Fountain of Youth

Fountain of Youth is set in a civil war torn world, in which immortality has been made available in vaccines to people who can afford it. But none of will stop Her.

She eyes the peaks of the transparent prism work houses, which are home to a new world; the wonderful world of New Brighton. The buildings are in line with one another perfectly, like young soldiers in idyllic formation, and she sees her breath in the thick, cold air as she chuckles at the ludicrousness of it. And beyond the un-miraculous pyramids, from the corner of her deep green eyes, she sees the Great Wall, such truly atrocious creations given pleasant names to take the edge off of the truth. Amid the mostly tranquil New Brighton air, she could still hear the cancerous barks of the guard dogs at the border of the Great Wall, as they desperately bash and rattle the foundations of their cages in want of another hunt. And the awful truth, smothered by the name of the Great Wall, is that the blood-lusting dogs wouldn't have to wait long. Because inside the Great Wall, beyond the mirage of miraculous, immaculate white crystals which make up five watch towers, each of which is connected by a long white wall in a Satanic pentagram shape, is death, disease and murder. The poor Rebels who didn't want to die within the confines of the 'Great' Satanic Wall would leave. And, so, the dogs didn't have to wait long for another hunt. Their barks are the ticking of a clock on a bomb that is but minutes away from exploding and this fact adds another dimension to the cold and bitterness in the air. And she won't stand it anymore.  

She eyes her location, taking in one last puff from her cigarette, straightens her dark waistcoat and heads for the office. It's a grand looking building, modern as anything and everything in New Brighton. It's shape is that of a vertical shark fin, or of a knife blade up-right. This would be the location which would re-ignite the civil war, and would be the flame to burn New Brighton to the ground; a warmth to silence the bitterness of those hideous barks. Though she could have never known that. She was accustomed to the thoughts in her mind never taking form. She was accustomed to being relegated to dreams. She could have never known that the world would finally see the monster she knew she was. 

"So you're my five o'clock?" 

The woman says, her name card reading 'Michelle', but she doesn't really take much notice. She can't. Because the fog has begun to surround her, and when the fog truly sets she won't even remember her own name, let alone the fact that she's being hunted by Micky Davis and Jerome Michaels, and that she has to kill Michelle before it's too late...  

The room is tiny and forces everyone into a claustrophobic cold-sweat, as is the case with most of the rooms dedicated to therapy. Maybe it was just her, but the thought of being expected to confess one's thoughts and feelings always brought up the acidic taste of vomit to the tip of her tongue, rather than the feelings that the therapist expected to hear. And in this dank cellar of a room, decorated with awards and a pleasant wooden desk, her feelings did not stray from the norm. 

"… Um... Yeah, I guess I am..." 

"Okay, so, shall we get started then?" 

Michelle's voice is sweet, and her syllables flow like a fountain of syrup, but sweetness has always been, to her, artificial. She remains silent. Why waste words on a dumb question? They could have saved time if she didn't ask it. 

"I'm scared..." 

She whispers, her stoic exterior suffocating the sound of her feelings. 

"You're scared, darl'? Well, it's not rare... My name's Michelle and I'm here to help." 

She knows, and she knows Michelle's lying. The dogs' barking has stopped over at the border between Heaven and Hell; the hunt is on, and it's sent her into Limbo. 

"I can see it in your eyes, y'know darl'… You're lost, that right... Well this is a safe space. You can ask me anything darl', this is a safe-space for you" 

"Um... what about patient confidentiality? Y'know, you're not gonna go and tell anybody are you?" 

That should make Michelle think this is just another therapy session, a normal day at work, no different from any other. Michelle must think she's safe, but her assumptions couldn't be further from the truth. The sky outside has descended into a murky, thick red as though blood has been spilled from the heavens.  

"Of course! We can't tell anyone about anything, darl', unless I believe you're at risk to yourself or to some other person, that is. Darl' you wouldn't believe some of the things people have been telling me over the years. You got nothing to worry about." 

