the second he closed the lid of the coffin and the steady sound of dirt landing on the wood inches from his face became too quiet to hear as his grave was filled. Seconds felt like days, minutes like weeks, and hours like months. It was a virtual lifetime to contemplate not only the life he had lived to date but to think about the life he would lead when he was reborn.
The first half of his life had been uneventful. He was sure in time, people would compare him to Hitler or others who they deemed as vile beings who had committed awful deeds. If those people looked into his past expecting to find a troubled upbringing which would perhaps explain his actions, they would be sorely disappointed. There would be no eureka moments, no glaring entries in his history which psychologists could write papers on as to how violence was a product of upbringing. They would find he grew up as an only child of a father who was a preacher and a mother who worked as a clerk. They would dig for dirt, searching for evidence of abuse, and would find only examples of the love they showered onto him. His parents had brought him up well, taught him the value of manners, of respecting his elders. He was raised to believe in the good grace of God and the idea that by leading a good life he would one day be accepted into heaven. Somehow, Joshua thought his normal upbringing would probably be more disturbing to those who would look into his past than if they found what they had expected to. They would look in search of the next Jeffrey Dahmer or Ted Bundy, and would find instead an all-American boy who excelled at school and was the apple of his parent’s eye. They might skip on past his early years, hoping to find a trigger point later in life. They would see how he joined the army at eighteen, not because he had to, but because he wanted to serve his country and to protect it.
There would be no traumas to be found, no experiences which they could point to as the moment that sent him over the edge. In his mind’s eye, he smiled. In the blackness of his coffin, his physical body barely twitched. It was at this point they would have to start accepting the truth that he wasn’t insane or defective or even a monster.
He was just superior.
He was twenty-three when he was first selected for the Apex Project. He was working in administration at the time, the army preferring to put his brain to use in keeping their mountains of paperwork in order rather than have him flexing his muscles on the battlefield (and he did have them. At school he played college football to a standard good enough to turn pro if he wanted to). His job was to monitor the applications for men willing to test the cure and present the suitable candidates to Dr. Genaro. Three weeks passed without a single response. It seemed nobody was willing to try an experimental drug, even if it could potentially save countless lives.
Volunteering himself seemed like the most natural thing in the world, and it certainly didn’t instil him with any fear. He knew well the advances in modern science and also had absolute and unconditional faith that god would protect him from any harm. Even so, confidence in principal was entirely different to confidence when actually faced with what he was about to do. His first meeting with Doctor Genaro was cordial, if tense. There were questions raised as to if Joshua was a little too intelligent to accurately represent their probable subjects, however with nobody else breaking down the doors to volunteer they went ahead. He was subjected to a number of physical and mental examinations measuring everything from height and weight to blood pressure and fitness. He recalled well that first meeting with Genaro as he was giving his blood sample. The scientist was incredibly thankful Joshua, at least, had enough faith in his work to volunteer his body. Genaro's words floated to him in the stifling dark of the coffin.
You will become a vessel Joshua, the
The first half of his life had been uneventful. He was sure in time, people would compare him to Hitler or others who they deemed as vile beings who had committed awful deeds. If those people looked into his past expecting to find a troubled upbringing which would perhaps explain his actions, they would be sorely disappointed. There would be no eureka moments, no glaring entries in his history which psychologists could write papers on as to how violence was a product of upbringing. They would find he grew up as an only child of a father who was a preacher and a mother who worked as a clerk. They would dig for dirt, searching for evidence of abuse, and would find only examples of the love they showered onto him. His parents had brought him up well, taught him the value of manners, of respecting his elders. He was raised to believe in the good grace of God and the idea that by leading a good life he would one day be accepted into heaven. Somehow, Joshua thought his normal upbringing would probably be more disturbing to those who would look into his past than if they found what they had expected to. They would look in search of the next Jeffrey Dahmer or Ted Bundy, and would find instead an all-American boy who excelled at school and was the apple of his parent’s eye. They might skip on past his early years, hoping to find a trigger point later in life. They would see how he joined the army at eighteen, not because he had to, but because he wanted to serve his country and to protect it.
There would be no traumas to be found, no experiences which they could point to as the moment that sent him over the edge. In his mind’s eye, he smiled. In the blackness of his coffin, his physical body barely twitched. It was at this point they would have to start accepting the truth that he wasn’t insane or defective or even a monster.
He was just superior.
He was twenty-three when he was first selected for the Apex Project. He was working in administration at the time, the army preferring to put his brain to use in keeping their mountains of paperwork in order rather than have him flexing his muscles on the battlefield (and he did have them. At school he played college football to a standard good enough to turn pro if he wanted to). His job was to monitor the applications for men willing to test the cure and present the suitable candidates to Dr. Genaro. Three weeks passed without a single response. It seemed nobody was willing to try an experimental drug, even if it could potentially save countless lives.
Volunteering himself seemed like the most natural thing in the world, and it certainly didn’t instil him with any fear. He knew well the advances in modern science and also had absolute and unconditional faith that god would protect him from any harm. Even so, confidence in principal was entirely different to confidence when actually faced with what he was about to do. His first meeting with Doctor Genaro was cordial, if tense. There were questions raised as to if Joshua was a little too intelligent to accurately represent their probable subjects, however with nobody else breaking down the doors to volunteer they went ahead. He was subjected to a number of physical and mental examinations measuring everything from height and weight to blood pressure and fitness. He recalled well that first meeting with Genaro as he was giving his blood sample. The scientist was incredibly thankful Joshua, at least, had enough faith in his work to volunteer his body. Genaro's words floated to him in the stifling dark of the coffin.
You will become a vessel Joshua, the
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