This is a short story I wrote yesterday. It came up out of my dreams like from a baptism, whole and complete. It's sort of cathartic thinking about something so final, such a juggernaut that you can't do a single thing to fix it. You know exactly where you're headed and why. You're just there, observing, like watching a roller coaster ride until it's your turn and you can't get off. Just sit back and enjoy the ride. Or not.
AND THEN YOU AREN’T
by Indigo Chase
They absorbed Grandma like a blue-tinged dream. One minute she was
regular old cantankerous grandma from whom I got my “sight” and
the next, a copy. She sat there in that ratty old chair on the porch
with a dorky smile pasted on the pleats of her face. Like Grandma,
but completely not. As soon as I opened my mouth to tell Dad, the
words IF YOU TELL ANYONE, THEY GO AWAY formed on the age-spotted skin
of her hands. The words skittered so quickly away into the cracks in
my vision, I
doubted I’d seen anything. I hadn’t, had I? A trick of the light?
Just the right bend in the spectrum?
I had to know.
Well I wasn’t going to test the theory on anyone I liked. What if
they were bluffing—those words? How did I know I wasn’t going
stark bonkers?
So I told my terminally grumpy Econ teacher, Mr. Axtell. Before my
eyes his skin turned the
teensiest tint more blue, so slight the average
person would never have noticed. A millisecond of kicking, jerking,
contorting, drowning. His face smoothed out. He smiled at me, winked
even. Then I knew. That thing with his lips barely tilted up at me
was not my Econ teacher any more.
At first they were subtle. Benign. Things went missing, then
reappeared, fixed. Whole. Who wouldn’t like that? “Where are my
old broken glasses?” you’d ask. “Oh look! Someone replaced them
with brand new glasses. Love that.” Only then they’d fix your
eyesight and you wouldn’t need those glasses anymore.
Everywhere I saw the flicker of blue as the little monsters ate my
world. Coach Tunstall who never gave out Attaboys told me my hurdle
times were finally improving. That girl on the cheer squad who always
made fun of my clothes—replaced. A shrill of alarm, a tiny choke,
their eyes went wide, then that sunny face—that smiley-faced sign
that said, “There. We’ve made your life better. You’re
welcome.”
And
they had. Patchy lawns suddenly grew lush and
green, with nary a weed to poke up its unwanted head. Dishes did
themselves to a sparkling shine, just like in the ads. Like the sea
coming in, the tiny creepy
beings washed over everything, making it better,
more vibrant, like new.
Somebody
finally learned their name. Then it was Lingons are doing this for
us. Lingons are taking care of that. All hale the Lingons. They’ve
begun to absorb the trash from the oceans. Yay! We’ve made a deal
with the Lingons to absorb all our waste. Aren’t they magnificent?
They’ve solved the peace problem in the Middle East. No more global
warming. They’ll take care of strengthening
your house for that hurricane coming up. Wait! Suddenly no more
hurricanes to worry about. And
the Lingons will take care of that dirty diaper
for you. In fact, they’ll replace diapers and clean up your baby so
you don’t have to.
They didn’t tell you they would also replace your baby. But that’s
what happened. You’d just wake up one morning and your baby,
instead of screaming to be picked up, greeted you with a cheerful
chirrup and a wave of her little arms and legs.
What’s not to like about that?
Pretty soon everyone loved those crazy little Lingons. “Best thing
since buttered bread,” Mom said as she kicked back on the couch and
turned on the TV. No more advertisements. Lingons just washed up and
took care of all your problems. They congregated around your car
exhaust and cleaned the air while their friends washed your windows
and repaired that window spider you got from following a truck too
closely. Then they replaced your paint job with the one you actually
wanted, pulled out all the dents, and juiced up your engine to like
new. Wait. It was a new engine. And a new car.
When you drove up to a fast food place, the nutritious food tasted
fantastic. You didn’t have to pay for it. You lost weight. And your
new Lingon-produced clothes fit well, felt great, and looked fabulous
on you.
