Ones and Zeroes

SO, I know it has been a ridiculously long time since I've posted any fiction on here. I've been so busy with doing homework for my English class, writing has become a bit of bother. But, today I found some time in between coloring pictures of photosynthesis and doing calculus homework to sit down at the computer and crank out some writing. 3 hours later, I realized I had wrote 50 pages about a rather small event in the plot of this story (Halcyon). After some editing, I got it down to about 20, so about a whole "chapter" or episode.

I'm posting about the first four or five pages of the section titled "Ones and Ceroes". It's told from the perspective of my favorite character, Cero, so I hope you enjoy it.

Ones and Ceroes

Cero

He stands before me shaking like a leaf. Even in his own imagination he is pale and scrawny, like some fragile creature who's just been exposed to the light for the first time. His hands are balled up into fists at his sides, as though they might be of some use against me here.

“Child,” I say, bored of watching him squirm like an bug pinned to a board, “just take my hand. This is all very tedious.”

His eyes flash with some emotion I can no longer discern; Halcyian emotions have always been difficult for me to read. He relaxes his hands and lets his shoulders slump; he is defeated. He reaches for me hesitantly, as though I may turn back into the snake. Finally, the last of his resolve dissipates, and he places his hand in mine.

I have to steady myself with a deep breath as his essence envelopes me; it is an empty comfort because I haven't a body to make respirate. He gives a small shudder when he inhales without his body's consent. How many times has my breath been his? I can not help but roll my eyes. “What makes you think I want to pull the strings on that meat puppet?” Then leave. “And wander bodiless with the wind for another millennium? No, thank you. You're body suits me just fine...for now. Even if it does smell like the pier at low tide.”

His muscles around his temples tense and some small veins pulsate in his neck. I seem to remember that this means he is angry with me. His body wheezes out a laugh he tries to stifle. When I laugh through him he hits the s's too hard, a habit I had adopted for my manifested state, which he finds particularly repulsive. I force another through his lips, despite his many efforts to keep it suppressed. It is like scraping metal against metal to make his voice mine; I forgot how hard using vocal chords could be, especially when the vessel rejects me.

His face twists in a strangely familiar pattern of muscle contractions. Ah, here is a face I know! Hatred. I cannot help but smile as I feel his hostility seep out of him. The more adrenaline that hits his blood stream, the stronger the enjoyment becomes for me. I can feel myself fortified. His emotion, however, makes him perspire something fierce. I wince as I am once more assaulted by his scent. Low tide isn't quite the accurate description for it; it's more like a dank cave full of creeping moss and fungi, yet there is the smell of brine. It's rather nauseating, to be honest, but it is a call to me. I can feel it pulling at me the moment it hits the air, as though it is permeating my skin.

“Come on,” I say, trying to quell the hunger rising in my stomach, “I want to take you somewhere.” I stride forward confidently, dragging him behind me like an anchor. He is still in the stupor of this place. Off in the distance, I can hear Aramia laughing loudly with her consort. They make a truly dreadful pair, but if any two beings have ever deserved each other it is them.

My load seems to have gotten significantly heavier. I turn around to see that Hylen is now being dragged on his stomach, his tongue lolling out like a moron, his eyes glazed over like a corpse. A trail of spit drips down his face; as the droplets slide off, he turns them to butterflies and his eyes focus briefly, flashing with some childish feeling I care not to interpret. I pull him harder, but he seems only to become heavier. He is now making grass grow in a circle around him and when I tug him he lets out this sad little wail and grips the grass with an iron resolve.

“Oh, yes, it's all so delightful,” I say mockingly. “Sadly, as entertaining as it is to stand around watching you dribble on yourself, we've other matters to attend to.”

He puckers his lips and makes this hideous gurgle, like a pack of angry screeching birds. He is doing something I think is called whining. I do not have time for sympathies; the close proximity of my own kind in my space makes me unusually uncomfortable, as though I am naked. Perhaps it is because the invader is Aramia. I hope she doesn't think that time has healed my wounds.

“You are going to be very angry with me for this, but I am afraid it is unavoidable.”

He looks up at me, his eyes still a tangle of warm feelings. He has now made several small, phosphorescent flowers in his patch of grass. He pokes at them hesitantly and delights when he discovers that his touch makes complicated patterns in their light. I crouch down next to him and in one fluid motion, pull him up over my shoulder, like a bag of grain. As soon as he leaves the ground, his garden turns black and shrivels. He kicks his feet at me and strains out toward them as I walk forward, cursing as they crumple and turn back into the whiteness.

“Why?...Making life!”

“You weren't creating anything, moron. This is your imagination. Nothing you make in here will ever be tangible.”

“Real.”

“No, it's not.”

“You.”

“Yes, I am real. This is just where I've been hiding out while the vermin have been scurrying around in our head.”

“Mine.”

“Not any longer. Come on, we're here.”

As we reached the end of the vast whiteness, in the distance a polished copper door appeared on the horizon. As soon as it became visible, it slid forward to meet us. I dropped my guest on the ground and he gave a soft wheeze.

“I am always stealing your breath, aren't I?” I mused, grasping him by the collar of his ratty shirt and pulling him to his feet. “Pity I cannot share with you in this sensation. If you allowed me to, I probably would treat you a little better.”

“Fuck you.”

“O-ho-ho! Someone has found his backbone at last.”

The trance of this place still lingered in him, but he was trying to force his arms to swing at me. Instead, he staggered around doing a wonderful impersonation of an inebriated half-wit, complete with drool and slurred profanities.

“Come now, Hylen, it was a compliment. You mustn't get so worked up. It's not good for our body. I plan on living a long life in it.”

“You are a parasite, just like Rory said.”

I felt the muscles around our jaw tighten. “Do not quote petulant children to me. I have my own to deal with. Enough of this foolishness; let us journey on.” I gestured toward the door. “You have to open it.”

“Why?” He fell to the ground, his legs twitching wildly beneath him.

“Because it is taboo for one of my kind to go beyond this point without permission. I have to be led in by my vessel.”

I wondered if he could hear the resentment in my voice or see it flash in my eyes, as I felt it did. The idea od being led anywhere by someone like him was repulsive.

“Where are we going?” he asked cautiously as he tried to rise to his feet. I extended my hand to him once again. He grasped it solidly this time, without any hesitation or doubt. I knew regardless of my answer, he was going to take me.

“We are going to time travel.”