She sighs, knowing that absolutely none of what Michelle has said has a shred of truth in it, and as she watches how easily Michelle spews out those lies, she almost breaks her teeth from biting down too hard. Michelle is the personification of New Brighton: a pleasant, nice made-up exterior, with the youthful vibrancy of any two-hundred and fifty year old thing injected with the PP vaccination, with a lie sitting at the heart of the beautiful. 

Ponce Pause Industries discovered the protein responsible for freezing the cell degeneration cycle Dohrnii jellyfish, and when PP Industries invested virtually all of their revenue into research as to how to implement this new found knowledge into a serum, a vaccine was introduced for ageing.  

"Um... There's this... Voice in my head that I can't get out" 

Michelle sits back and rubs her flawless twenty-year old skin which is as pale as new pearls on white sand. 

"What's the voice say darl?" 

"… It's telling me to... Kill" 

Michelle pauses, temporarily taking a break from filling her notebook, as her words set a sickness in the air. 

"What's your name darl'?" 

"Um... And I like what it says too... You could say I trust the voice." 

Michelle is silent and stoic like a statue, her expression of concern frozen in fear. Darkness has begun to reign supreme over the afternoon light, as it often does too soon in these kinds of wintery days. Patches of dark blue have suffused with the red blood of the evening's death. The dogs have started barking again. It's time. 

"The voice... Um... It's telling me something" 

"Look, if we're gonna continue with this whole arrangement darl' I'm gonna need you're name." 

"It's telling me you mean to harm me... It's telling me that you've harmed people other than me" 

Michelle's gaze is one of concerned horror; someone has opened the door to her greatest secret, and it's something she'd always believed would go with her to the grave. She takes full advantage of Michelle's sick silence. 

"It's telling me I've been here before, long ago..." 

"I cure disease! That's what I do and it's what I'll always do" 

"Michelle... Um... I think you know I have to listen to what the voice is telling me..." 

A pause, brief but bitter, like that moment of silence before the lightening cracks its whip on the ground, or like that moment in a stand-off before either party has fired their weapon. Fear personified. 

Michelle stands in sudden motion that catches her off-guard. Michelle picks up a pristine vase with her left hand, and throws it. The vase smashes into thousands of pieces, each of which seems to pierce Her skin, as though She's been stabbed by dozens of blades all at once. She stands as Michelle rushes for the door, and swipes her left leg as Michelle begins to put the after burners on. Michelle falls and there's a horrific thudding sound that thrashes the cool air of the office. Michelle is on the floor dazed, watching as She hovers around her body. But Michelle has something up her sleeve. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a cuboid device, and she frantically touches it, just as She reaches into her coat pocket, blood dripping from her face, and pulls out a gun. It's a revolver. But before She can pull the trigger, a flash is explodes from the cuboid. 

Where is she? Who is she? Who's lying on the floor, bloodied and crying for help? She looks around, desperate as fear and terror begin to pound away at her foundations. Her head is stinging and her ears are ringing... Why? She gazes at her hands, as if trying to piece together what she is, and she sees It: a revolver, with a serial number that has been scraped off. And with that piece of the jigsaw, of the last forty eight hours being connected, she sees It. She hears the static, as if it were in the room with her, taunting and chanting sadistically at her, she smells the grilled cheese she was cooking, mixed in with the aroma of pot, and she feels the paper, slick to the touch. And suddenly her mission is remembered. 

As Michelle gets up from her feet, leaving the cuboid device on the floor, She pulls the trigger. The first is a point blank miss, but the second shot sinks deep into Michelle's spine, sending bone fragment and blood flying. The scream isn't something She will ever forget, even with the use of the Memory Aid device, which, as She now remembers, is the cuboid-looking machine on the floor. Michelle is on her hands and knees humming a prayer beneath her breath, when She fires the second shot. To Her surprise, she's still alive; Michelle is a big girl, some six feet-two and two-hundred pounds, but She still hadn't anticipated her still being alive at this point. 

"You've done this to yourself. You're evil. Let that be your final memory." 

She aims the gun to Michelle's head. 

"No, please!" 

Are Michelle's final words.