Every now and then someone I knew winked out. Ceased to be. Plowed
under by the conquering wave of happy
little Lingons. What popped up like a bobber on
a fishing line was a new, improved version, not so untidy with
weirdness sticking out all over. So what? Everybody liked them
better. Everyone got along so much easier. No one wanted that old,
broken person back. They never even knew what hit them.
The thing was, I knew. And I couldn’t say anything. When would my
time come to disappear beneath a nearly invisible wave of blueish
Lingons? And where did those messy people go? Dead? Taken apart down
to the molecules and absorbed into the wave? Why hadn’t they taken
me under once they noticed the worry lines I saw on my face when I
looked in a mirror? Why hadn’t someone noticed how quiet I’d
gotten, and how I retreated into my room so often. That should have
been a clear tip-off to those things. Who would rat me out? Or had
they tried? What if the Lingons couldn’t replace me?
I tried to school my face each time someone flashed me a new smile
and I knew it wasn’t them anymore. I tried not to clench my fists
and tense my core when one by one the people in my life betrayed
themselves and Lingons took them under.
I felt so helpless.
Alone.
Powerless.
What would happen when they’d cleaned up all the messes?
Why were they here?
What did they want?
And then I saw him. Another imperfect person. He watched me from
across the hall at school, he and his black haystack hair and his
glasses and Holey Cheese, that zit on his chin. It had been so
long since I’d seen a real pimple
that it called to me like a fat red siren. I couldn’t look away
from it for anything.
It’s not like I didn’t try. I didn’t want to be in charge of
another person getting replaced by a spiffed up, flavorless copy. I
kind of liked messy. It seemed real and truthful. And human.
He ducked around the corner and I had to follow, like my head and
his shared the same stretchy rubber band.
“You know,” he said in my mind. Even
his mental voice lacked
that terrible perfection.
Yes? How
are we doing this? I shook my head, but couldn’t free myself
from his grip. Maybe I didn’t want to. Maybe I stared straight at
my answer.
Maybe you’ve The Sight like I do. Anyway, you need to say
something and walk away or it’ll be obvious.
“You’re in my first hour, aren’t you?” It was all I could
think to say out loud.
“If it’s Econ, yes. Did you do the homework?”
“I don’t see why we need to anymore, thanks to the Lingons.”
Is that good?
You didn’t walk away. “You’ve
got a point. See you in class.”
“Bye.” I jerked my chin, tore
my stare from that thing on his chin, and lurched
down the hall.
How had he noticed me? Who
was I kidding.
I knew. I never had good hair days. And though I ran hurdles in
track, I ran dead last in every practice due to a few extra pounds of
unwanted chub. Last
especially
because
the Lingons had come and ‘fixed’ everybody else.
Why hadn’t they fixed me? No
clue.
Just like I had no idea why they hadn’t just bulldozed me under and
gotten a new version all set up in my place.
“Actually, I love you.
I love that you aren’t a replica. I love all those things about you
that you just complained about in your head. And thanks for stressing
the zit. That’s a mental picture that won’t stop.”
So we had range, at least
while at school. I grinned at his complaint, but squashed it so
people wouldn’t think I
had
another flaw to point out to the Lingons. Any time. I aim
to please, Volcano Face. Wait. Did I just say that so you could hear
me? Crap. I’m sorry. Not thinking about that elephant in my head.
La la la la la la la. What’s your name, anyway?
His voice almost sounded a
little hurt. “Stop worrying about my zit. I’m over it.
And I’m not telling you my real name. Make one up.” A
laugh in my mind to show me he really was over it.
Still, I wasn’t that girl. I
wished I could unthink it, so I concentrated on his name. That
terrible? What, Elmer? Floyd? Boyd? Aethelmerk? I
had to stop and stare at a funny poster on the wall to keep people
from seeing me laugh to myself.
“Keep it up, Eunice. I never tell
anyone. Just nicknames. And don’t try and ask at the front desk.
They don’t know either.”
I snorted, then turned into my
fourth hour class. So glad I could entertain you, Kurgan.
“Call me that. Just not out loud.”
Okay, Kurgan. I hope it’s nothing to do with your namesake—that
there can be only one, ‘cause I’d be that one, and I’d
go back to being really lonely. Anyway, I’ve got to do this fast
because there’s a Spanish test. Questions. Why can you hear me? Why
aren’t you perfect, like I’m not? Why do you know about ‘them’?
What can we do about it all? And
why are we still alive? There. You can
call me Flame. It’s their opposite on the color wheel. I
got out a pencil and started marking boxes. Silly, when you came to
think about it. Why did we need Spanish in this new Lingon-infested
world? We would probably all speak the same language any day now.
“Ha. Highlander
references. I knew I’d like you. Anyway, I think we’re both
psychic. I don’t know why they’ve left us alone while they’ve
killed most of the people I know. I know about the murdering Lingons
because they said something to me about how ‘it wouldn’t hurt
much.’ When
they started
to re-do me, they spat me back out, like a bad taste. Same with you?”
Nope. I’d have noticed. I caught them replicating my granny. I
couldn’t even tell anyone until you. So I’m not sure how to get
rid of them. I sighed and went
on to another test question. So far I could do them in my sleep.
Tengo albondigas. I have meatballs. I’d
definitely
use that
information in my
anti-world-wrecker scheme. Not.
Kurgan laughed.
Weird
having someone that far inside
my head. It wouldn’t have worked except I’d been so lonely since
the dang Lingons took
over,
that I’d welcome any non-replicant, deep inside my head or not.
Were there curtains you could pull over the embarrassing bits you
didn’t want him to see/hear/read?
“Don’t worry. I won’t
look. Anyway, your thoughts aren’t anything spectacularly bad or
abnormal. For a real person, that is. I’ve seen it all, you might
say.”
How come I’ve never met you before? When did you come here? I
would have spotted you coming if you went here before. Now
the exam questions were getting harder. Essay vs. multiple guess.
“You ask a lot of
questions, Heather Flame.”
And you said you wouldn’t look. No fair you know my real name
and I don’t know yours.
His laughter echoed through
my head.
Now I know there’s no real hiding place and you are at least a
little bit mean. You’ve probably already rummaged through the
entire contents of my mental underwear drawer.
More ghostly laughter. “I’ll talk later. And I was serious. I
do love you. You’re my island of sanity in this freaking ocean of
madness. Don’t stop talking to me. And don’t learn to shut me
out. I’ll behave. Really. I promise. I need you more than you can
possibly know.”
You’ve made my day. Make that year. And it’s the same for me,
Kurgan-there-can-be-only-one-more.
“I know.”
That’s how
I got my End-of-the-world buddy.
Together we watched as, except for us, the Lingons ate the last of
the imperfections. The skies cleared up, the water ran sparkling
clean. Even the dirt seemed less dirty. Then we watched as they
stopped pretending to be the replicants. They’d split apart into
their devilish little demon selves and eat up everything the
replicant had left behind—their car, their house, clothes, pets,
paperwork, everything. Gone in the time it took to say “Holy
Erasers, Batman.” I say that like it was kind of funny, but it
wasn’t. At all.
Terrifying
to watch Mrs. Kagel from down the street, who I knew had become a
replicant weeks previous, simply disappear. Her yappy little
chihuahua
went first. Then her prized begonias. Then her Datsun. Next
the Cape
Cod house with the yellow trim. Then, in a stunning display right in
front of my eyes, the woman herself. Gone beneath a wave of blue,
each tiny bit of her dispersing to other places, other tasks. Every
building block another Lingon pretending to have been Mrs. Kagel’s
thumb cell or something. Flaunting the Lingon power over my inability
to stop them.
The worst night was when
I lost my parents. The second time. Mom sat there on the couch eating
an artichoke popper, then suddenly collapsed into a wash of blue, as
if she’d fallen into a vat of extremely volatile acid. Dad and
Moxie, our lovely mutt went next. Like that. Like
I’d
only dreamed them, once. Like TV characters after you changed the
channel and then broken the TV. It almost felt worse than when I
first noticed they’d fallen to the Lingons. At least then I could
close my eyes and pretend my parents still lived and loved me. Now?
Gone.
Only the house remained.
Kurgan lurked there in my head,
taking me in his arms, patting me on the mental back. I even felt a
feathery light kiss to my hair, a
couple of times.
He was there as each replicant fell, domino-like, until nothing
remained of the things they’d owned or been. The school? Gone. All
our old hang-outs? Gone, along
with the rest of the buildings. All except my house and Kurgan’s,
apparently.
Hey,
I said two
futile hours later. I don’t think we need to stay apart
anymore. I think I need your real arms around me now.
“Yeah. Meet where the school used to be?”
Unless we’re closer. My house is on Elm. It
would have been easier to navigate had any buildings remained. Or any
landmarks.
“Mine’s
across town on Pierce. So meet where that
fifties diner used to be on Main.”
I
turned, then, and watched as my house dissolved in a sea of blue. No
going back now. It was all starting to be too real. I had no ground
to retreat to. Nothing to clench on to when it all winked out.
Nothing but Kurgan.
It was a long walk, made longer by
that
horrible flood of blue entities that watched, and waited, hungry for
more. Always more. And
for
what? What were the dang things waiting for?
I finally spotted him clear down by
where the First National Bank used to be. Now? Just an empty field
full of brilliant green grass punctuated with tiny pink flowers and
butterflies all the colors of the rainbow. How gorgeous it all would
be if the saffron brick walls hadn’t just disappeared beneath a
blanket of nearly-clear blue. I ran to Kurgan,
collapsing into his arms—arms not quite strong enough to be
perfectly muscled, but strong enough for me. He smelled of fear
sweat. I probably did too.
“Come on,” he said, out in the
real world where the Lingons could hear him. His illusions had died
fiery deaths like
mine had.
“Let’s find a good place to watch it all go down.”
So
we did.
“What’s your real name?”
I asked. You have to know the guy’s name if you’re the only two
left on Earth. That’s a given.
He took my hand and swung it
while we climbed to the top of a brand new nearby hill. “Walter.
But apparently I can choose whatever name I want, now that it’s a
moot point.”
“I
guess.” We sat on the bluff overlooking what used to be our town.
Now it featured rolling hills and a new river chuckling through the
grass. A soft breeze picked up and ran its fingers through the lank
strands of my hair. The sunshine warmed our heads. The silence almost
complete. “Don’t let go of me. Please. If we go, we go together.”
He
nodded and pulled me tighter to his side. “Maybe you should give me
a name.”
“Depends on what happens
next, I guess. Same with me. Only not some stupid name like Ethel.”
“I like how we’re here at
the end of the world and you’re worried over what I’m going to
call you.”
And
it was
the end of the world. One
minute an amazing new Eden, the next, bits
of bright new ‘paint’ flaked away, leaving dead brown rock
beneath. The Lingons left their lives as camouflage and streamed into
the sky, slowly at first, then in a mass migration that lasted until
they’d scoured the Earth of all color and life, except the two of
us, standing
there at the end.
“I like how there’s still
someone to call me something.” I hid my face in his chest. He found
my lips.
I
loved
that last glorious kiss.
(Alternate
Ending:) !$!$!$!$!$!$!$!$!$!$!$!$!$!$!$!$!$!$!
“Heather. Step forward. You’re holding up the line. Hey,
Heather. Snap out of it. Swallow your pills. Come on. Lift your
tongue up so I know they’re gone.” Miss Smith, the charge nurse,
smiled at me. A great big shiny plastic smile.
That’s how those blasted little Lingons took me down.
©2020 by H. Linn Murphy
