(no subject)
Any help whatsoever would be awesome, whether it be on style, plot, or characters. My writer's block is so beyond comprehension that I can't even revise this. :<
[a beginning]
There aren’t supposed to be so many of us. Mods are crammed inside the filthy warehouse like insects in a hive, or maybe like those fish they used to cram in cans. The dark is thick and syrupy, relieved only on the stage at the far end of the room, but my night vision works overtime to allow me to see faces in the press of bodies. A boy made all of sharp angles turns and, catching my eye, flashes a razor grin. His teeth are the noxious black of a meth addict.
My underarms start to dampen, skin stretching tight across my neck and I blindly turn for Michael through the haze of acrid smoke and steamy sweat. He’s not there. I can feel the sweat-pot-excitement leaking out of the crowd and settling on to me like wet wool in summer, thinking it’s so stealthy and silent.
I spot his beetle-shine hair a few feet ahead of me, but when I catch up he’s been replaced by more mods and their cold, sharp smells. I shouldn’t be here, none of this should be here, why would Michael bring me here?
“Students of Lloyd University!” A feral-looking blonde grins into the audience from the stage. His voice has a fiery undercurrent that makes my heart beat a staccato rhythm and my eyes skip around the room, and suddenly I spot Michael right in front of the stage. “Are you tired of getting the short shaft because you’re different?” A beat. “Because you’re better?”
(michael’s eyes: dark, adoring, hopeful)
So that’s why I’m here.
[a written conversation]
-I hate this professor. Science is the glory of mankind, the Second Enlightenment was really in everyone’s best interest, yadda yadda yadda. Can we get over the fact that the Scientists are so amazing and get to the part about me being awesome?
About to collapse from boredom (no, really),
Michael
-History isn’t bad, you’re just lazy. And lay off the Scientists, they managed to throw out the old government without too much trouble.
Trying to pay attention,
S
-Without too much trouble? I doubt President (illegible) and half of Congress feel that way.
Don’t think I didn’t notice your tone, young man,
Michael
-Since when do you care about lowly Presidents? As I recall, you once described all government officials as “decrepit, humorless, and subhuman,” even though they’re doing a pretty good job considering most of them probably lived in their laboratories all their life. And you know that without them we wouldn’t exist.
It’s hard being quotable, isn’t it,
S
-I think they messed up with the whole ‘let’s improve their metabolisms to the point where they eat all the freaking time,’ but whatever. I’ll stop bothering you if you do something with me next weekend.
Ever-quotable and never regretting it,
Michael
-Where?
Anything to get you to shut up,
S
-You’ll find out.
Much more awake now but a lot hungrier,
Michael
[an everyday occurrence, remixed]
A hand reaches out of nowhere to snag my smoothie. I count to four until Michael sputters, throws it back down, and plops down across the table from me. The accompanying wrinkled nose does little for his looks, and I tell him so.
“Your face does little for your looks,” he retorts, still eyeing my cup warily. “Why do you drink those things, man? They say to eat all the time, but what the heck makes you do it like a natural?”
“Not all mods pig out on junk from birth just because their systems can handle it,” I murmur around my straw. “Besides, I like strawberries.” Even as I say it, the corners of his mouth twitch up and I can tell he’s off on another tangent. Typical.
“So… About the rally yesterday,” Michael waggles his eyebrows and grins, but I’m shaking my head before he finishes the thought.
“Not my kind of thing, Michael. I’m sorry.” The look on his face prompts me to say, “It’s not that I don’t believe something should be done, it’s just that I don’t think it should be achieved violently. I mean, storming the Dean’s office? Setting his car on fire? Jesus.”
He shrugs. “Well, yeah, they get kind of out of hand sometimes.” Michael leans forward, shadowy eyes glinting with something more than conviction, to take my hand. I watch the play of sunlight on our skin to avoid his gaze. “But how can you just sit there and accept this? There are mods starving on the streets because their families can’t afford feeding them all the time, and even those do find enough money have no free will anyway. For god’s sake, we were barely allowed in university! They just want us to sit back and serve the Scientists like we were created to, but we aren’t going to take it- we’re better than that. We’re perfect. It’s in our genes, and if you can’t accept that, then you’re wasting the sacrifice your parents made.” A shrug as he waves his hand at some students laughing on the grass a few feet way. “And if some naturals get hurt along the way- well, it’s not like they’re much more than animals, right?”
I look at Michael’s conspiring grin and feel vaguely sick.
(what I didn’t see looking out of his eyes: himself)
[a life-changing piece of paper]
LLOYD, Hawaii- Kalea Akana was found beaten and burned behind her apartment building at 6:30 A.M. yesterday morning after her roommate became worried at her continued absence. She was immediately taken to Mercy Hospital, where she later died due to internal bleeding. While it is not being considered a hate crime, Akana’s boyfriend contends that “everyone knows it was because she was mod.” Police have yet to release a statement, but genetic modification rights groups are using Akana’s death as an example to repeal legislation they find “oppressive and unconstitutional.” Currently, no suspects have been named.
[a request]
“Look, man, just… don’t be in town this Saturday. You haven’t seen your parents in a while, right? Don’t look at me like that, I just don’t want them to forget you exist.” His face is waxy beneath his tan, grin lopsided, but his eyes are genuine.
I don’t believe a word he says.
[a lie]
“There’s a bomb set to go off somewhere on campus this Saturday. I don’t know when, I don’t know where, but I know it’s there. If I tell you who planted it, will you promise not to hurt them?”
