Drag The Iron

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

Sweat from Skak's brow made the dirt on his face a tattoo of dark streaks. He didn't dare wipe away the dirt and simply blinked when the sweat reached his eyes. His cheek firmly pressed to the side of his rifle and his eye to the scope, keeping his target in sights.

"Got him," he whispered to his spotter. The spotter, Jex raised her hand and make an OK sign with her thumb and forefinger. Further up the hill, another set of eyes zeroed in on where Skak was looking. They were all in place. Ready as they would ever be.

Mission lead Commander Devish observed the two communicate and he tapped his second in command on the shoulder. Years of fighting the enemies together didn't leave any room for miscommunication and the simple gesture was enough to signal that the game was on.

Skak's earpiece frizzled with static and Commander Devish's voice spoke in his ear, as close as a lover's whisper. "Is it him?"

"100% sure," Skak whispered back.

"How far away is he?"

"A kilometer, give or take."

"In range?"

"At the pace he is walking, he will be."

"And...do you see it?"

Skak suppressed an involuntary shudder. "Yes, he is carrying the sword."

Maybe he imagined it, but he felt there was a tone of reverence in Devish's voice when he spoke next.

"What does it look like?"

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

"Heavy. Black. Big. He is having trouble in carrying the sword and it drags behind him. He is slow because the iron seems heavy. I doubt he could lift it, let alone move it. I think we will need a truck to transport that thing once we are done here."

He heard a sound like someone trying to stifle a cry on the other end, but it could just have been static.

"Take the shot, captain. It's your call."

"Affirmative," he replied and focused the cross-guard of his scope on the walking man's face. He was still far away and in his camouflage, Skak was all but invisible to anyone looking his way.

"Jex, we are on."

He saw Jex nod at him through the corner of his eye and saw her do some quick calculations on her wrist-pad. She fed the calculations to the small computer and the computer relayed it to the chip in Skak's rifle. The scope adjusted itself and the man's face at once became clearer in his vision. There was lines of age on the man's face. Scars from battles lost and won. A deep tiredness resulting from the constant need to feel the rush of a fight. Life without the fight was dull and boring for people like that. At some level in his core, Skak was relieved that he was getting the man rid of the sword that he was dragging with him. How many had he killed? Skak had no idea. He only had orders.

All it would take was few more steps till the walking man was in range. A slight pull on the trigger and their hunt for the past many months would be over. Skak could already feel the warmth of the sunlight in his village on his face when he went there after putting the full-stop on the essay of this mission.

Breathe in. Hold.

Skak's finger was a whisper on the trigger of his rifle and then the walking man looked up.

Right at him.

And he smiled.

Lightning flashed in his scope and the man was gone.

The next thing he felt was a sharp sting and a leaking, sticky fluid all over his brow. He touched his forehead and his fingers came back red.

And then everything went black.

Commander Devish looked at the scene on the ridge below him. The walking man and his blood stained sword had just taken off the scalps of his best sniper team and now the man looked up and Devish.

"Shit," was all Devish could mutter.

------
Just wanted to write this short piece. All written while listening to Tool.

The Art of Man

The broken man shrinks against the garbage strewn in the street. His wounds bleed, dripping blood in small puddles around his broken form. His tormentor stands silhouetted against the streetlight. A knife glints open in the dark figure's hand like a reptilian tongue, tendrils of light smoking off the polished steel.

"Are you ready?" he asks, voice grating with the promise of violence.

The broken man shakes his head slowly.

"Good. You will never be ready. We'll just get on with it," he sits down on his haunches and starts to cut into the broken man. There are already cuts on the man's face and body, but this time, it's done with a purpose. Like calligraphy, painting, or writing a letter to a loved one. There is thought and meditation behind every cut, every slash, every poke of the blade. The steel is drenched in crimson and the man wipes it on the clothes of the broken man every few slashes. He stops after a while to let the light shine on his handiwork but something is missing. He turns his head this and that way trying to see what is missing.

"Ah," he slaps his forehead, "silly me, you are still breathing."

He puts the blade to the side of the man's neck. "Have a good journey, friend."

The final slash opens up the man's throat like a ziplock bag. Blood pours freely, staining the man's knife hand. He dips the fingers of his other hand in the arterial spray and draws a symbol on the broken man's forehead. Satisfied with what he has created, he stands up, turns around and raises his arms to the sky like antennas.

