It's been three days now. Three days underground but not without sunlight. I wonder how long the siege will last. I suppose until we run out of food. That's when sieges usually end, isn't it? But no matter how well they secure the perimeter, their own soldiers manage to sneak out and back in again undetected. They should be proud their own creations are beating them, but I'm not proud. I'm not one of them. I'm not even one of those peering from the outside. I'm standing on a chasm, one foot on each side, wondering where I should be, knowing I'm not completely either, and praying that I won't fall.
I think I'm ready to fall, which is why I am writing this. I don't expect anyone to read it. I think I'd be embarrassed if anyone did. But there is paper to spare here and most of the time I am not needed. Only the visions give me reason to stay. Most of the time I'm certain they're the only reason I'm allowed to stay. Still, I could be wrong. I'm not a psychologist. I don't expect to become one. So here I am, writing to keep myself sane during the siege that could last for years. How long was the Trojan War? Ten years? I don't think it will take me ten years to write my life story. But maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and find it all a dream.
I was born a normal child. At least I considered myself to be one for the first part of my life. I had a mother and a father. Both loved me. I went to a day school where I learned to read and write, arithmetic, the sort of thing children learn so that even after the pulse society would go on. To me this was society, but my parents told me things used to be different.
Sometimes I'd dream about how things used to be. There wasn't any milk or honey in the dream but it was still paradise. Everything was bright and clean. People all lived in big houses and I saw a policeman smiling as he held up some cars for a kid to cross the street on his bicycle. It was too perfect and I woke up crying.
Later I found out I wasn't normal at all. Or maybe I'm phrasing it wrong. I was a little too normal. My parents were both members of a breeding cult, mated together for a special program. I didn't understand this at the time when they took me to a special school far away from sector police and sirens.
There were many other children there but I was soon isolated with a few others. All the children of the school were special, we were told by our teachers, but the children in my group were even more special. If you are from Manticore you might call us PsyOps. If you are not, you might call us telepathic or some other scientific explanation for the fantastic. Unfortunately, they were not quite sure what our talents were, nor when they'd emerge. They would teach us like the other children, separated to make it clear how special we were, until our skills were noticed and then we would be trained only in that.
I had just learned the customs of my heritage and was just starting on our ancient language when the visions started. I'd be blinded by them, overcome with the images that would pour into my mind and push out any lingering thoughts. My teachers noticed this immediately, of course, and I was sent off for research and developing. Soon I was better able to cope with the visions. I couldn't control when they came, but I had enough control that my thoughts could examine what I was seeing. I could operate on a minor level, or at least enough to tell my instructors that they would have to wait a moment.
I spent the next few years learning about my visions. I would record them in a journal and all strung out they made perfect sense. I suppose you could call me a telepath who grips on to something. My visions always centered around a certain guy or people he was around. Sometimes around his enemies or someone who would soon become very important to him. He was an astronaut, lost in space several years before. Everyone had pronounced him dead but I knew he had survived by meeting up with some hostile aliens. My visions sounded strange, insane even when I first explained about the aliens to my teachers. They didn't believe me until they checked the records for astronauts and his name came up as one believed dead though no body or remnants were recovered. I even named his father who matched with the records. I had no way to know of this and eventually my teachers began to accept the visions.
Two years ago my visions changed. I still had glimpses of the missing astronaut, but now my mind had stuck to another person as well. I saw her more completely than I ever had the astronaut. Sometimes I even heard her thoughts or witnessed her dreams. I don't know for what reason. It doesn't really matter. I didn't tell my teachers about her. My first vision seemed so personal, a memory of her escape. It wasn't until a few days later when someone she met mentioned Manticore that I really understood what she was.
I was shocked. We had been told about Sandaman, about his betrayal. I suppose when they said transgenics I always pictured some terrible monsters. But this girl… She was so human. She was part of a breeding cult, though more scientifically adapted, as I was and I was amazed. So she was a product of the terrible unnatural gene splicing. I knew I had to get away.
Though I had no intention of meeting her (I suppose I was worried what this girl might think of someone who knew so much about her when she tried to keep so hidden) but wanted to be closer to her. I moved to Seattle, escaping from the Familiar cult, and went to where Max lived. I was not completely prepared for the transition back to society, but found a job nonetheless. An older couple running a deli/bakery offered me work after I told them the terrible story of my abusive childhood and my leaving cruel parents behind. They were convinced when I showed them the burn on my arm, telling them it had been the design on the metal cap of a cane that my father had accidentally put in the fire and decided to blame me for by burning my arm, leaving a mark. Well, that mark cost me dear as it is. I think the burn might have been less painful than the poison of initiation. So that's where I was when Manticore crumbled.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Anyone find this interesting? Should I keep at it?
