The Red War

The world is ridden with war and chaos, a thick line between humanity has been drawn. Evey, a single mother is blackmailed into becoming a superhuman soldier to save her daughter.

  ONE   

     As of right now I was unsure of what to do. Alexandria had seated herself in front of me and I could not explain what had happened even to myself. I was at a new mental low facing my six year old daughter. She just asked a simple question and whatever use for the human language refused to escape my lips. How would I respond to her? Those two words, which only a child would ponder for eternity, something that even as she aged she would still question it. When she is older, adults always say, you will understand. Alexandria will never understand, she will never know, and even as an old woman with my crinkled face I will never tell her, I will let her fade into oblivion like I will let this moment. I know my brain will forbid it, I can feel this split second of fear sink into the dark floorboards of whatever my thoughts keep in the dreary parts. I dare not go there nor ask, but fear will have my daughter’s pretty little face stamped on it as a damned reminder for what I did not do, correction, did not do PROPERLY. She just wanted to know where he was at, how could I answer that when I never knew or will know myself?

            “Where’s Daddy?” her tiny voice was frail.

    He’s gone? He left? Daddy went on a mission? Daddy went to play a concert for important people? Daddy was sold off and to be torn apart for medical uses or maybe daddy was ground up into meat and is now stuffed in my freezer. Maybe the monster in your closet, dear Alexandria ate him.  Wherever your father is, my poor girl, I hope he’s dead, so then maybe he wouldn’t have to suffer or live in a world as dark as this.

            “I don’t know where he is.” Well that was smooth, way go to easing the paranoia your child will carry, already in fear of the life we live, but a child’s fear. She will look out the window later this evening and think that her father will come walking in through that door. No, her father isn't coming back. Her father isn't coming back at all. She is oblivious to some aspects of this current world, she only knows that it’s full of “bad.” Did someone ever define bad? Or wicked? She knows something is wrong and that there is a possible chance everything will go back to normal. The normal that my husband and I provided for her from the house that she came home to from the abandoned grocery store that is now a school.

    Her tiny lips curved into a pout and her big round gold eyes filled with tears and I knew I wouldn’t be making mother of the year, I mean her father is missing and I don’t know what to do. Where would I look? Where would I even begin to search for someone like her father? He was a musician, a very talented one at that and I secretly believed that he was somewhere, anywhere but where I knew he could be. Death. I imagined that he was running late and that old plastic yellow phone with the long cord would ring and I would run to pick it up, hearing his voice crackle from the fuzzy receiver while twirling the long tight spiral within my fingers. I remember when Alexandria was younger she would chew on it, I think I could see her teeth marks if I looked hard enough. I imagined that he would return home when the sky was a blackish blue dotted with tiny white stars and moon would grace us with its presence. I would assume that he would return, maybe tonight, but he didn’t and that meant the six year old curly redhead daughter of mine would know how cruel this life is. I wish she would have discovered this another way, any other way but this.

 

 

 

TWO

 

       The next morning seemed normal. Alexandria was playing with an old doll and I had finished dressing into the same outfit I wear on a daily basis. Clothes, in this time were expensive and unless you had a steady cash flow coming in you wore what you had. The outfit was simple and reminded me of those old movies or simple books with simple people living ungodly uncomplicated lives. This was normal in the war, this is what most suffered from and this is what we will always know. Humans aren’t very good leaders and I should know this, our government decided to abandon us, leaving us to die because of their petty mistakes.

     It started when a man known as Peddler decided to reincarnate the evil being herself, and that is EMBER. She was a robot that only existed for human control because we seem to be misguided and unruly. I don't blame McCalihan’s grief, I don't blame his idea for wanting change. I never placed judgment by person’s emotions, they tend to override who the intended self is supposed to be. McCalihan was no exception. He wanted to help humanity, he wanted people to see that with a little push life could be better for all of us. He believed that a robot should be our mother, look how that turned out. Shortly after the metal dictator’s destruction the Earth saw nothing but chaos. There was a brief period where living was decent, all they did was pick up the pieces and move on, making sure that this robot s**t was never going to happen again, yet in the dark of the night where most evil tends to lurk a dedicated group would fix that. As a few years passed they had gathered enough DNA and other files of the monster, creating a makeshift plan to add on to EMBER’s legacy. The plan was simple, yet effective, but very hard to prove: make humanity regret taking control of their own lives. 

    I stood in front of the mirror, making sure that no holes were present on my thin scrap of clothing. I wondered what my life would have been like without war or poverty. I am a single twenty year old mother whose husband is missing, who lives in an overcrowded apartment building with two other residents, who has barely enough food and the money is as thick as my shirt. This is the world we live in, and it is about to get much worse.

