The Dasti Experiment...9

The world comes full circle eventually, to the point where we no longer recognize beginning from end.

"Let's get ice cream," Totaz said. His fingers closed around Saxiel's neck. His face lay near to Saxiel's.

Saxiel looked away, down the street. "Ice cream?" he asked.

"Yeah!" Totaz said. "Ice cream." His arms wrapped tightly around Saxiel, holding onto him, clinging to his neck. "Please."

But Totaz said please so softly, that no one else could hear. Not the sky, not the ground, not even the smoke between them. His voice tickled the curl of Saxiel's ear, and brought a faint blush to his cheeks. But he did not reprimand Totaz; no one else had seen.

And what no one saw did not exist.

"Ice cream," Saxiel agreed. The smog could hear him; he was loud enough. "Chocolate?"

Totaz shook his head, and then pillowed it against Saxiel's shoulder. Totaz' legs dangled from where Saxiel's arms held him up.

"Strawberry," Totaz said. "I want strawberry."

Saxiel nodded and began to walk, holding Totaz close in. "Strawberry it is, then," he agreed.

Saxiel could not see Totaz' eyes, but he could feel the tepid breath across his neck.

Saxiel walked quickly.

For the sake of the world. For the sake of the world.

The ice cream shop doors hung open. A line of people twisted from the heart of the shop. Saxiel stood in line. His arms held Totaz up.

People looked at them, and looked away.

Totaz did not raise his head from Saxiel's shoulder.

Saxiel did not meet anyone's eyes.

Totaz' mouth.

Saxiel's face felt warm.

For the sake of the world, he did not look at anyone. For the sake of the young girl in pigtails, holding a twist ice cream cone, for the mother holding her hand, for the father who had paid –

Saxiel did not say anything.

He stepped up as the next few people moved up in line.

Saxiel felt Totaz smile against his neck.


In the end we kept everything inside, even though it tried to escape.

The Dasti Experiment...8

The quiet of midnight stretches into the hours of false dawn, when everyone can pretend to be alive when they're not.

He awoke to searing pain in his legs.

"Not dead yet," someone barked.

"Nearly," someone else said.

"Will be soon," a third voice added.

Not dead yet. Airthe registered the words. He was not dead yet.

His legs burned.

"He's lost too much already," someone said.

"Maybe he'll make it."

"Doubtful."

The church became dark. Airthe realized someone had extinguished a torch. His legs hurt in a peculiar way. The church swam in his vision. The smell of burned skin saturated the air.

"He's not dead," someone said.

"Nearly."

"Maybe not."

Airthe felt the cool metal of a gun beside him. It wasn't a gun he could use in defense: a small handgun. He drew it close. The motion went unnoticed.

Booted feet made sounds that echoed in the empty church.

Laughter echoed.

"He's not dead yet."

"It's just a matter of time."

"Are you sure he'll die?"

Airthe realized he did not want to die. He had no legs. The air smelled like burned flesh; his burned flesh. He did not want to die. The simple desire for life sprung from somewhere deep within. Airthe wanted life, even if he had no reason.

"Can we shoot him?"

"Just to be sure?"

"How much blood did he lose?"

Airthe held himself still. He tried to reason how much blood was in a human body. How much of that could he afford to lose? How much had he lost? The stickiness around him suddenly had meaning.

"He's breathing."

"He can't be breathing."

"No look, he is -"

The gun Nirax had left Airthe was warm in his hands.

"He's alive."

"Shoot him!"

Gunshots rang. No one screamed.

Then quiet reigned.

Airthe pushed himself upright and raised the gun to his mouth. The barrel burned his lips.

Alive.

There is no use for weapons beyond the ending of life; who wants to die? Who wants to die? Who wants... You there. Die.

The Dasti Experiment...7

Nostalgia corrupts: it's the poison that fools us into thinking the past wasn't like the present.

"It's cold out," Eloro said.

Dasti stepped away from the window.

"It's cold out," Eloro said again.

"Is it?" Dasti asked. He looked to the window. Sun glowed outside. "I hadn't noticed."

Eloro shook her head. "It's cold outside," she repeated. "It's always cold out when someone dies."

Dasti nodded.

They stood in silence.

Eloro hobbled forward. Dasti watched the table with teacups, prepared to rescue one if Eloro should bump into it by accident. She did not. He relaxed.

"You don't know how warm it used to be outside," Eloro said as she approached the window. "It used to be summer all the time - cheerful and warm." Eloro paused. "It's not anymore. Now it's just cold outside."

Dasti waited until Eloro turned away from the window. Her face sagged with exhaustion. Dasti put out a hand to help. Eloro brushed it away.

"The thing is," she continued after catching her breath, "it's not really a matter of how the world is put together. It's more a matter of the detailing over the construction."

Dasti just nodded.

Eloro hobbled back to her chair and sank into it. "Much better... Much better."

Dasti heard a door open somewhere downstairs. He heard it slam. He imagined the house rocking under the force of the closing.

The sound of boots reached his ears. They always checked the attic first.

"They always check the attic first," Eloro said. "No matter. Dasti, open the window, would you? Wouldn't do any good to pretend we've been listening if the windows are closed."

Dasti moved to obey.

The door opened.

A gun went off.

"You're under arrest!"

Another teacup shattered.

If the past was so much better, why does anyone look to the future?