Read Online Intentional Dissonance by pleasefindthis, Iain S. Thomas - Free Book Online
Authors: pleasefindthis, Iain S. Thomas
Ads: Link
imagine James burning in unforgiving detail and the smell of burning flesh fills the room. The Peace Ambassador sees his sister burning, burning, burning. After opening and closing his mouth a few times like a goldfish, he looks from Jon, to his sister, then back again. He starts to scream, a low, steadily rising noise. Then his fist finds Jon’s face again. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. The illusion flickers with each blow, like someone hitting a TV set too hard. Jon spits out what’s left of his teeth.
And with his last moments of consciousness, he says quietly, “Because you’ve made sadness a disease, you fucking loser. Happiness without sadness is emptiness, nothingness. The world once taught us to say, ‘I’m sorry,’ when we still cried, as if what we were doing was something to be ashamed of. What you’ve done is worse.”
Deformed, sweating from the sheer effort of the beating, manages to smile through his teeth even though his sister is still in the room, burning alive. Now she’s looking at him. She mouths the words, “I miss you.”
Deformed leans on Jon’s neck and says, “I want you to be happy. The world wants you to be happy.” He flexes one of his arms and cracks his already bloody knuckles.
“…Then why does it have to get so goddamn angry at me, when I’m not?”
“Stop it. Stop it. STOP IT.” Deformed screams.
Bang.
Jon passes out and things stop making sense. At no point in his entire life has he ever considered his life normal. Occasionally stable perhaps, but never normal. And if you accept the fact that everyone gets what they want in the end, one way or another, then you also have to accept the fact that right now, whatever you’re doing, however you’re feeling, you’re getting what you want. Jon’s father told him that. Dad?
Emily’s voice carries on behind him, then seems to leave her mouth and follow him through the house, his parents’ house. It sticks to him like a living thing, crawling over his arms and up his shoulders, seeping into his ears, “Don’t wind up like him Jon. Don’t wind up like your father.”
Everything is a mist.
When he comes to, there’s a gnarled figure standing over him, pouring water over his face. His natural reaction to lash out at him is tempered by the fact that he is in no way guaranteed, by the looks of his host, that he will get a second punch.
Host is the wrong word; they’re both guests of the state. After blinking some of the water out of his eyes and getting a glimpse of his surroundings, he finds himself in pain in a small, grey, concrete room with a low ceiling. The room is empty, save for his fellow guest, a bucket of water, the ladle inside it, and a second, thankfully emptier bucket.
“Who are you and what do you want?” says his fellow occupant.
“I’m Jon,” says Jon.
“I’m Edward. Semi-professional human hater…and eater,” says Edward.
“Your name is Edward Eta?” asks Jon, forgetting the pain and confusion for a moment.
“No you stupid…eater…I eat humans,” says Edward.
That’s what he hasn’t been able to put his finger on: he’s sharing his cell with a half-ent. His fellow guest taps his whirled chin as if he’s thinking. It sounds like a great break on a snooker table. Leaves flow like dreadlocks from his head.
“No offense but you can’t be too good at your job if your job is eating people, and you helped me,” says Jon.
“Helped you?” asks Edward.
“You threw water in my face,” says Jon.
“I like to make sure whatever I’m going to eat isn’t alive when I do it. And if you were dead, the water would wash some of those heal bots off of your face. It’s a courtesy I may start forgetting one of these days,” says Edward.
Jon knows he’s lying. The rumours of half-ents eating humans are nothing but urban legends, started by panicky housewives soon after The End when the half-ents showed up. That on its own isn’t reason enough to test his luck. He shivers
And with his last moments of consciousness, he says quietly, “Because you’ve made sadness a disease, you fucking loser. Happiness without sadness is emptiness, nothingness. The world once taught us to say, ‘I’m sorry,’ when we still cried, as if what we were doing was something to be ashamed of. What you’ve done is worse.”
Deformed, sweating from the sheer effort of the beating, manages to smile through his teeth even though his sister is still in the room, burning alive. Now she’s looking at him. She mouths the words, “I miss you.”
Deformed leans on Jon’s neck and says, “I want you to be happy. The world wants you to be happy.” He flexes one of his arms and cracks his already bloody knuckles.
“…Then why does it have to get so goddamn angry at me, when I’m not?”
“Stop it. Stop it. STOP IT.” Deformed screams.
Bang.
Jon passes out and things stop making sense. At no point in his entire life has he ever considered his life normal. Occasionally stable perhaps, but never normal. And if you accept the fact that everyone gets what they want in the end, one way or another, then you also have to accept the fact that right now, whatever you’re doing, however you’re feeling, you’re getting what you want. Jon’s father told him that. Dad?
Emily’s voice carries on behind him, then seems to leave her mouth and follow him through the house, his parents’ house. It sticks to him like a living thing, crawling over his arms and up his shoulders, seeping into his ears, “Don’t wind up like him Jon. Don’t wind up like your father.”
Everything is a mist.
When he comes to, there’s a gnarled figure standing over him, pouring water over his face. His natural reaction to lash out at him is tempered by the fact that he is in no way guaranteed, by the looks of his host, that he will get a second punch.
Host is the wrong word; they’re both guests of the state. After blinking some of the water out of his eyes and getting a glimpse of his surroundings, he finds himself in pain in a small, grey, concrete room with a low ceiling. The room is empty, save for his fellow guest, a bucket of water, the ladle inside it, and a second, thankfully emptier bucket.
“Who are you and what do you want?” says his fellow occupant.
“I’m Jon,” says Jon.
“I’m Edward. Semi-professional human hater…and eater,” says Edward.
“Your name is Edward Eta?” asks Jon, forgetting the pain and confusion for a moment.
“No you stupid…eater…I eat humans,” says Edward.
That’s what he hasn’t been able to put his finger on: he’s sharing his cell with a half-ent. His fellow guest taps his whirled chin as if he’s thinking. It sounds like a great break on a snooker table. Leaves flow like dreadlocks from his head.
“No offense but you can’t be too good at your job if your job is eating people, and you helped me,” says Jon.
“Helped you?” asks Edward.
“You threw water in my face,” says Jon.
“I like to make sure whatever I’m going to eat isn’t alive when I do it. And if you were dead, the water would wash some of those heal bots off of your face. It’s a courtesy I may start forgetting one of these days,” says Edward.
Jon knows he’s lying. The rumours of half-ents eating humans are nothing but urban legends, started by panicky housewives soon after The End when the half-ents showed up. That on its own isn’t reason enough to test his luck. He shivers
Similar Books
