A Fly Trapped in Amber

Sorry for the long wait

The EPR was a garden, of beautiful and poisonous flowers, that Amber had gathered to serve her purpose. But sometimes a weed contaminated the rest; it had to be weeded out. It had to.

The first execution I viewed was done in the restlessness, the heat of summer. Attendance was not compulsory, but curiosity drew us there. The crowd waited there, catching a glimpse. It was a dance, as the condemned individual knelt in the centre, while a slim elven man, danced around him, spraying him with blood. It covered, while we watched; eyes fixed, not hating, but judging in the most detached way possible. Soon he was not a man, but a thing of blood, the flesh of sin. Amber raised her hand; the elven man smiled, and raised his hand. He shone blue, the power of judgement, and so did his victim. He ruptured, covering us with blood. A smear stained Amber's cheek; it was beautiful.

A week later, I was entrapped in the slumber of routine that dominated my life. I was sparring with Amagiri, when the elven man summoned me. After the Execution, I associated him in my mind with Punishment. And so he became Punishment. Punishment summoned me, and beckoned for me to follow. I looked to Amagiri for consent, and he nodded his head. I turned and followed Punishment, down the hallway. Soon, I came to a room I had never seen before; a quaint, timely study that was entrenched in the past, and refused to adapt. How ironic. The door revealed a room with a heavy mahogany table, with a china set placed on it. Around the table sat Amber, along with more strangers. She beckoned for me to take a seat. I obeyed.

"Hello Maki." Her voice was silver. "Do you remember me?"

I nodded.

"Can you do something for me?" Again, I nodded.

"Do you remember that talk we had, about freedom? Will you do something to free us here; to free me?"

I nodded yet again.

"There is a man. He must die." All subtlety, all tricks of the mind were gone.

"Can you do it?"

A nod; a sealing of fate.

They prepared me well; information, weapons, became part of me. And lies; I was living a lie for the week. I was Albert Tyokomadi, nephew of Kevin Tyokomadi. I later found out that the man was only a media outlet for the Syndicate; but it was the death that mattered. It was a threat, and whisper of words in the art of killing. At a speech conference, I was supposed to appear to him, and slip a handful of plastic balls in his pocket. I was also to contaminate his car with my power, as I would do with the plastic balls. For the week leading up to the proposed murder, I stayed in a hotel with Punishment. We would go over the plans, again and again. I soon learnt that his name was Wei Zhijun. He was to be my uncle. We fabricated ourselves likes this, until I knew that I was not Maki, a killer; I was Albert. I still wonder if a small bit of Albert is still locked inside of me. Does it struggle, like the thorn did; the Christmas Boy, Maki?

The day came, and I gave him my present to him. When asking why, I said I was a fan. He smiled and ruffled my hair; idiot. I returned home, and nodded to my Uncle. He nodded back. It was done. That evening, at 7:23 a man died because of me. I cannot recall his face, or name. He was the first. My uncle showed me the article. He nodded at me, and in that moment Albert died, and in his place stood Maki, the Killer. And the amber had hardened, and bound me to EPR for eternity.

A week later, I was back at the EPR learning with Amagiri. But Amber had a job for me. And on a restless summer day, I strode to a kneeling man, a weed, and placed my hands on his chest, and body. And they watched; my friends, teachers, colleagues. I looked at amber, a shining goddess, and she nodded. I stood back and wiped my nose. The explosion sounded like applause.