Descending Road - TAKE ME CLOSER by Dana W. Paxson

TAKE ME CLOSER

I am lonely: the realization penetrates my concentration like a bullet. The talking creatures I produce are no comfort; their behavior is to me as if I had held up a hand puppet to give myself enjoyment. I think of Alayre again, and then I realize I want to see Mama Jones, and I damn myself once more.

This loneliness is unlike any other feeling I have had. Rage, lust, hatred, greed, fear, all are my intimate friends, and I wore them as tightly as the wall-skin that held me for so long. Now I move about this apartment and lab in my chair, still walled in, but freedom fills me during my creating, a freedom that overcomes the prison of my hate. Something has changed in me. I fear it, and I long for it.

Shivering, I finish the day’s work, and return to my main room to leaf through permtexts that hold images of my ancient life. As I open the first volume, the door clicks.

Mama Jones and Nemizanah enter. He dangles his plasma torch from one hand and watches me.

“Something has changed,” she says. Her eyes are ruby and dark-pupilled. “There is a strange disease spreading through the City.”

A hopeful question comes up in me, and I keep it back. “What kind of disease?”

“You know.”

“Me?” My hopes rise. Perhaps these awful children have contracted it.

She laughs that way of hers again, the sound of sticks dragged over rough stone. “They found one of your animals. They aren’t fools. They are very afraid. People are dissolving and sticking together.”

“Sticking together?” It must be my plague.

“We will take you to see.” She gives a guttural screech, and several of the older children scuttle in and seize me. They haul me out to the corridor where a wheeled cart is waiting, lower me onto it, and push me off out and along the understreet.

Several cross-streets away from my lair, they slow down. Mama Jones points into a side corridor. “See?”

It is dark right now — the evening dimming of the City lights is almost complete — but little by little I make out a lumpy distortion of the corridor walls and ceiling.

“Take me closer,” I say.

“No. We don’t want to catch this disease.”

Propelling myself with hands on floor, I roll into the corridor. My eyes adapt to the dim light. A face, no, two faces, become visible side by side where the wall meets the floor. Their eyes are closed, and their expressions are peaceful. As I watch, I hear the susurrus of exhaled breath. They seem to be asleep.

Now I can make out their bodies, unclothed, fused, stretched many times a person’s height along the lower part of the corridor wall. Their tissues seem to have taken root in the very crevices of the wall; what is left unabsorbed of their skeletons is no more than a few ridges and knobs under their spread-out skins. Their heads have been flattened considerably, but still bulge outward, keeping the faces, ears and brains intact. Hands and feet, arms and legs, genitalia, all have become a part of a fused sheet of flesh reaching on down the corridor and into a utility recess.

Oh, this is perfect. If only I had made their human skins turn the color of my wall-prison, it would have been beyond perfection.

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


	TAKE ME CLOSER 6303 Arcus I am lonely: the realization penetrates my concentration like a bullet. The talking creatures I produce are no comfort; their behavior is to me as if I had held up a hand puppet to give myself enjoyment. I think of Alayre again, and then I realize I want to see Mama Jones, and I damn myself once more. This loneliness is unlike any other feeling I have had. Rage, lust, hatred, greed, fear, all are my intimate friends, and I wore them as tightly as the wall-skin that held me for so long. Now I move about this apartment and lab in my chair, still walled in, but freedom fills me during my creating, a freedom that overcomes the prison of my hate. Something has changed in me. I fear it, and I long for it. Shivering, I finish the day’s work, and return to my main room to leaf through permtexts that hold images of my ancient life. As I open the first volume, the door clicks. Mama Jones and Nemizanah enter. He dangles his plasma torch from one hand and watches me. “Something has changed,” she says. Her eyes are ruby and dark-pupilled. “There is a strange disease spreading through the City.” A hopeful question comes up in me, and I keep it back. “What kind of disease?” “You know.” “Me?” My hopes rise. Perhaps these awful children have contracted it. She laughs that way of hers again, the sound of sticks dragged over rough stone. “They found one of your animals. They aren’t fools. They are very afraid. People are dissolving and sticking together.” “Sticking together?” It must be my plague. “We will take you to see.” She gives a guttural screech, and several of the older children scuttle in and seize me. They haul me out to the corridor where a wheeled cart is waiting, lower me onto it, and push me off out and along the understreet. Several cross-streets away from my lair, they slow down. Mama Jones points into a side corridor. “See?” It is dark right now — the evening dimming of the City lights is almost complete — but little by little I make out a lumpy distortion of the corridor walls and ceiling. “Take me closer,” I say. “No. We don’t want to catch this disease.” Propelling myself with hands on floor, I roll into the corridor. My eyes adapt to the dim light. A face, no, two faces, become visible side by side where the wall meets the floor. Their eyes are closed, and their expressions are peaceful. As I watch, I hear the susurrus of exhaled breath. They seem to be asleep. Now I can make out their bodies, unclothed, fused, stretched many times a person’s height along the lower part of the corridor wall. Their tissues seem to have taken root in the very crevices of the wall; what is left unabsorbed of their skeletons is no more than a few ridges and knobs under their spread-out skins. Their heads have been flattened considerably, but still bulge outward, keeping the faces, ears and brains intact. Hands and feet, arms and legs, genitalia, all have become a part of a fused sheet of flesh reaching on down the corridor and into a utility recess. Oh, this is perfect. If only I had made their human skins turn the color of my wall-prison, it would have been beyond perfection.