"Accept my gift, mother. I give you death and blood and pain and suffering. Accept my offering and call me home!"

The skies remain, silent.

-------
Can't let 2019 go without an update now, can we? How are you doing, constant reader?

The Anomaly - Part 24

Oak moved silently around the table. Setting it up the perfect configuration was not only necessary, it was important too. He wanted to make his guests feel as comfortable and at home as he could. There was a tray of burgers placed in the middle of the table and a faucet in the middle of the table for guests to fill their glasses with the fizzy drinks of their choice.

Once he felt everything was as good as he could make it, he flipped open the cover of the computer he wore on his forearm. It took only moments to press a few buttons and the room filled up with bright yellow light and a smell of brimstone and sulfur.

The fat man was the first to arrive. He moved his bulk through the portal and looked around the room.

"Not too shabby, Oak," he nodded at Oak, dragged his chair out and took his place the table. "I hope these burgers are fresh," he laughed at Oak and Oak simply smiled in return. The fat man picked up a burger and chomped down on it. He said something more with his mouth filled with the burger, but it was lost in the chomping and smacking sounds that his mouth made. Oak looked away and wrinkled his nose in disgust. Two more to arrive.

The old woman was the second to arrive. As gracious as ever, she wore a dark blure sari that was embellished with jewels that even Oak did not know the names of. She stepped out of the portal and took Oak's offered hand. He lead her out and kissed the back of her hand. A smile flickered on her face and then it was gone. Oak pulled her chair and she slithered into her seat. A glass of fizzy Coke appeared in front of her. She looked at the drink with distaste and sighed.

Oak waited for the third man to appear. No one came out of the portal. He waited some more. And then, as if from a faulty phone line, the strange disjoined voice spoke. "Oak. Old buddy. Do I have a trick for you?"

Oak peered into the portal at a vaguely humanoid figure. It seemed to be coming closer, floating on waves of light. "Think of a card, Oak. Any card. But wait, don't tell me what that card is. Choose your card and think of it in your mind."

There was nothing to do, if he needed these three in one place, he'd have to play along with their tricks. Oak closed his eyes and thought of a card. It seemed to float in front of his eyes and it vanished with an audible poof as he opened his eyes.

"Will you please take your seat at the table?"

The Jester slid out of the portal like a man slipping on a banana peel. Oak could feel a headache building behind his eyes. Behind him, the fat man made a strangulated sound. He got up from the table so fast that his chair went shooting past behind him and struck the wall with a flat bang. The fat man's hands were locked around his own throat. His eyes watered and he grunted like an animal trapped in a vice. The lady in the sari looked at the choking man with an amused expression on her face. She had not touched her drink till now, but now she picked up the glass and took a sip.

The jester grabbed the fat man's shoulder and bent him over the back of the third chair. He then slapped his back with an open hand. Once, twice, and the third time the fat man hawked something out of his mouth. It was something small and covered in bits of burger. The fat man picked it up with shaking fingers. He unfolded the small package.

It was a playing card. The Joker.

The headache burned behind Oak's eyes like an unrelenting desire to murder. He quashed down the desire to burn everything and everyone in the room there and then.

"Wondering how your card got in fatty's mouth?" the Jester asked Oak.

"There will be time for such questions later, why don't you all take your seats so that we can go ahead with the things we want to discuss in this meeting."

The fat man was sweating and he wiped his face with his sleeve as he picked up his fallen chair and put it in its place. He looked at the small mountain of burgers and picked another one that he chomped down.

"I have convinced Otrahun to stay here. It was difficult, but it's done. Now, I need you all to tell me how the hell are we going to activate his powers to their full potential?"

"Oh," Jester picked up a burger and bit into it. "I guess we'll have to kill him to do that."

The headache behind Oak's eyes amplified with the rage of a thousand suns.

-/-

The Anomaly - Part 23

Reality hiccuped, burped and belched at the same time for Otrahun. He was back in the white room. It looked as pristine as ever. On the wide screen in the middle of the room, the old man looked even frailer and closer to death.

"Ah, you. You will just not die an easy death."

"I was ready to die, until you showed me that place. You should have never sent me there."

"Hindsight is always 20-20, Otrahun. You of all people should know that."

Otrahun sat down cross-legged on the ground. He looked up at the screen with a mixture of sadness and pity.

