The Tower of Brahma. Chapter 42. it healed me father.

01/31/06

There's a slo-mo scene caught as a near photograph that moves so agonizingly slow but yet keeping ever forward. A father is kicking over a table in a restaurant filled with patrons and staff and parents and kids. He holds his son's limp body in his arms as he presses forward through the friction of the future. He's raging through the moment in a blind, berserker, beautiful moment of parenthood and the desire to protect its young has never shone so brilliant. Everyone parts from his path and the way is clear if only he could get there sooner and not have to see his boy's face as it turns blue before his very eyes. His child, loose and limp, is nothing more than a body right now.

My father's whispering something in my ears a few years later. Divulging the secret horrors of what lie before me as David Lynch's 'Dune' played up on the screen and I lie far below the seats crying my silent screaming cries. The echo of his words vibrated through me and coerced my cells to obey his hypnotic and apocalyptic word. Fenris.

That's what they called me. The little dog boy. The one with the wild look in his eyes and the canine scars on his young face. The government boys had a good time with that one as they kept me at a ten foot distance on a leash at the end of a very long pole. I was curled up in a cage besides the others all snatched from the woods and used for scientific fun when they came to take me down the long hallway into the room that held the machine.

The big machine that had an open spot for a boy about my size. A machine that would make for this body a personality programmed for life and morality given now to my mortality. My final thoughts were of the ones I saw outside my feral stare and how they all seemed so perfectly familiar in the most particular way.

Electrical jumpfires into the part of my brain that would combine the mind to the cold hard turbine AI coiled inside...

It's alive.

Secret Agent Kid, given license to get funky and explode anything he wanted to, adventure pops from his hands. Codename: Hotshot, low-key and able to be activated into the asskicker acrobat with the Ferrari that could launch a spycycle from its trunk. Gadgets and gizmos clued him in to the secrets. Feral wolf boy instincts gave him an edge and robotic intelligence, full of diligence, wondered of it's own demise and its utter lack of surprise.

So samurai cool and detached in that French sort of way with a fedora and fake accent somehow mystifying you into the context of subconscious demonstration on sublimation into the moment of just this very second and not a moment beyond.

Angry, suppressed, intense crawling ferocity at mistreatment and endangerment. Dark dropping of humanity into its primal pulse, dwelling down in the most submerged of mankind's essential humanity. Emotion information is misunderstood and my body spasms into a million shaking moments.

Crash. System reboot. The hotdog seems to be lodged. We're going to have to cut if we can't clear it ASAP!"

I'm gripping my chest as my breath is left ten thousand miles behind me, caught up in the air that was sucked from me one second ago, I'm gasping and trying to get some oxygen now!"

Superspeed injected my body with velocity, adrenaline skidmarks across my mind and spirit, driven soaring across and through the space between there and here. Time screwed then and twisted now as the light flashed into illumination discovery.

A man hunched over and hacking, reborn tonight in a final flight towards the infinite night. There's a looming and a leering coming forth from the great unseeming. We unbecome and dance the song of some. The sun bows and the moon kneels. What we knew has blossomed into a new me that could now think clear.

My chest popped and cracked. The air hit my lungs, kicked the oxygen into my blood and the blue death that had fired and retired me, flushed from my skin tone. Lifted from beneath the waves I wasn't scared coming up for a breath of the sky. The Ocean dropped from my body, releasing me into the care of mankind.

My father whispered to me, "You're dead already, son."