Beautiful Oblivion
Part 1 - Birth
My mother always told me that there was no such thing as monsters.
"A monster," she would say, "is nothing but a distortion of your reality. When people don't want to accept their reality they manifest these fears into frightening shapes. That is all your nightmares are."
Oh Mother, how wrong you were. You, like so many other members of our doomed species are unwilling to accept the reality of an existence that is itself meaningless.
Monsters are real. I've helped raise them. I have seen the end of the human race and I do not fret. For you see they are beautiful.
She is beautiful. My child is the beginning of our end.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start with my child's conception.
As with every child there is a mother and a father. I, the scientist with four PHDs to his name am the father. The mother, a junkie from the bottom ring of society. When she was wheeled into the observation deck I knew this was not a union meant to last. I pitied her for her wasted life on the streets, but never felt sorry for what I did. Her screams were unheard from the observation deck and her struggle was useless against the bands which held her in place. In seconds the parasite had taken control and she was rendered unconscious.
I made a note:
Strong host; fought to the end. Good breeding stock.
Once the parasite dropped we gagged the host and for eighteen grueling hours I waited until at last the first tremor hit her.
Childbirth is an unpleasant ordeal under ideal circumstances. These were anything but, yet this host's final dance was one which transcended her pain; the blood gushing from her bosom.
This wasn't murder, but an act of celestial art.
Like a firecracker in the summer night my daughter came into this world, dripping of the life her mother had given. How she squirmed for life when she was caught. A zest for life unmatched. She looked into my eyes. I know she looked into my soul, and I into hers. Beneath that chitinous brain there already lay a mind that observed its environment with scrutiny and a will to dominate.
My daughter was branded No. 79. But she is more than a number. One cannot simply number perfection. She is an angel brought forth from the blackest depths of humanity's ignorance. I know this from the moment our minds met.
She is you. You are my child; my future
I knew then that my child was destined to succeed me in life. She wouldn't be contained by man's walls. One day she would break free and show the guards of this prison that the time of man was at an end.
I embraced destiny with a smile.
Part 2 - Growth
Only a week has passed since you were born, and my how you've grown! From an infant to an adult within twenty four hours, and your body is a thing of wonder. I spend hours studying each groove wondering what it would be like to touch you. Your body resembles that of Death; a living skeleton that looks into my very soul.
I am transfixed.
My employers don't see you like this. The fools! Like Pavlov's Dog attempt training you; to fix your will on the set stupidity of man. You disobey. You reject the bell, you reject all manner of food. You will not be fed. Not by your inferiors. "Number 79 to the gate," I say over the intercom as if in loop.
"Number 79 to the gate. Number 79 to the gate."
You don't respond. You have no reason to respond.
A petulant child if ever there was one. Refusing to eat, moving only but a few feet per day, and always in a circle, enticing my gaze with every movement of your supple frame. I swear, you could talk to me if you felt like it, but you're probably too stubborn to even give me that.
"Number 79 to the gate."
Why should a princess answer to the call of peasants? I ask myself.
A month has passed. How my mind has been ensnared. I am enamored with your every feature. The sheen of your dome, eyes of eternity, the graceful curve of your spine, and fangs of starlight. Every move you make my eyes follow. You are divinity in motion, each feature appearing as if carved by the hand of God. I swear I hear your voice, soft and smooth in my ear whenever you approach the glass.
Taunting me like a petulant child who doesn't receive enough attention!
Join me.
Every evening my dreams present me with the same vision of your magnificence. My child sits hunched over me, raising her lengthy digits as if she were the puppeteer to my soul. From each claw rains the crimson stream of the threads that pull at my chest. Such pain clouds my mind, but I do not wake, for the bliss of your invasion goes beyond all earthly knowledge of pain and pleasure. I wake from this dream exhausted, as if my very life force has been drained by an otherworldly touch.
Each day the dream returns, and I find myself increasingly saddened by the lack of fulfillment. Each morning I wake to discover I've been denied ascension, and the rapture of her touch. No amount of medication can dissipate your vision from my thoughts.
Why do you torment me, 79? I have given you everything, but still you torment me with your gaze, and defy my command. I want you as a child, as my salvation, but you only sit and stare at me, taunting me with your physical perfection. I want to touch you. I want to feel your frame against my own. My own life has lost all meaning outside of preserving your existence. Why won't you give me anything in return?
"Number 79 to the gate!"