"Did you get your files?" he asked.

"Of course, we did. All the records are in place. Every sin ever committed on this planet. Every mark, every tally of it all, recorded and cataloged."

"Good, good. That's great. My name might be there in a few places, too," he paused and wiped his face with his hand. "What do you plan to do with the information in these files?"

"The same that we have done all these years. Maintain the balance in the corridors of power in this world. When we have leverage, we use it to control those who make decisions and propel the world towards a better future."

"Ah," Otrahun sighed. "I should have known."

"You should send Lisa back. I need her here."

"No can do, old man. She fucked with the wrong kind of creatures by meddling too much in the other place. They are going to keep her there."

The old man frowned. "I will not have my most valuable lieutenant rotting in the jails of that place. I demand you return her here."

"She won't rot anywhere. She is a guest of Oak and others. But if you come for us there, we will make sure she rots."

"We? And you dare threaten me?"

"Yes, we. Because now that I know you have dirt on me, I am not staying here. And I can threaten you because I am going back to where you can't touch me."

"Otrahun, you are right. And you will be fine. But watch your back, because I promise you, one day, I will send someone to put a knife in there."

"Oh, won't that be exciting. Goodbye old man. I hope your circuits fail and your boot order is corrupted."

Otrahun looked at the table once more. Same steel where his body once laid strapped. Now empty and cold. He waved a middle finger salute at the old man and bit by bit, started to disappear.

-0-

The Anomaly - Part 22

When he was a little child, Otrahun's father took him to a pool to teach him swimming. The older man told the boy to get up on the ramp and jump in the water. I will catch you, the old man had lied but the little boy knew nothing of the lies of elders. He had jumped and once he had drunk enough pool water and tried his best to yell out half-cries for help, his father had jumped in and helped him out. The first lesson had nothing to do with swimming, but everything to do with life.

Trust no one.

As Otrahun lay strapped to the table with a scalpel hovering above his face, he remembered nothing of what his father had told him. He could only feel the crunch of a wrapper in his pocket. He inched his fingers toward his pocket while Lisa touched the blade of the scalpel to his face, deciding where to make the first cut.

"Do you really have to cut my face?" he asked Lisa. "Just kill me if you want and let it be."

"We still don't know how you pulled it off. And we need to know that in case this fuckery repeats itself."

"You want to know how I found your files? Why didn't you just ask? I'd gladly tell you everything."

"You might be leading us the wrong way. That's why I need to torture you first. To make sure you tell the truth."

"Please put away the scalpel. I like my face too much to lie about the process of getting your stupid files. I'll tell you, just untie me first."

"No can do, Otrahun. You are going to get cut and it will hurt a lot. Just ride through the pain and be truthful when I start asking the question."

His fingers found the wrapper of the burger he'd taken from Oak's restaurant. With the wrapper clenched tight in his fist, he closed his eyes and thought of the drum performance Oak had given. The beat of the drums was like the heartbeat of a giant creature powering through something grand. It was chaotic and melodious. Like listening to music that opens up your mind to the possibilities that the universe might present to you. The drum solo reached its crescendo, with Oak going mad on the drums, the sticks in his hands a blur, the large horns on his head swaying to an internal beat that was too much in control when this beat was a maniac tsunami of death and destruction.

And when Otrahun's heart also started to beat in time with the drums, he let go of the wrapper. The piece of oiled paper fell to the ground and in a blink, the atmosphere around him changed. He was back in the world he had left and Lisa also stood there with him, still holding the scalpel in her hand which chose the exact moment to fall.

"Oh, boy. I am so fucked." she muttered.

Oak appeared like a ghost by Otrahun's side. "Good to see you back here, Mr. Yaway."

At Oak's signal, two burly demons broke away from the throng and grabbed Lisa by the arms and lead her away.

"What are you going to do with her, Oak?"

"To be frank," the giant murmured, "nothing." He sighed. "We will just keep her in a cell"

"Understandable. She's been poisoning this place for quite some time. Oh, and thanks for the beat. I'd have never found my way back here if I did not have that in my mind."

"Always a pleasure to show a way through music. I believe you are going to make one more trip back there?"

Otrahun nodded. There were still some T's that needing crossing and i's that needed dotting.

"I'll be back before you notice that I was gone."

He closed his eyes again and then, he waited.