My Tail

Afterwards, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. I wanted it to be stars but it was just a ceiling. For a while, she lay there too with her head nestled in the crook of my neck and our tails entwined. We lay in silence as the rain came down outside but, eventually, she kissed me gently on my furry cheek, got up, dressed and left.

That would be the last time I ever saw her.

I lay there staring at the corner of the ceiling where the walls met and listening to the soft rain outside before I too got up, dressed and left. I felt more hollow than usual. Much later, I would realize why.

It was still raining when the call came and it was still raining when the Pack arrived. I don’t think it ever stopped raining.

***

“She wanted flowers on her grave,” I said, my quiet growl dripped bitterness, “And the Apocalypse. Unfortunately, this world no longer has any flowers in it.”

The rain was falling around us as we stood in that gloomy cemetery. We were a small pack with buildings looming on every side. The City lights blurred through the water while the noise seemed shy to enter that place of sorrow and the endless traffic of man sounded distant.

“What will you do now?” one of the Pack asked, his jaw taut and his eyes dark as he looked at me, “What can you do now?”

I smiled without any warmth, my fangs showing. The rain soaking us hid my tears but I could taste their salt in my mouth. It lacked the copper of blood. Her fresh grave lay before us barren and empty. There were no flowers on it. Mankind had killed all the flowers centuries ago, as with all the non-urban animals too.

The entire world was just the cursed City now; concrete and trash, streets and endless buildings. Mankind’s own polluted temple to his ever-hungry gods.

The only animals that had made it were the ones that could adapt, or be adapted. Rats, pigeons, cockroaches, among others, like us.

Some fringe scientists and rebel bio-engineers had helped evolution along, creating a handful of hybrids–us–that now mingled on the fringes of society and stalked through dark alleyways. Why? None of us knew. The original scientists were now all dead and disappeared. Mankind had eaten mankind, leaving behind us: their illegal bio-tech legacy to be killed on sight as she had been, or worse if the traffickers got you.

Alone–outcast by nature and banned by men–we were each others only refuge.

And she had been mine.

I threw my head back and howled. The old primal howl from deep inside my heritage ripped its way to the surface. The Pack leaned back and howled too, their voices mingling with mine in both sorrow and rage. A primal choir, the blood-curdling song echoed off the City walls and scattered the rats and other survivors in the sewers and trash cans around us.

Mankind was right to have ostracized us. We were different. We were animals, and we would destroy all of them. And, in that moment, I knew what had to be done.

“Kill them,” I growled, turning to the Pack, “We will kill them all.”

***

I watched the dissolvable canister fall. Slowly it fell, like the rise of the City from the eventual merging of all the smaller cities of mankind. Steadily it fell, like the advance of mankind and the slaughter of nature. But, most importantly, decisively it fell towards the central water pumps that drove the remainder of the de-salted seas–a scarce resource–across the entire planet.

I licked my lips. The copper taste of the guards’ blood was still fresh and their corpses still warm behind me. Some of the blood, though, was mine. Perhaps a lot of it was?

All of my Pack had fallen. I was the last of them, and of us.

Some had sacrificed themselves in obtaining the aggressively-engineered, fast-spreading and water-resistant rabies that I had just dropped into the City’s water. The treachery of the fringe scientists and bio-engineers were to thank for that. The rest had sacrificed themselves in breaking into the secure central water plant and making it this far. The paranoia and weapons of mankind were to thank for those fallen in this Hunt.

The final Hunt.

Mankind would be no more in less than a week. The enhanced virus would enter the populace soon, spread quickly and, before long, mankind itself would be little more than a feral beast tearing itself apart.

And they had her to thank for that. The cop that had fired the killing shot at her had killed mankind as a result.

I threw my head back and howled. The old primal howl from deep inside my heritage ripped its way to the surface. There was no more Pack to join in. No voices mingled with mine and, as my lungs gave in and I dropped to my knees, I put my hand to my chest and felt my life-blood pumping out. One of the guards’ bullets had hit me there.

I toppled over to one side. The last of the Hybrids, alone but not lonely as I was going to rejoin the Pack.

And the last thing I saw was the ceiling, where the walls met in the corner.

Then there was darkness.

