Filed under: Journal
I have nightmares about my mother, about my children, about everyone I know who died of CANCaL. One of my sons, Torry-FFFF3487E in particular.
I watched his heart burst into flame. It was soon after I found out about the role of Axa’s “gods” in that matter, and I could have sworn I heard the hum of wings flapping at 70 beats a second as it happened. I see little Torry-FFFF3487E’s face again and again in my dreams, and the hum is louder and louder each time.
Sometimes I have these dreams even when I’m awake. I remember when Grendles… or was it that tree in Sedona… broke my spine. Only Hive science was able to save me. I know it wasn’t really Grendles, it was a copy that Tom Anderson made, but still…
I want to flinch whenever I see a goddamn tree. Telling myself how stupid it is doesn’t make it any better.
I remember reading Sorceress One’s reports. Her vivid decriptions of what he did to her, and the places she went to and the things she talked to as a result. I dream about them as well… I’m trying to help her, but I can’t move.
I remember sweating and training a gun on a winged Angel of the Lord, flaming sword in its hand. In my dreams, I see them pouring into the Desert, and then into the Gates and elsewhere. They trust their swords into Hiver hearts, and those hearts burst into flame. The trust their swords into the Desert, and it all turns to glass.
I remember the zombies in that graveyard even before the Fall of New Orleans, wave after wave, even a half a rotted torso crawling toward me. For every one I shot, two more came. In my dreams, ten more come for every one I shoot, and it gets mixed up with the Fall that came later.
I remember everything I saw during the Fall of New Orleans, how it was only by directing artillery fire at those… things… that I was able to remain sane. But I had to give those people a chance to escape. Now, I have nightmares about what’s going on there in the aftermath, about human torsos being treated like pork belly futures by things not even faintly human.
I remember the nightmare trip to scuttle the Gate device in New Orleans, and the even more nightmarish attempt to recover Bud and Al… and their bodies. And the failure of Hiver science to save them.
And I remember how the cynic in me muttered: “The death of one man is a tragedy, the death of millions is a statistic.”
Oh, Valerie, our dear angel Valerie, how she wailed when she knew Al was dead… But was numb to the deaths of the people she didn’t know. For me, trying to save the pair was repayment for how they tried to save me. How few of my JET colleagues have actually tried to save me from anything? In perhaps an inversion of the saying about one man’s death, I didn’t become sympathetic to most until millions of my people had died.
Submissive One is my only comfort. Willing and eager to couple, even as her belly grows, but able to cope with the Outside without trauma… or, at least, any more trauma than what made her a willing slave. I couldn’t expose a Hiver woman to what I’ve been through just for my own comfort.
I can’t expose any more of my people than absolutely neccessary. They don’t have the experience. They don’t have the fortitude. I have to rotate my staff constantly, especially after December-F3894321 went catatonic after I described the New Celtian situation to her.
Those nightmares are the worst… Just December-F3894321 alone in a cube, staring listlessly. It’s not as chaotic as waves of zombies, but it’s horrifying all the same.
I work so hard to aid humanity, and at the end of the day half the people I work with still don’t believe I’m human.
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