My daughter had called to me, she wanted to go to school early to see the teacher’s new baby. She was sixteen and had three children, her husband was one of the factory workers mass producing guns that would only be used against us. It wasn’t uncommon to get married at a young age, actually you had to get married by the age of fifteen, and most did at year twelve. Once puberty hit you were set off into the arms of another, mostly just odds and ends of whatever was left of the human population. The main factor was to repopulate quick so we could send more people to die, our cycle of life was odd, you got married young and when your spouse was sent off to war, sold off, disappeared or dead you remarried again. My husband was twenty years older than me, a musician for the politicians or the wealthy. It was mainly who could afford his brilliant music making skills and now he was gone. I had a feeling that yellow plastic phone would speak of another single man who needed to bring more children out of me. I prayed to god I wouldn’t walk home and there was some big grimy man sitting on my front steps, and so far nothing yet.

The two residents were older ladies who heard the voice of the robotic monster and even had the tattooed scars to prove it, EMBER loved shoving needles inside her little children. Molly was in her nineties and enjoyed the colour mint green and tea. Liddy tended to mumble something from her past and was secretive with whoever had curious ears to ask what she spoke of, always with a happy smile with everything in her enclosed life. Sometimes, at early hours when the sun was beginning to rise from the grave she would mention life before. You had to lean in to hear it, from what I gathered EMBER started as the perfect candidate for proper human care and as you know by now it became this. She would whisper tales of her late night escapades with another man two blocks down, her parents didn't approve due to his colourful record with the law. She said that one of the many evenings she had left she had come across this metal woman, who from her version had admitted that it was hard not to hate her, she was absolutely stunning and had the picture perfect definition of beauty.

      I was leaning against the door frame when she brought it up to the ghosts that often sat with this poor decrepit woman. Liddy would sit there, in her rocking chair, her creased face in a smile as she chatted with an unseen person who supposedly sat next to her enduring her late night rambles. When the younger Liddy had met EMBER she had always mentioned one part of this mechanical woman’s appearance, her striking blue eyes. Liddy spoke of how unrealistic they seemed as the two pools of crystal stared at her, assuming that she had broken curfew the love stricken girl couldn’t speak a word as their ruler had stood before her.

     “What are you doing out this late?” EMBER’s velvet voice questioned.

     “Seeing Robin, malady” Liddy admitted, no one could lie to her, this robot was God, and beauty to make Aphrodite green with envy.

      Liddy never finished what happened upon meeting her, I assumed the younger Liddy with easy features was too afraid to speak of it, but then the old woman had smiled and tears pricked her old eyes, it wasn't fear, it was awe, anyone who had met our past fate could hold no hatred toward the god like machine. She was an inhuman creature that was too hard to resist, and at that moment in the early hours of a new day I understood why EMBER was a beloved goddess, and with her descendants running around, creating more monsters or at least trying to, I was deathly afraid. If she could take the world by storm with a single breath taking sentence added with a heart wrenching look, what would her children do?

 

III

 

    The static on the old TV gave way and a man in a cheap suit and glossed hair came into view, he was in mid-sentence but the topic was the same and all results never wavered. The War, this dreadful chaotic yet seemingly boring war.

         “...Now Jack Stiller has created the second instalment to his vaccine Xecil, which is said to cure the radiation poisoning within our environment. The Stiller Company has asked for volunteers who will be tested with this vaccine, anyone who complies will be paid accordingly.”

     Another fake newscaster, a lady appeared, “so until then, wear your masks!” she said with false happiness, then covering her shiny red lips with a paper mask. The TV had switched personalities and a kid’s show started gaining not only Alexandria’s attention but Liddy’s and Molly’s.

        “Look at the pretty girl with blue hair.” Liddy gushed, thinking of the robotic ruler.

         “It would better if it were a mint green, it would bring out her eyes” Molly muttered, drinking some of her foreign tea.

         “We have to go now Dria.” I checked the old clock that Molly had set by her chair, the two metal hands stood in place at 7:30 a.m. while the needle for the second hand ticked around what once was a bright spring meadow. The clock had its own world, a deer grazing in the background while flowers had bloomed by the five and six mark. The sky that held the upper numbers was now a white, assuming it was a blue years ago. The plastic cage surrounding the physical form of time was dented, cracked, and dirty. Molly probably carried this through the early years of the war.

               “Bye Aunties! I’ll see you tonight, right?” Ever since her father vanished she always made sure the remnants of her indoor world remained intact.