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Dark Angel. I am writing purely for fun without any legal claim on the show.
I think I'm ready to fall, which is why I am writing this. I don't expect anyone to read it. I think I'd be embarrassed if anyone did. But there is paper to spare here and most of the time I am not needed. Only the visions give me reason to stay. Most of the time I'm certain they're the only reason I'm allowed to stay. Still, I could be wrong. I'm not a psychologist. I don't expect to become one. So here I am, writing to keep myself sane during the siege that could last for years. How long was the Trojan War? Ten years? I don't think it will take me ten years to write my life story. But maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and find it all a dream.
I was born a normal child. At least I considered myself to be one for the first part of my life. I had a mother and a father. Both loved me. I went to a day school where I learned to read and write, arithmetic, the sort of thing children learn so that even after the pulse society would go on. To me this was society, but my parents told me things used to be different.
Sometimes I'd dream about how things used to be. There wasn't any milk or honey in the dream but it was still paradise. Everything was bright and clean. People all lived in big houses and I saw a policeman smiling as he held up some cars for a kid to cross the street on his bicycle. It was too perfect and I woke up crying.
Later I found out I wasn't normal at all. Or maybe I'm phrasing it wrong. I was a little too normal. My parents were both members of a breeding cult, mated together for a special program. I didn't understand this at the time when they took me to a special school far away from sector police and sirens.
There were many other children there but I was soon isolated with a few others. All the children of the school were special, we were told by our teachers, but the children in my group were even more special. If you are from Manticore you might call us PsyOps. If you are not, you might call us telepathic or some other scientific explanation for the fantastic. Unfortunately, they were not quite sure what our talents were, nor when they'd emerge. They would teach us like the other children, separated to make it clear how special we were, until our skills were noticed and then we would be trained only in that.
I had just learned the customs of my heritage and was just starting on our ancient language when the visions started. I'd be blinded by them, overcome with the images that would pour into my mind and push out any lingering thoughts. My teachers noticed this immediately, of course, and I was sent off for research and developing. Soon I was better able to cope with the visions. I couldn't control when they came, but I had enough control that my thoughts could examine what I was seeing. I could operate on a minor level, or at least enough to tell my instructors that they would have to wait a moment.
I spent the next few years learning about my visions. I would record them in a journal and all strung out they made perfect sense. I suppose you could call me a telepath who grips on to something. My visions always centered around a certain guy or people he was around. Sometimes around his enemies or someone who would soon become very important to him. He was an astronaut, lost in space several years before. Everyone had pronounced him dead but I knew he had survived by meeting up with some hostile aliens. My visions sounded strange, insane even when I first explained about the aliens to my teachers. They didn't believe me until they checked the records for astronauts and his name came up as one believed dead though no body or remnants were recovered. I even named his father who matched with the records. I had no way to know of this and eventually my teachers began to accept the visions.
Two years ago my visions changed. I still had glimpses of the missing astronaut, but now my mind had stuck to another person as well. I saw her more completely than I ever had the astronaut. Sometimes I even heard her thoughts or witnessed her dreams. I don't know for what reason. It doesn't really matter. I didn't tell my teachers about her. My first vision seemed so personal, a memory of her escape. It wasn't until a few days later when someone she met mentioned Manticore that I really understood what she was.
I was shocked. We had been told about Sandaman, about his betrayal. I suppose when they said transgenics I always pictured some terrible monsters. But this girl… She was so human. She was part of a breeding cult, though more scientifically adapted, as I was and I was amazed. So she was a product of the terrible unnatural gene splicing. I knew I had to get away.
Though I had no intention of meeting her (I suppose I was worried what this girl might think of someone who knew so much about her when she tried to keep so hidden) but wanted to be closer to her. I moved to Seattle, escaping from the Familiar cult, and went to where Max lived. I was not completely prepared for the transition back to society, but found a job nonetheless. An older couple running a deli/bakery offered me work after I told them the terrible story of my abusive childhood and my leaving cruel parents behind. They were convinced when I showed them the burn on my arm, telling them it had been the design on the metal cap of a cane that my father had accidentally put in the fire and decided to blame me for by burning my arm, leaving a mark. Well, that mark cost me dear as it is. I think the burn might have been less painful than the poison of initiation. So that's where I was when Manticore crumbled.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Anyone find this interesting? Should I keep at it?
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Dark Angel. I am writing purely for fun without any legal claim on the show.