It was all his fault.
All HIS fault I am here.
The TOURNAMENT, of all places!
I hate this place.
"Illana," he had said, "I'll do it again, don't make me do it again."
Then he advanced on me, with that look in his eyes, and gave me one swift backhand to the face. I gave a slight cry, and took the rest of his beating. What else could I have done?
"Dammit, Jarad! Stop!" I meekly spoke through the gaps in my sobs.
It only made it worse.
Jarad hadn't always this way. He had been charming, funny, and just a great guy.
I loved him.
Or at least I did.
After years of enduring this pain, nearly every night, it dawned on me.
It finally dawned on me. After Jarad left for work, I started what couldn't be stopped.
I slipped on my undershirt, a nearly indestructible polymer that has the same texture as silk. Pulled on my pants, a tight pair of black jeans. Over my undershirt, I placed my vest, made of extremely hard leather that buckles around my back. And on my feet I had a pair of boots, leather, that reached just above my ankles.
I reached for the doorknob, only to find my hand trembling. I reached back, as if the knob had suddenly grown fangs, and leaned against the wall. With my eyes closed, I took in a deep breath, and let it out. I looked at my hand once more, and found it steady as a rock. In my mind's eye, I saw that look on his face.
I reached the exit of our apartment building without any more trouble. From the door I could see the entire street.
It was disgusting. People in suits, people in dresses, people in clothes marked with gang symbols. All walking up and down the grimy streets of Xion. All acting like they have a purpose. All acting like everything is all right. Sickening.
Just sickening.
Turning right from the exit, I had headed towards the hovertrain station, keeping from making eye-contact with the people. The people with the blank look of "purpose" in their eyes.
I remember having a quick attack of nausea, but I kept moving, and it slowly ebbed away into the background.
I reached the station with little trouble, and seeing as it was nearing noon on a weekday, the train wasn't particularly crowded. I boarded, and took a quick glance at my fellow passengers. An old lady with a cane, some guy in a suit reading a nano-book.
Less crowded than I thought.
About three quarters of the trip, I had suddenly felt a cold chill. The feeling of someone watching you. Staring at you. I looked again at the other passengers.
The old lady, on my immediate right.
The suit, reading the book, opposite side of car, two seats to the left.
I had finally let out a sigh, and let my head sag to the far left.
Jarad's face was two inches from mine.
"Don't make me do it again, Illana"
I screamed and closed my eyes, preparing for the heavy hit across my face. It never came. I opened my tear-blurred eyes to find the old lady and the man both staring, eyes wide open, at me.
The old lady moved 4 seats down farther.
The man pretended to read his book some more, occasionally giving a nervous glance up
The ride finally ended, and I knew exactly where to go. Walking out of the station, I headed to the left. Once again avoiding the blank stares of the people infected by "purpose".
I reached the arms dealer, and bought a gun. If it had been like it was in the past, with forms to fill out, and a waiting period to suffer, I may have not gone through with it. But times have changed, and maybe not for the better.
"Yeah, this here is a ZX230", the clerk said, stroking his matted beard, "a light version of the plasma enhanced Enforcer used in the Tournament that Liandri runs."
"Light? Then I don't want it."
"Hell no, it aint light. That sucker can do some damage."
And just to prove his point, he took me out back. There stood a steel-enhanced dummy. The clerk took aim, pulled the trigger, and smiled when the bullet literally went THROUGH it.
"Here, give it a try."
I had taken the gun in my hands, feeling awkward, when I heard him.
"Don't make me do it again, Illana"
I turned to look at the clerk, whose head was replaced with Jarad's.
"I'll do it again, don't make me do it"
In one fluid moment, I brought the gun up to the clerk's head, and pulled the trigger.
I felt his death speeding through my veins. I would kill Jarad when he got home, and I would kill every Jarad look-alike, on the way home.
I had killed many on the way back to my home. Many people. Many Jarads. Each and every one deserving every ounce of what I was giving them.
I opened the door to my apartment, smearing blood all over the doorknob, and sat down on the couch. I removed my blood-spattered vest, and watched the red slowly drip to the ground.
I suddenly emitted a laugh. It was funny, after all. Jarad would be home within the hour, and wouldn't he be surprised! He'll laugh right along with me!
I had done nothing but sat there, starting at the clock, with my finger on the trigger.
Waiting...
With my finger on the trigger.
And his face filling my mind's eye.
