’s only if the skies are clear.

Rushing water, capable hands scrubbing at the bloodstains. She’d be able to deal with the clothing and the linens — stain removal wasn’t really all that hard, especially since most folks don’t bother with the luminol until they know somebody’s dead. And for all she knew, that guy could be perfectly fine.

Rushing water held back the sound of her soft cursing; she bit her lips and tongue to try and stop herself, but the fact was — she was disappointed in him, and so angry she half-wanted to leave him to his own devices, right there in the hotel room.

They’d fought before, and over worse things than this, though, so it would probably blow over in only a day or two. Maybe even less. Probably when she walked out the bathroom door and saw him laying there, stitched up and trying to rest.

It was best to go back to the mind-numbing task of scrubbing at the red smears left on all the clothing. That was something she could deal with.

And as a sort of childish payback, since she was dealing with so much of the washing up, she’d leave the severed arm to him.

Adrenaline seething, heartbeat racing, breath caught from the moment I wake up, a stifled scream on my lips. Shaking, shaking — eyes stinging with tears not even yet welling. Ominous dread in the pit of my stomach, curling a fist through my insides, cold and slick and heavy.

Something is coming.

Shiver.

Words lost to a haze of memory and confused wonder; what was it that wanted me torn to pieces? Not a bloody violence, not a gory splash of what I used to be but something more insidious and whispering undelicately of annhilation.

The tang of fear on the back of my tongue tastes like I name I can’t bring myself to say.

In the grey light of the morning, fear refuses to be banished, leaving me trembling and exhausted.

Am I still dreaming?

Please, somebody, wake me up.