               “Yes of course dearie, we aren’t going anywhere today.” Liddy said, shifting her old eyes up from beneath her glasses.

                  “Okay, just checking.” Alexandria had focused her gold orbs on the two as she put on her lime green coat, getting her hand caught in the small hole the size of her hand. Her fingers had caused a slight tear making the gap within the fabric large enough to shove her arm through.

                  “Sorry Mommy.” She mumbled as I pursed my lips together, we had only one spool of thread left and it was in pink, which surprisingly matched nothing any of us woman owned.

       She looked down, knowing of our clothing situation I bent down and showed her my navy blue skirt, it had a few cuts and the hem was unraveling. One particular stitch was messily sewn together while I was working on the upper floors cleaning. My skirt had caught the bed and ripped. I had used the same pink thread that I carried in my coat pocket, for instances like these.

             “When we get home I’ll sew it back up, and we’ll have matching patches.” I smiled, hating to see my daughter’s plump lips turn into a pout.

             “Okay.” She grinned, her gums looked swollen, better steal more toothpaste.

     I normally tried to keep up on the health in this family, mostly everyone else’s but my own, I wondered how bad I needed to brush my teeth, hell when was the last time I took a shower? The bath water mainly goes to Dria because she’s the one to go out and about, learning and living within a fake world created by a sixteen year old teacher. Unlike myself, crawling through the blood stained reality I took as many odd jobs as I could, most of the time a maid but lately I’ve been at the morgue, “recycling the body for better uses” as the dealer says.

              “No ‘ne can afford funerals, no ‘ne knows where to put they’ dead, we be doin’ good for the Stiller’s boys.” The dealer once told me, as he broke a rib cage open with a pair of garden shears. He had handed me a bone saw, pointing.

                 “Cut the gal’s leg off, its infected and we don’ need that in the biz.” He was talking about a ten year old on the table behind him. As I was moving he added, “Throw it ta the dogs in tha back, will ya babe?”

             When I did I watched the bone thin canines rip the leg apart like I had handed them their last meal, I began to wonder how long it would be before they came after myself or the dealer. My dark thoughts were cured when a three legged greyhound limped my way, instead of barred bloody teeth and eyes of a killer was just one of an animal searching for comfort. He smelled of rotting flesh and had piece of calf muscle hanging from his lip. He hobbled over and sat next to me, placing his head on my lap. I rubbed between his ears, feeling the soft spot that grey fur had once grew. The last of his meal had then stained my skirt, which I washed promptly before going to fetch my daughter. She didn't need to know the kind of jobs I had taken on, and she didn't need to know how messy they were.

            I licked my finger and quickly wiped away a spot of blood I forgot on my wrist, hopefully she didn't catch it. I had wondered what my six year old curly redhead would think if I came home, swinging a cleaver and hand saw while drenched in blood, maggots in my hair and maybe someone else’s skin on my fingertips.

              The point was my jobs were messy, there was no reason in keeping clean if I would get back into more human anatomy. I remembered counting all the children that came in, and there were too many on my slab for one shift. I would finish with the body, physically of course, my mind tended to torture me during these times. The things that had lived in the shadows thought it would be funny to plaster Dria’s face on every decomposed kid that landed on my slab. It made me wonder what it would be like to come across one of your own under the industrial lamp that was nailed to the ceiling, swinging on a dirty orange cord. If Dria were to go I would have too as well, I couldn’t survive knowing my kid would be on a similar table, with similar knives, similar light source and a person possibly with the same reasons hacking into my daughter. Her red hair drenched in blood, her big gold eyes sunken in from lack of moisture. A saw, possibly stolen from a neighboring shed digging into her bones.

          The current Alexandria, the real one, the living one had tugged on my dirty white sleeve, I almost was hit by a passing car.

       Maybe she would be the one cutting into me I thought, grabbing her hand and crossing the street. A “Sewer Rat” is what we were called, my six year old being a Sewer Rat, I couldn't see it. She was more of a bright ray of sunshine to be meandering in the dark, scratch that, Dria was the sun. She would blind any of the rats working with the slabs.

          Half a block down from my almost death we heard shouting, it was normal, war and hate sounds filled the air on the daily basis and drifted late into the night rarely silencing. Each step helped to distinguish the location and possible reason. From what I’m getting it was a man, maybe two….no, the pitch was the same, it was only him, the question was, what or who the hell is he yelling at?

