Descending Road - UNINTERESTING PAIN by Dana W. Paxson

UNINTERESTING PAIN

Four beams spread from the weapon’s muzzle, and my legs are severed. I fall helpless to the floor, my precious new-made blood spurting from sectioned arteries; she approaches and stares down at me. “Nemizanah,” she calls. A tall boy comes beside her. “Fire,” she says, pointing at my stumps, and the boy named Nemizanah lugs a plasma torch from beneath his beetle-shell vestment, and he blast-cauterizes the wounds.

I do not tell of this pain, for doing so is wearying, and useless, and becomes uninteresting to the jaded, and repels the sensitive. Besides, pain, whether mine or someone else’s, is food to me, and none but another like me could fully understand that.

The bleeding stops. I try to rise onto my hands with arm strength, but the girl pushes me over sideways with her foot, and I lie staring up at her, unable to prevent vast hatred from filling my gaze. She recoils.

“Yes. Now I see what you are.”

“You can kill me.” I say this so easily, as if the thousands of years of my persistent life are nothing. To live, and hope, and then die helpless at the hands of a vicious child. My resignation surprises me.

“No.” She waves her weapon. “You may live, for now. We will watch you. If you try to hurt us, then we will kill you.”

My agony blazes through her words. “I understand. But how can I move myself around, now that you have taken my legs?”

“We will care for you.” From a sack at her side she pours out beside me a heap of dead beetles, the fat dark-blue humpbacked ones that gobble the grease of the street tuber fryers. “Here is food.” She turns to the others, flicks a gesture over her head, then reaches to my light controls and dims them to a midnight umbrance. One tall thin child in a shift of many veils takes one of my severed lower legs under each arm, my blood-tinged ichor leaving a gooey trail, and they are all gone.

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	UNINTERESTING PAIN 6303 Arcus Four beams spread from the weapon’s muzzle, and my legs are severed. I fall helpless to the floor, my precious new-made blood spurting from sectioned arteries; she approaches and stares down at me. “Nemizanah,” she calls. A tall boy comes beside her. “Fire,” she says, pointing at my stumps, and the boy named Nemizanah lugs a plasma torch from beneath his beetle-shell vestment, and he blast-cauterizes the wounds. I do not tell of this pain, for doing so is wearying, and useless, and becomes uninteresting to the jaded, and repels the sensitive. Besides, pain, whether mine or someone else’s, is food to me, and none but another like me could fully understand that. The bleeding stops. I try to rise onto my hands with arm strength, but the girl pushes me over sideways with her foot, and I lie staring up at her, unable to prevent vast hatred from filling my gaze. She recoils. “Yes. Now I see what you are.” “You can kill me.” I say this so easily, as if the thousands of years of my persistent life are nothing. To live, and hope, and then die helpless at the hands of a vicious child. My resignation surprises me. “No.” She waves her weapon. “You may live, for now. We will watch you. If you try to hurt us, then we will kill you.” My agony blazes through her words. “I understand. But how can I move myself around, now that you have taken my legs?” “We will care for you.” From a sack at her side she pours out beside me a heap of dead beetles, the fat dark-blue humpbacked ones that gobble the grease of the street tuber fryers. “Here is food.” She turns to the others, flicks a gesture over her head, then reaches to my light controls and dims them to a midnight umbrance. One tall thin child in a shift of many veils takes one of my severed lower legs under each arm, my blood-tinged ichor leaving a gooey trail, and they are all gone.