All HIS fault I am here.
The TOURNAMENT, of all places!
I hate this place.
"Illana," he had said, "I'll do it again, don't make me do it again."
Then he advanced on me, with that look in his eyes, and gave me one swift backhand to the face. I gave a slight cry, and took the rest of his beating. What else could I have done?
"Dammit, Jarad! Stop!" I meekly spoke through the gaps in my sobs.
It only made it worse.
Jarad hadn't always this way. He had been charming, funny, and just a great guy.
I loved him.
Or at least I did.
After years of enduring this pain, nearly every night, it dawned on me.
It finally dawned on me. After Jarad left for work, I started what couldn't be stopped.
I slipped on my undershirt, a nearly indestructible polymer that has the same texture as silk. Pulled on my pants, a tight pair of black jeans. Over my undershirt, I placed my vest, made of extremely hard leather that buckles around my back. And on my feet I had a pair of boots, leather, that reached just above my ankles.
I reached for the doorknob, only to find my hand trembling. I reached back, as if the knob had suddenly grown fangs, and leaned against the wall. With my eyes closed, I took in a deep breath, and let it out. I looked at my hand once more, and found it steady as a rock. In my mind's eye, I saw that look on his face.
I reached the exit of our apartment building without any more trouble. From the door I could see the entire street.
It was disgusting. People in suits, people in dresses, people in clothes marked with gang symbols. All walking up and down the grimy streets of Xion. All acting like they have a purpose. All acting like everything is all right. Sickening.
Just sickening.
Turning right from the exit, I had headed towards the hovertrain station, keeping from making eye-contact with the people. The people with the blank look of "purpose" in their eyes.
I remember having a quick attack of nausea, but I kept moving, and it slowly ebbed away into the background.
I reached the station with little trouble, and seeing as it was nearing noon on a weekday, the train wasn't particularly crowded. I boarded, and took a quick glance at my fellow passengers. An old lady with a cane, some guy in a suit reading a nano-book.
Less crowded than I thought.
About three quarters of the trip, I had suddenly felt a cold chill. The feeling of someone watching you. Staring at you. I looked again at the other passengers.
The old lady, on my immediate right.
The suit, reading the book, opposite side of car, two seats to the left.
I had finally let out a sigh, and let my head sag to the far left.
Jarad's face was two inches from mine.
"Don't make me do it again, Illana"
I screamed and closed my eyes, preparing for the heavy hit across my face. It never came. I opened my tear-blurred eyes to find the old lady and the man both staring, eyes wide open, at me.
The old lady moved 4 seats down farther.
The man pretended to read his book some more, occasionally giving a nervous glance up
The ride finally ended, and I knew exactly where to go. Walking out of the station, I headed to the left. Once again avoiding the blank stares of the people infected by "purpose".
I reached the arms dealer, and bought a gun. If it had been like it was in the past, with forms to fill out, and a waiting period to suffer, I may have not gone through with it. But times have changed, and maybe not for the better.
"Yeah, this here is a ZX230", the clerk said, stroking his matted beard, "a light version of the plasma enhanced Enforcer used in the Tournament that Liandri runs."
"Light? Then I don't want it."
"Hell no, it aint light. That sucker can do some damage."
And just to prove his point, he took me out back. There stood a steel-enhanced dummy. The clerk took aim, pulled the trigger, and smiled when the bullet literally went THROUGH it.
"Here, give it a try."
I had taken the gun in my hands, feeling awkward, when I heard him.
"Don't make me do it again, Illana"
I turned to look at the clerk, whose head was replaced with Jarad's.
"I'll do it again, don't make me do it"
In one fluid moment, I brought the gun up to the clerk's head, and pulled the trigger.
I felt his death speeding through my veins. I would kill Jarad when he got home, and I would kill every Jarad look-alike, on the way home.
I had killed many on the way back to my home. Many people. Many Jarads. Each and every one deserving every ounce of what I was giving them.
I opened the door to my apartment, smearing blood all over the doorknob, and sat down on the couch. I removed my blood-spattered vest, and watched the red slowly drip to the ground.
I suddenly emitted a laugh. It was funny, after all. Jarad would be home within the hour, and wouldn't he be surprised! He'll laugh right along with me!
I had done nothing but sat there, starting at the clock, with my finger on the trigger.
Waiting...
With my finger on the trigger.
And his face filling my mind's eye.