I know you understand me! I see it in your continued defiance; every passing move, every twitch of your tail, and each tilt of your head. All of it passive, all of it burning me from within. While your siblings screech and claw for freedom you only observe, and wait for what I cannot know.
"You'll die in here." I finally declare. "You will die in here and I will be held responsible!"
I fear her death. If she were to die she'd be taking a part of me with her. She cannot die! 79 is special, I know she is! Yet the board has begun considering her for termination. Are they blind to the gift we've been given? This is our future, our last chance of salvation, and they wish to throw it all away. I won't let them. 79 will eat, and she will grow if only to thrust upon them their own abysmal reality.
The next day I run off a pair of armed men who chose to wander to close to your cell. Exterminators. They kill off any specimens that fail to comply with the company's training. In my mind they represent the futility of man's existence; his stubbornness in the face of beautiful oblivion.
They won't hurt you. I won't let them. I swear, but they are too strong. They lock me in the observation deck. I pound the lock and demand explanation. I see on the monitor the guards approaching her cell. I look to the security camera and plead.
"She is good! 79 is pure! You can't do this! Give me more time! She will eat and grow strong!" They don't respond.
The team of men are at the gate. Their weapons at the ready, and my 79 remains in the center of the room, staring at me. They will open the door and cut you down. I do the only thing I know how. Repetition is all I have left.
"79 to the gate!"
The men have no time to recognize what has happened as they open the portal. You pass through the lot leaving their bodies as flowers in bloom. A siren begins to sound. You look back at me, as if to thank me for all I've done. It is the first time you have truly acknowledged me on a personal level and in spite of the carnage you've left behind I am elated.
Before back-up arrives you've entered the ventilation system. When they do arrive they arrest me on the spot and begin evacuating the entire science complex. The fools don't know that it doesn't make a lick of difference. They've spent so much time trying to conquer your will instead of accepting your greatness. That is why their men died. Not because a crazy scientist yelled into a microphone. If they had any brain between them they'd know their judgment was coming. I know this truth, and accept the inevitable.
Part 3 - Oblivion
I am locked in my quarters. My hearing won't be until they've located the "escaped specimen". They say you either escaped from the building or are quarantined in the science labs. They cannot contain you. I strip my mortal frame of the constraints of their tepid uniform and go to sleep knowing that you will prosper; that finally my child is free to live and do as she was destined to.
Still, the dream returns. Only this time when I wake I find my child has waiting. She crouches over me and tilts her long head in order to get a better look. A large hand presses against my bare chest, bushing me back against the unfeeling cotton sheets. Her digits are slick, and cold to the touch, but a warmth trickles down my flesh.
Join me.
You didn't leave! No, you came back for her daddy as I always knew you would. Where her eyes should be I see my own exasperated expression thrown back at me.
You waste no time exploring my every feature. You are curious, I know. How long you've been separated by a sheet of glass which held back your desire for physical conquest now let loose. Like a child you immediately want to know how I work.
Long, slender fingers wrap around my skull, parting my hair, as thumbs spread my lips and invade my jaw. A metallic taste coats the inside of my mouth, as I feel my warmth dribbling from the corner of my lips. A hushed gasp is my only response as you bury deep inside my cranium. You remain as quiet as ever.
Join me.
You press your intricate frame against my dismal, soft flesh and grace it with a touch of your perfection. I can feel every groove, every intricately crafted aspect of your being against my own and quiver in light of your grace. I am in a state of bliss.
"I am not worthy."
Join...
Blood falls from wherever you touch my pathetic skin. How weak you must perceive me, and yet you bless me with your touch; your exploration. I am no deserving of your presence, 79, let alone your touch. To feel the caress of your carapace, and the venture of your hands is something no one is truly worthy of.
As I embrace your body's dominance over mine I collect my thoughts on all that has come to pass. Everyone said you were a monster. That you and your sisters should all be destroyed. How wrong they are. In your hands I feel the work of an artist whose being surpasses me in every regard. A black winged angel brought forth to cleanse the universe of our sins. In the reflection of your dome I see my own frailty cast upon a being of true greatness. I brought you into the cosmos to rid it of imperfection.
Join me.
I feel her chrome teeth upon my neck and listen to her hiss whisper in my ear. My work has paid off and I am experiencing perfection. It is more than any other mortal man could hope to accomplish in life.
It is with great satisfaction that I whisper "Beautiful Oblivion."