           He was in an alley, behind a green slimy dumpster, his dark disheveled suit was slicked with blood and dirt. His dark hair matted, bouncing around his gaunt face. A slight stubble began to form on his thin features, his wild green eyes frantically searching for something, anything as he shouted to the walls and the rats crawling about. He kicked a garbage can over, spilling contents of rotting meat and various body parts. His wiry fingers clutched a small handgun, moving it all around rising and falling with the tone of his voice. He began shouting once more, holding the bullet keeper to his head than dropping it less than five minutes after mumbling about some unknown problem. 

              Alexandria didn't see the complications with this man, she let go of my hand acting as if seeing a suicidal person ready to blow his brains out was a normal occurrence to her. She walked formally up to him, as if ready to address a committee over business efforts. My daughter folded her tiny hands and placed them in front of her, slightly rocking side to side like she would do if she was impatient from me. I stepped forward cautiously, hoping to not enrage this psychotic man even further.

          “Dria” I whisper, eyeing the back of her red curls.

          “Not now mommy.” She inched her face only for a second into my direction, her eyes on another matter and her plump lips straight, determined, the same look her father would give her or myself with the same gold eyes.

          “Alexandria Corte Malone-Smith you turn around right now!” I didn’t mean to be angry, nor did I mean for my voice to raise in pitch, it was only to scold my ever curious child.

      The man had saw, and most of his dark locks moved violently as himself, the hair that stuck to his face from sweat were removed as he stood straight gazing at my daughter like she was a source of magic.

          “What is it?” His deep voice was choking, he swallowed, trying to use his cool edge as a shield toward my daughter.

           “Why are you crying?”

Good God Alexandria noticed the crying, yet she didn’t even see the gun?!

           “It’s sweat child, nothing more.” He wiped his brow, acting like a younger boy who refused to believe he was in the act of emotion.

           “Sweat doesn’t come from your eyes.” She smiled innocently.

            “Alexandria.” I said with more concern, my fists were shaking, this man was a bomb and she pushing the buttons to detonate it sooner.

           “Go with your mother.” He said mother like the word peace, it was odd and displaced, either a pained word or something not in his vocabulary.

            “But you’re sad.”

Goddamnit Dria

            “Well who wouldn’t be in this time, eh?” He spoke with dark sarcasm.

              “Why ‘do you have a gun?” She noticed the weapon.

Oh God she saw it, she knew he had it yet she f*****g walked right up to him!

         “Dria, now!” I was agitated, I was afraid that her curiosity would do her in like the cat.

    “Mommy.” She was obviously annoyed with me and her safety concerns.

    “Listen to your mother girl.” The distraught man warned once more, tightening his grip around the dark metal.

            I was staring at the gun, waiting, I was afraid more than anything he would use the bullet meant for himself on an overly caring redheaded child. I focused, taking in every glinted, scratched, marked detail of the damned weapon that caused my fear. The man himself wasn't the problem really, if Alexandria had confronted a psychedelic male in a dark suit thrashing around screaming at invisible entities I would have been fine with that, well not fully okay with my daughter's concern for the human race but it brought some comfort knowing that Dria was the sun, she stood out and was willing to shine her golden rays onto any passerby who looked her way or a dark suit in distress. I knew I had problems but I was far off from where this man was, Dria kept me at bay, she tended to cure whatever evil that resided within me, brewing and twisting to form some chaotic creature that only wanted to do harm unto others, not specifically the partial innocent eyes that grasped through this life but the more so the people who stood behind the black screen, hiding behind a desk, labeling us as “human resources” and recycling our use for the war efforts. Jack Stiller I assume was a wealthy man who made bank off of the blood he spilt, I bet he bathed in it, I could picture an average male in a ceramic white tub, stained a tinge of pink from years of our disposal. His nude form resting soaked in the life source of millions, he would smile and stare out a dark window overlooking our hellhole we call home. People like Stiller killed for pleasure, they say otherwise on the news but everyone knew better.

           Two years ago Stiller was a well-respected man just like McCalhihan, smooth and winning over the public. No ever saw Jack Stiller’s face, no one knew what he looked like, most pictured him a slight resemblance of the robotic dictator’s creator. Rumor had it that Stiller was of EMBER’s direct mercury blood. No one questioned if the mechanical woman could reproduce, but if she can seduce the world with her goddess like apparition, and evolve from the caretaker to the ruler than some things could have changed physically. I knew she wanted to keep her legacy growing, of course that wasn't what started Stiller’s reign.

