Anunnaki chapter 5

 

 

1

Sam was scared of the dark, the eeriness of the unknown. She was chubby even back then, dreaming and wasting her life inside the zoo. The nightmare that life became in her late teens when they took her father to the Factories, never really left her.

The lights overhead that they knew were artificial, but still, they called them stars. One night when Sam was nine, her father said, "what are you up to shithead?"

"I'm daydreaming." Said Sam.

"what are you daydreaming about, kid?" Said Louis Lewinsky.

"about all the things life can be." Said Sam.

"what does a kid know about what this life can be?" said Louis.

"I don't..." said Sam, "but maybe that's the point?"

"don't get smart with me. I don't need that," said Louis. Then he took his foot and bit a chunk of the dead skin off his feet, the callous under his big tow. And he was swishing it around his mouth, seemingly just for the taste before spitting it out.

2

There was a knock at the door, and Louis said, "awe hell," getting up to see who it was. The smooth walked boards and the whitewashed doors. The knock came again.

"hold your damn horses!" said Louis.

The door burst open, and in came, five men. There face hidden behind gas masks with skulls engraved to them. They grabbed Louis, and he cussed till one of them hit him with a punch that looked like it was imitating someone who pitched in the major leagues.

Louis just smiled and said, "bastards."

Handcuffs were placed behind his back and a collar around Louis's neck. Louis gave a defiant roar, a scream, and they silenced him with a nightstick that cracked on his skull.

Sam was silent. She knew if they were here, then grandfather had died, and now her father had to go to work in the factories. She was crying, not loud, theatrical tears, nor defiant rage-filled tears but the quiet kind you see at funerals.

They dragged him off to the wagons unconscious and threw him in the back the machine lurched forward with the bat-winged creatures all skeletal and metallic flying off into the night, pulling away from her father she went back inside. There was nothing to be done. When the reapers come for you, you can do whatever you want, but they will take you.

3

"I know well who I have to make. " - Pedro Carlino

Shifting through the sewage, Dead was singing a simple song. The abstract La La La, echoing and filling the tunnel. She cranked the little light. The sloshing of her furry feet dragging through the knee-high mess as Teki and Sam followed.

Their conversation to Dead seemed like ever so much nonsense. Trivial details being heald up as something significant. As if the actual substance of the discussion was beneath the surface. Maybe she was right. From the author's perspective, she was sailing in waters that were beyond her comprehension. She had the instincts to know that what was visible was like an iceberg and that what was down there in the cold was far more dangerous even if it was just below the surface.

They came across a ladder leading up to the surface world.

"So, Who goes first?" said Sam.

"You do." Said Teki.

Sam stared aghast at the tourist. Her mouth was hanging open as she tried to think of something to say. The retort didn't come, so instead, she reached for the ladder and started her ascent. Her little furry feet with leather-like paws were gripping to the steel. Teki followed her, The light shining down from overhead. Dead had never stopped singing her song.

Teki said, "aren't you going to come with us?"

The singing stopped, and the young creature stood in the flashes of darkness, trying to keep the light going.

"No.," she said.

"suit yourself," said Teki starting to climb again. Then noticing Sam had stopped, he said, "what?"

"Teki we are not going to leave her down there all alone," said Sam

"Well, it's the native's choice to make." Said Teki.

"No, really, I will be fine, awful scary things happen up there. You two go on ahead." Said Dead.

"See, not only is she capable of cowardice and sarcasm, but she will also be fine on her own." Said Teki

Sam exhaled in exasperation and obvious annoyance. Then continued the climb up to the world overhead.

4

"Where does it all go?" thought Earthquake. "The good, that is," it seemed to drift in and out of perspective, like some kind grift from a magician. The way violence was the only answer to weakness. The way that caring was a defect. The way he felt the vast majority of times fear was crawling on his skin like the scabs on his armpits. There was a frustration that was being beaten into him. And he was getting tired of it.

Dave told him he had been chosen that the people needed him to be strong. They needed him to save the hunt. So they went down to the sewers, and they were terrified (even Dave seemed afraid). And ripped a jawbone from one of the dead dust walkers, Cracked it open, and pored the marrow into a ceramic jug.

"How did he die?" said Earthquake "how did they all die? I thought only dust walkers could hurt another dust walker."

"It was what we are going to kill. A giant insect and it killed each of them suddenly with a single crushing movement of its arm." Said Dave.

Then Dave held out the purple tea to Earthquake.

"Go on." He said. "Drink it."

Earquake downed it in several large gulps. Then felt the world start to change. He felt his skin become translucent. Then he felt Freedom, even if only for a second.

"Follow me." Said Dave. His Feet were slushing through the mess as he headed back down the way he had come. He stopped as he heard Earthquake running up behind him and smiled. He was going to say, boy, find your place. However, when he had turned around. Earthquake was already standing an inch from his face. The smile left as the boy's teeth entered his neck, crushing his throat and ripping away his life. But Earthquake was impaled with Dave's left hand; both had moved with an explosion of movement. The splash of them falling over and The dust walkers were all dead.

Now that was rather sudden. But you see Earthquake was tired, real tired. The kind of fatigued a nap doesn't fix. Sitting here and thinking about what I wrote, though, it makes little sense. I can hear mother by John Lennon playing as the last trembling of consciousness leaves Earthquake's body. The release in his eyes knowing there is not one more, not a single day left of suffering—the sheer sincerity in his embrace and acceptance of a life that was one long goodbye.

One thing I think about often is how we use fiction to shield ourselves from the encroaching entropy. The life with a beautiful arc (like a rainbow), that is snuffed out by crossing the street and is all squished and smashed by a car that didn't relinquish the right of way. We tell ourselves, but still, there has to be a way to do it without derailing the narrative? To tell a story without breaking the rules of traffic. All I can say to you is if you are interested in following rules, there are a million stories that do it to varying degrees of success. But me (the book you are reading) has one thing to say "come on, let's go break some rules!" So with love, I offer you the chance to follow this bunny and go down a rabbit hole, not trust but authenticity.