Bad Connection

“Of all the things that I regret,” she sighed, “I regret letting go the most. It was my choice, after all, but once made, you can’t take it back. You can’t go back. After walking the Dreamlands, the Slow World loses its shine. It is dull and cold, weighted like lead in water while I am used to floating across glimmering infinity. You just can’t go back after knowing what that feels like.”

She sighed again and took a long, slow sip of a luminescent tea before her on the table. Her eyes were unfocused and slid around the room, never quite focussing on anything in particular.

A man sat before her, cyborg-fingers fluttering across a holographic keyboard as he documented everything that he saw like some sort of journalist. He nodded at the glowing tea and, despite her glazed eyes continuously shifting, she smiled vaguely and replied.

“Jacking directly into your Conduit and the enhanced stimulation of your nervous system dehydrates you. You have to replace the spinal fluid as well as vitamins, minerals and other stuff. Do you know how most Dreamers die?”

Her eyes snapped into focus and looked directly at the man. Her eyes were eerily light-blue; apparently, eye color was lightened by long-term abuse of the Dreaming app. He seemed to shift, uncomfortable under her direct gaze and shook his head.

She smiled sadly, a glimmer of her old-self there. She had been beautiful once, long before the abuse had eaten into her body. And, as quick as it had appeared, it retreated and her old-self was gone again leaving behind the husk of a human that she had become.

“Dehydration,” she stated coldly, almost entirely detached from what she was saying and how it was relevant for her, “Eventually the Slow World is too much to bear and the Dreamer puts off disconnecting longer and longer and longer… Eventually, the Dreamer taps out as their spinal fluid burns away and their body dies of thirst. The last part of the body to die is the mind.”

She took another sip of the glowing beverage and the corner of her mouth curled upwards. She put the cup down and absentmindedly wiped her hand off on her dress as if the object were somehow dirty.

“It is hard disconnecting,” she sighed, “Very hard coming back to the cold, slow version of reality.”

The man nodded, his extended, spidery-fingers silently fluttering away.

“Do you know about Limbo?” she started, her eyes locking with his again, “There is a moment in the Dreamlands where the Dreamer is aware that they will never wake up again. Their body is dead but their mind has not yet passed. It lasts for about six minutes of Slow Time. They know that this will be their final dream and–do you know what most of them do?” she asked smiling and leaning forward, her unnaturally light eyes suddenly feverish in their intensity, “Do you know what they say happens to the Dreamers in Limbo?”

“No, I don’t,” the man monotones, his cyborg fingers pausing in mid-air, “What do you think happens?”

“Well, time, obviously, doesn’t move at the same pace in the Dreamlands as it does in the Slow World,” she started recounting, detached again, her eyes sliding across the room, unseeing as she spoke, “So the six minutes where the body is dead and brain is dying can feel like an hour or a day or, perhaps, even longer in the Dreamlands. No one really knows, as the Dreamland app isolates brain-body disconnections and puts them in a secure socket layer. Probably a good thing or else the Dreamlands would be littered with corpses, and that would not really be all that fun to upload yourself into… Anyway, I have a theory. Wanna hear it?”

The man nodded, his fingers pausing in mid-air.

“I think those in Limbo relive their own versions–” she paused and raised her hands to her face, then outstretched her arms and her eyes focused on her fingertips, “It is cold. My fingers are going cold. Why are my fingers going cold?”

The man smiled and nodded. Suddenly she noticed how he has no distinguishing characteristics. Where was this room and how did she get here?

The piercing coldness in her fingertips was creeping up her hands, and then her arms. Her legs were frozen now too. The room’s details were beginning to get fuzzy and the image of the man began to blur and swirl into a soup of pixels before her very eyes.

“Oh, god,” she heaved, as the coldness entered her chest, began to crawl up her neck and towards her brain, “Oh-my-god, I am in Limbo, aren’t I? Aren’t I!

She could hear herself screaming but there was no air in her frigid lungs anymore and the ice was seeping into her brain…

The pixelated-AI’s fingers stopped fluttering, he smiled vaguely and nodded. He then tilted his head to the side and spoke to someone or something not present in that room:

Account, Diana Rothshaw #1087752, closed and the Dream Rental Contract is duly terminated. