Cheynes/Stokes

“And when His trident struck the stone, the earth screamed. Mountains trembled and tore the forests asunder, and the walls came tumbling down. Cities erupted and the human people were scattered. The temples of power were ruptured, and the quiet places were made foul with deadly waste. The heavens rained pellets of fire that did not burn, but consumed. The lucky ones were dead by the time the sickness came. The final convulsions ripped the earthmother's soul, searing her flesh with unholy water. And the maggots feasted."

            - exerpted from "The Switch" by Santana Imatsu, 2034 A.D.

Bloodshot

         A magician, running through the square, came upon an old man with bloodied eyes. In the darkness, she almost stepped on him. Startled by the sight, she stopped and listened for a moment. Hearing no malice, she knelt down at his knees and asked "Goodman pilgrim, what ever are you doing alone here in the deadlands?"

         "Away from here! Get you now! He will hear you and come." The magician leapt up and spun around, drew her weapon. She listened again as intently as she could, but still she heard no malice. The man behind her thrashed.

         "Go Now!" he ordered. "The bad man is coming." He was much agitated, and becoming more so, but the lady heard only benevolence from his soul. They were the only two people in the city, she was sure. Twenty-one dogs and hordes of rats, but only two people.

         She turned back to the madman and shouted over his ranting, "Who is coming! What bad man?!"

         "He stole my eyes! He stole my eyes, my eyes. He stole my eyes," the crusty oldster sobbed. "And now he wants your eyes, too."

         "There is no one here!" the magician contested, now strangely unsure. "We are alone!"

         The old pilgrim wailed uncontrollably. The lady knelt down close in front of him again and slapped him across the face. There is NO ONE here! I'll protect you. You will come with me to Trinidad. I will take you home."

         The old man was silent, not breathing. He looked into her eyes and sighed, "Too late, little seer. Much too late. He stole my eyes and now he'll have yours, too."

         His gaze broke from hers and looked behind her. Horror covered his face and he cried "NOOOOOOOO!"

         The magician, still kneeling, spun to her left and came around with her weapon before her, ready for anything. She saw nothing. The kindly old man then drove a dagger through her back.

         The blade entered her just left of her spine and destroyed her heart. A tiny gasp welled up from her belly and ended in a whine. The old man cradled her as she died.

         "I couldn't let him take your eyes," he muttered as he rocked back and forth, brushing the hair from her face. "No, no, no! I couldn't let him get such pretty eyes."

         A wind gusted into the square, stirring up the aging fallout with its palpable presence. The pilgrim suddenly found it very difficult to breathe.

         "Go away," he wheezed. "She's gone now and she took her eyes with her." The wind stirred more violently, buffeted the pilgrim's face.

         "In the name of God, begone!" he cried. "You took my eyes, but you cannot have my soul!"

         Something very solid seemed to lodge itself in the old man's throat. He flailed his hands in the air, but his attacks found no target. The pilgrim's skin burned as his movements slowed, but the true fire was inside; eating his lungs and tissues with acid.

         As he tumbled into the red agony, the pilgrim remembered her eyes. So precious, so beautiful. And now, so safe.

         The dogs were there before the bodies were cold. The rats, not far behind.