Fan Fiction ❯ Dead Fish ❯ Saint Glis-Glis ( Chapter 4 )

Upon discovering that I was dying in the rabid, bombastic sun, I realized that I missed the deciduous trees of my hometown. It was a stupid thought, an utter failure of true comprehension, but it just came to me as I sat next to a large boulder, waiting for dinner to be handed to me. Those tall oak trees that used to line nature's outdoors, a place where technology could not rape them. My whole city had decided one day that they had to use the Special Tactics Eye Force Team as well, which literally was translated to Big Brother. I had been so careless at the time of Justin that I never knew they had been watching me.

I had lived in hell for about a couple of months now. If I were asked what my parents looked like, I probably couldn't find their faces floating in my memory. Time in hell seemed to last an eternity. I say that I have been here for two months or so. But when you remember your outside world, it is more like seventy years. In the course of time that it took me to grow some of my hair back, my mom and dad had probably already born and grew another daughter.

It's strange what you'll think of when you're dying. Yes, I believed then that I was dying. I was in much pain; as to what was causing me pain, I was not sure. I remember feeling groggy then, wishing the weather would decide to rain. Everything hurt; my bones were aching, my arms were shaking, my backbone was throbbing. My body was trying to remind me of something rather simple but since I had been a boy for the past two months, I couldn't figure what was wrong. At the time, I blamed it on Bones.

The sun began to stretch further across the horizon; I had forgotten how long I had been out in the open desert land. I was rather unlucky that day. None of the fish I had hoped to see came out. It was easy to catch fish that leaped out of the water; they were out of their normal land and could be caught while they suffocated slowly. The fish that stayed in the depths of the ocean, though . . . I had never caught one of them.

I considered Zen to be of the former. I had seen him out a couple of times, watching me from a far-off distance. He was a true predator; Zen observed and stalked his prey before he went for the kill. I didn't have long to live with him about.

That day, no one was in sight. I sat and waited, fractured memories playing with my thoughts. My focus was on the rolling sand ahead of me. I never suspected that something, no someone, was waiting for me. And maybe, if I had just pushed a bit of my hair behind my ear, I would have noticed it. But I was much too young and much too naive. I still believed in the ethics of fair play; no one would wait behind me because that was unfair.

The second I flinched against the rock, a small object slammed against my left temple, sending me sprawling on the sand. My head, swimming in stupor, was content to lie on the hot floor. At the same time, I was compelled to survive this onslaught. I placed my elbows on the sand, propping my torso up to meet a man with dark blue eyes. I had never seen him yet I knew him. From the feeling of that hit, I knew him well.

He grinned, slowly and sadistically, bowing slightly in his crimson uniform. He wore a cap, overshadowing the true intent hidden in his malicious eyes. "Hello, ma'am", he greeted in pseudo-gallantry. "Are you lost? Do you need me to help you back home?"

I sat on my knees, eyeing him viciously. This was the only man I had ever felt that I needed to kill. "I'm not lost. Aren't you a little over-dressed for this weather?"

"Actually, I'm not, but then again, you don't live in the outside world, do you? Don't I remember you? I think . . . I do. But you had much longer hair then. You had pretty long straight hair and pretty jewelry. I wonder what happened to that girl . . . her name was Sarah; Sarah Adams, like the television show."

His uniform was a long buttoned-down overcoat, with a signet, designed with an ominous large eye peering down at me, on his collar. Next to his hip was a sheath, holding a sharp object that I wished to hold. In his right hand was a large club. That was the weapon he had hit me with previously. I would have loved to smash his head with it.

When he noticed that my eyes were inspecting him carefully, he decided to fill the void of silence with his disgustingly deep voice. "You remember Lieutenant Glis-Glis, I hope. That was the man who knocked you out. That was the man who found you murdering your lover happily. That is me. You should recognize the way I hit, anyway."

"I recognize your tactics", I growled. "You hide and then, when no one suspects you, you hit them on the head, either killing them or knocking them out. That's your mode of killing."

"My wife's been kind of cold, lately", he muttered, changing the subject swiftly. "And you're not that ugly. A little dirty, but at the moment, I really don't care about that. Now either you lie down on all fours or I will have to beat the shit out of you. And trust me when I say that I wouldn't mind killing you right here and now."

"I'm a murderer, not a whore", I growled.

As I had suspected, he lifted his club intending to hit me once again. I slipped my thin legs out in front of me, placed a foot on his closest knee and ripped the large saber out of the sheath dangling at his side. I stumbled back from him, tripping only once. The saber was too heavy; I'd never be able to use it properly. Not only that, but I had no clue how to use the large object. Maybe you were supposed to just stab someone and then pull it back out. Hell if I knew.

"Well now, m'dear, it appears as though you and I have a complication", he hissed, gripping his club impatiently. "Since you were once a normal citizen, I'm guessing you don't even know how to use that. For Christ's sake, you can't even hold it!" He burst out in laughter, watching me drop the saber whenever I tried to hold it like I had always seen on television. Sometimes I believe I watched too much television for my own good. I should have read more.

