And so he ran…

Posted: January 30, 2011 in Short story
Tags: , , , , , ,
A short story,

He ran…

Even though the violent bursts of charged light which championed his pursuit traveled at the staggering speed of 186,000 miles per second, and he (even on his best day, and only after he’d gone to the restroom), could barely muster a brisk 8 miles per hour, he ran with the fervor of a man whose life was on the line.

Coincidentally it was…

And so he ran…

George was an idealist. He stubbornly believed that human beings should remain human, and not become some freakish race of technologically enhanced cyborgs. The rest of the world made it clear that they disagreed, or at least the elite who’d been chosen for the program had, as out of the millions who’d been offered that clandestine deal George was only one of fifty people who’d ticked off the “No” box on that year’s census.

For the fifty of them there would be no silent surgeon in the dead of night…

For the fifty of them there would be no scar on the brain…

For the fifty of them there would be no chip…

Melding with the machine was not their destiny…

He, and the rest of the group along with him, had opted out of mankind’s greatest evolutionary leap (that’s what the news called it anyway), and would come to be called by the masses in the years that followed as: “The Half-Breeds”.

Generally as a rule, society shuns those that are different. They take comfort in drawing their pathetic lines in the sand: “Black or White”, “Fat or Skinny”, “Conservative or Liberal”, “Good or Bad”, and perhaps most of all; “Us or Them”… It’s imperative to their shallow state of being that these sheep know where “they” end, and “others” (frightening for their uniqueness, and unpredictability), begin. This is why people like to be part of a herd; they like to believe that by being circumscribed within the accepted societal norms of the zeitgeist that they’re safe.

They’re not – Shepherds abound

Ironically the Half-Breeds had been cast out of society not because they were inherently different from the others (although that element had played at center stage throughout the duration of the ongoing drama), but because they hadn’t the proper equipment to enable them to move on to the next great frontier with the rest of society. Now, because of their ideals and lack of circuitry, twelve of them were dead, and it would seem – as the energetic beams of light shattered the pavement in the wake of his step and the collective of Droids which pursued him actively adjusted their trajectory as they rapidly learned to become on-the-fly security guards – that George was next.

He needed to get away, for the sake of the sheep, the shepherds, and the Half-Breeds alike…

Many had tried – and they had all failed – but he had to succeed…

The World needed to know what he had learned…

This could change everything…

And so he ran…

He had found it; it was in his hands (well, technically it was woven into his shirt). After all their tireless years of searching he was the one who’d finally found the damming evidence that would surely crumble this sinister establishment in an instant like the mighty wrecking balls of yore. He envisioned himself standing at the heart of a mighty tower, crafted of charcoal tinted glass and flimsy metal, as it splintered, cracked, and collapsed in all around him, shattering into a million pieces as he cried tears of joy, never to be put together again.

Mankind would know its freedom again, and the Half-Breeds would be their unlikely savior. Their kind would be vindicated once and for all – praised even for their foresight – and would no longer be hunted. Collectively the people of Earth and The Belt above would once again remember the feeling of a breeze, the smell of the air, the look of a sky, and the taste of the ocean.

But only if he could escape…

Right now that was a big if

George was running an unusual (hopefully unpredictable), back and forth, juke-like pattern to try to do just that…

He glanced over his shoulder at his enshrouded pursuers hoping to see the same three lumbering amorphic blobs that had begun chasing him as he’d escaped the facility, but found instead that they’d finally taken shape and had grown wheels. Fantastic… Their approach hastened greatly in the brief moment that he watched (they were undeniably adept at mastering the physics behind their new shapes), and it terrified him to his core. Not that it assuaged his fears whatsoever, but he knew to expect this: The Droids were ubiquitous things in the modern world – they worked for everyone and no one at once – and right now he was technically a criminal, so he guessed that they were presently working for the “everyone” category.

Meh.

He wondered idly which bit of technology the multitaskers had mimicked and perverted from our wealth of preordained knowledge to take their current form, as they knew nothing of creativity and could only craft something which had been established before them.

Not that it mattered, he just wanted to know what it was from our past that was going to kill him

The sound of his heavy footfall had been, up until this point, mostly silent, but as he boarded the dock (which was crafted of wood rather than concrete), the pitch changed, and the beating of his heart redoubled in response as he let himself believe that he just might make it after all. If he could only get into the sanctity of the waters (as polluted and corrupted as they were, the term “Water” had to be taken loosely here), off the end of the pier, than he might have a chance to escape with his life in tact and his critical information in tow. Sure the Droids might take to the sea after him, but they would be forced to sink to the bottom before changing their shape, and the bay was deep. Surely within the time-frame of this transition he could affect his escape.

Then again they might split up…

One in, two out…

Rut-Roh…

Oh well, there was no time for second guessing his one and only plan. He was nearly at the edge of the pier now, and was certain that he would make it into the bay, whether or not he would be alive upon hitting the water was still up for debate, but up until this point the fledgling marksman behind him had been woefully off their game.

He had to think it…

The charged bolt might have sliced through his midsection to intersect with his heart had he not been running his insane juke-like pattern from left to right, but luckily for George he had and the beam instead pierced through the jiggly bit of fat that resided happily (up until this point at least), under his right bicep. He prayed that his sleeve was not the particular bit of his fabric that had held the information which the world needed to see, but knew there was nothing he could do about it now: he had reached the end of the pier.

He knew that it was now or never…

He had never learned to swim…

He dove into the Bay…

 

Hey there creative peeps, how’s everyone doing? So sorry that it’s been so long since I’d updated, I’ve been working a bit since the “Your Mom’s a liar” post was added (yay!), and haven’t really been home for a few days. This short story is one brief episode in the life of a couple of characters from my forthcoming novel, “Welcome to the Future”, and will have more installments added as I find the time. With any luck you’ve not only been entertained, but inspired, and if you find yourself yearning for more George, Droids, and cryptic language: subscribe, and also instantly grow an inch taller!

(*Individual results may vary*)

As always; be observant, never judgmental, and strive to create something every day!

~J

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s