            Stiller was a simple man, as some say wanting of course to help in the war efforts but much like EMBER something within him changed, instead of controlling us he preferred another method. His theory and robotic DNA warped his thoughts to be more of our past mechanical mother. Like her he wanted control, but was very careful on who he stepped on. The wealthy and powerful adored him, as he pranced around acting like their savior in shining armor, ready to whisk them away with honey sweet promises to fix the mistakes they created. Then there was us, the damned thick line that separated the poverty always growing like the piles of bodies.

           Dria still stood calmly, trying to shine some of her rays on the man. I was frozen to my spot, I couldn’t lose Dria, and I was damned as hell wasn't going to sit by and watch some deranged male end it, yet I was terrified. Slowly I inched closer, her red curls my focus and I quickly placed my hand on her shoulder. Dria jumped slightly then regained composure. She was six, having the heart of pure innocence yet to naive to really understand. Dria was smart, she really is, yet when a frown or someone in tears draws near she has to help them. She always had the people skills that I never really could grasp, they just melted and changed into whatever she wanted. She was in a litter sense God and Stiller had competition if she decided to step up from the street life to the world. Dria could make anyone calm, even me, a trait she inherited from her father. Erik was a very calming soul, his movement was calm, his face was calm and his eyes were calm. He spoke softly, normally, and had an aura around him that felt as if he wasn't from this place. Erik is gone now, and my Alexandria is here, and i had to think of a plan to get her away from the dark suit.

"But I want to help" Dria pouted, she wasn't one to take rejection lightly especially toward a notion of friendship. "Help? Help?!" The man shouted, seemingly the four lettered word was a trigger. "You think you can help?! My wife was taken by those f*****g Jacks, my daughter died of radiation poisoning and I couldn't do anything, they tried to..." He stopped mid sentence, then quickly began pacing. "....wanted me" was all I got of inconsistent muttering. "They can't take me" I pulled Alexandria away as he stepped forward. His eyes were searching, almost as if he was trying to place us, our faces for the ghosts he couldn't forget. His eyes darted around, again looking for some imaginary creature to tear him apart. "No no, of course" his voice dramatically calmed, dropping to a smooth tone almost as if this unseen monster stole his insanity. "It was my brothers family that suffered, they got him" he laughed facing me, "they got him and I hope he's better now!" His mental instability levels tripled and he swayed to the left. The wind stopped, the world was silent, as if it was waiting for more of his twisted coded speech. "I remembered" he studied his gun, tracing the handle, "your daughters different" his crazy eyes remained on the bullet keeper. "She's to good for this world" "No!" I scream pushing my child away, he couldn't take her. But he didn't take her. The cold metal of the barrel was placed to his temple, "I killed them. All of them. So they could be free." I covered her eyes, "Dria-!" I didn't finish. The bullet tore most of his head to bits. Pieces on the wall, the ground and on my hair. The dark suits blood finely coated us. I stood there, my hands still to her eyes as I felt her tears slip out of my hands down her pretty blood speckled face. The body lay disheveled like his mind. His eyes were still staring, cold empty doors bore into my fearful sight. The world was still waiting, it excepted more. I threw my coat at his face and grabbed my daughter, I didn't run home, I couldn't scare the robotic lovers. I ran to the Rat Lab, my daughter sobbing, her fat tears soaking my shoulder. No one cared, only a few to hear a child cry. I jumped the slimy steps to the beaten metal door at the bottom. The light gasping for breathe above us. I kicked the door and a familiar face opened it, shock screwed his beautiful African features. I handed my daughter to him. The world still waited. Four "What happened?!" Vincent bounced Dria slightly, we headed to the back room were stolen work and garden tools were shoved in broken plastic crates. "The dark suit...he just....I sat on the wooden bin full of rusty scissors. The lights flickered now and again due to the train way above us. It only ran for the wealthy.

Author's Note

obviously this isn't finished and i'm not sure what genre this belongs too. i do plan on publishing this but i would love advice, critique, errors etc. if anyone has any ideas for this i am open, i hope you enjoy it and thanks for reviewing
-Cya

Reviews

[GrandDystopia]

I loved this delightfully old school piece, I can always tell that a story is good due to the fact that I feel like an idiot for not dreaming up the idea myself. Your premise is strong, characters well drawn and the story moves at a good pace, allowing the story to grow without it overstaying its welcome. You've got something that you could really run with in the long run if done correctly, I've got no ideas on how to improve this, you doing fine. Thank you very much for sharing.

[cellardork]

im going to need you to post more of this. very good. :)

[Cya]

Updated darling

[David Gabar]

Wow this story is mind boggling, it's really good has a lot of potential, nicely done. I would love to see more of these down the road. Very creative and aware of the chaos in the world. 2 thumbs up :).