"Shut up! I know that it's sharp and if you come closer, I will cut your fucking guts out! My name is not Sarah Adams! My name is Nick!" I shouted, holding the shivering blade in front of my body. It was difficult to stay like that. If he kept talking to me, eventually I would drop the sword. It seemed as though that was his plan; like he wanted me to rush at him. I couldn't blame Lieutenant Glis-Glis for his intelligence.

He took one tantalizing step forward, daring me to slice him open. Despite my reputation, I took a step back, almost in fear. Lieutenant Glis-Glis's contempt shimmered off of his pressed uniform. I waited, shivering, sweating profusely in my loose filthy shirt and pants. He grinned once again, proving that he had no fear of me. And then . . . the club was soaring above my head.

Pain struck in my shoulder as the sword fell out of my hands; he wasn't finished. Another hit in my stomach and I was back on the ground, where I had started. I searched through the sand for the saber's hilt, praying I could somehow find it, but Glis-Glis's club fell repeatedly on my back, until I was much farther away from the weapon. He knelt next to my pathetic form, huddled into a fetal position, my head quivering in my thin arms.

"Have we come to an agreement?" he asked, a sly smile spreading across his face. When I didn't answer, he murmured, "Good", placing his club back into his belt. Before, I had felt as though Glis-Glis was too smart for me. He seemed to judge me pretty well and knew that I had probably never held a sword in my life. But once he put that club away, once he didn't have his weapon anymore . . . well, did he think I was stupid? I wasn't just going to allow him have his way with me. I have had long nails since I was seven years old; I never knew back then how they would prove to save my life.

He undid the first three buttons of my shirt, showing off the old hospital gown which had been my bandage. I still remember when Bones was covering my wound while I cried and whined openly. That was the only time he saw me cry in public. From then on, even when I slept, I tried not to think about my old life.

Glis-Glis was too busy with my shirt; he never saw my attack coming.

I lunged forward, my nails sinking easily into his skin. I scratched him across the eyes, his scream almost too hysterical for a police man. Without my permission, my hands had grasped his neck as I pushed him down into the sand, tightening my hold around his throat. Glis-Glis tried to cough, tried to scream, but he was too concentrated on breathing, on living. He had never lived inside these walls; he didn't have the same drive for life that I had.

And just like the boy . . . he diminished in my hold. I giggled slightly, happy to finally be rid of the God damn bastard. Slowly, I released him, my hands shaking with the power that had suddenly been exposed. I observed the blood that slowly nestled under my nails; I very nearly screamed for joy. Instead, I squeaked childishly, like I had on my tenth birthday, when my father bought me my first doll.

Thereafter, I was walking back home, without food. Bones would surely kill me, possibly burn me over an open fire . . . I smiled, remembering the stupid jokes he made as we ate. Bones was the only reason why I was still sane. He made life here . . . normal, if I could actually still use that word. He wasn't a business man who worked all day long. He wasn't a man who told me, "Sorry honey, I can't come to your birthday, I've got work."

I've never hated my father. Maybe, I've accused him of neglect . . . but he worked hard to support mother and I. I never really loved him, either. How can you love a man who is hardly home? I settled for acknowledgement; I knew my father was supporting us, I knew he was there, but I almost never saw him. Truthfully, I had had a rather normal family.

I was still in pain, but I was able to find my way home, without too much trouble. I had killed the first lieutenant who came my way; I was feeling rather power-hungry and if anybody gave me trouble, I decided that I would simply kill them. After killing so many people, it becomes rather easy. It also becomes rather addictive.

I shoved the rickety door open, stumbling in unceremoniously. If I was allowed to, I probably would have fallen on the ground and slept immediately. But I knew that something was not right. There was a scent in the air, a scent I was used to. Bones usually didn't start a fire until he was sure I had brought home food. But now . . . was that smoke?

I made my way through the front room, wondering if Bones had actually caught some food and was now cooking it. "Hey, old man, you should be careful with that fireplace!" I shouted, brushing past a rotting rocking chair. A repulsive brown tooth fell on the floor, the same tooth that I had seen glimmering in Bones's grins.

"Bones?" I shouted, almost frantically. I raced past the first two rooms, stopping at the doorway of what was supposed to be a living room. Bones and I often cooked our meat over the brick fireplace that still appeared to be sanitary, except for some dust. It was almost our ritual. I caught the food, Bones started a fire, and soon, we were eating. He would be quite upset to learn that he had wasted a match.

A fire was burning ravenously in the fireplace, but Bones was nowhere to be seen. A man sat in front of our window; he was covered in a coarse mahogany cloak, his face hidden from my view. In front of the fireplace were a few splotches of blood; as my vision followed the blood, I saw a few strands of curly gray hair on the bricks. Gasping, I almost fell. I had to grab onto the doorway for support. As my hand covered my gaping mouth, I finally uttered, "Oh my God . . ."

The man finally turned his attention to me, the same small beady golden eyes that had inspected me every day. They were the same eyes that Bones had described to me one night. His eyes were laden with humor.

He smiled, like a wolf who had tricked a young maiden.