“Of course.”
[an end]
He’s gone the next day.
[a beginning]
There aren’t supposed to be so many of us. Mods are crammed inside the filthy warehouse like insects in a hive, or maybe like those fish they used to cram in cans. The dark is thick and syrupy, relieved only on the stage at the far end of the room, but my night vision works overtime to allow me to see faces in the press of bodies. A boy made all of sharp angles turns and, catching my eye, flashes a razor grin. His teeth are the noxious black of a meth addict.
My underarms start to dampen, skin stretching tight across my neck and I blindly turn for Michael through the haze of acrid smoke and steamy sweat. He’s not there. I can feel the sweat-pot-excitement leaking out of the crowd and settling on to me like wet wool in summer, thinking it’s so stealthy and silent.
I spot his beetle-shine hair a few feet ahead of me, but when I catch up he’s been replaced by more mods and their cold, sharp smells. I shouldn’t be here, none of this should be here, why would Michael bring me here?
“Students of Lloyd University!” A feral-looking blonde grins into the audience from the stage. His voice has a fiery undercurrent that makes my heart beat a staccato rhythm and my eyes skip around the room, and suddenly I spot Michael right in front of the stage. “Are you tired of getting the short shaft because you’re different?” A beat. “Because you’re better?”
(michael’s eyes: dark, adoring, hopeful)
So that’s why I’m here.
[a written conversation]
-I hate this professor. Science is the glory of mankind, the Second Enlightenment was really in everyone’s best interest, yadda yadda yadda. Can we get over the fact that the Scientists are so amazing and get to the part about me being awesome?
About to collapse from boredom (no, really),
Michael
-History isn’t bad, you’re just lazy. And lay off the Scientists, they managed to throw out the old government without too much trouble.
Trying to pay attention,
S
-Without too much trouble? I doubt President (illegible) and half of Congress feel that way.
Don’t think I didn’t notice your tone, young man,
Michael
-Since when do you care about lowly Presidents? As I recall, you once described all government officials as “decrepit, humorless, and subhuman,” even though they’re doing a pretty good job considering most of them probably lived in their laboratories all their life. And you know that without them we wouldn’t exist.
It’s hard being quotable, isn’t it,
S
-I think they messed up with the whole ‘let’s improve their metabolisms to the point where they eat all the freaking time,’ but whatever. I’ll stop bothering you if you do something with me next weekend.
Ever-quotable and never regretting it,
Michael
-Where?
Anything to get you to shut up,
S
-You’ll find out.
Much more awake now but a lot hungrier,
Michael
[an everyday occurrence, remixed]
A hand reaches out of nowhere to snag my smoothie. I count to four until Michael sputters, throws it back down, and plops down across the table from me. The accompanying wrinkled nose does little for his looks, and I tell him so.
“Your face does little for your looks,” he retorts, still eyeing my cup warily. “Why do you drink those things, man? They say to eat all the time, but what the heck makes you do it like a natural?”
“Not all mods pig out on junk from birth just because their systems can handle it,” I murmur around my straw. “Besides, I like strawberries.” Even as I say it, the corners of his mouth twitch up and I can tell he’s off on another tangent. Typical.
“So… About the rally yesterday,” Michael waggles his eyebrows and grins, but I’m shaking my head before he finishes the thought.
“Not my kind of thing, Michael. I’m sorry.” The look on his face prompts me to say, “It’s not that I don’t believe something should be done, it’s just that I don’t think it should be achieved violently. I mean, storming the Dean’s office? Setting his car on fire? Jesus.”
He shrugs. “Well, yeah, they get kind of out of hand sometimes.” Michael leans forward, shadowy eyes glinting with something more than conviction, to take my hand. I watch the play of sunlight on our skin to avoid his gaze. “But how can you just sit there and accept this? There are mods starving on the streets because their families can’t afford feeding them all the time, and even those do find enough money have no free will anyway. For god’s sake, we were barely allowed in university! They just want us to sit back and serve the Scientists like we were created to, but we aren’t going to take it- we’re better than that. We’re perfect. It’s in our genes, and if you can’t accept that, then you’re wasting the sacrifice your parents made.” A shrug as he waves his hand at some students laughing on the grass a few feet way. “And if some naturals get hurt along the way- well, it’s not like they’re much more than animals, right?”
I look at Michael’s conspiring grin and feel vaguely sick.
(what I didn’t see looking out of his eyes: himself)
[a life-changing piece of paper]
LLOYD, Hawaii- Kalea Akana was found beaten and burned behind her apartment building at 6:30 A.M. yesterday morning after her roommate became worried at her continued absence. She was immediately taken to Mercy Hospital, where she later died due to internal bleeding. While it is not being considered a hate crime, Akana’s boyfriend contends that “everyone knows it was because she was mod.” Police have yet to release a statement, but genetic modification rights groups are using Akana’s death as an example to repeal legislation they find “oppressive and unconstitutional.” Currently, no suspects have been named.
[a request]
“Look, man, just… don’t be in town this Saturday. You haven’t seen your parents in a while, right? Don’t look at me like that, I just don’t want them to forget you exist.” His face is waxy beneath his tan, grin lopsided, but his eyes are genuine.
I don’t believe a word he says.
[a lie]
“There’s a bomb set to go off somewhere on campus this Saturday. I don’t know when, I don’t know where, but I know it’s there. If I tell you who planted it, will you promise not to hurt them?”
“Of course.”
[an end]
He’s gone the next day.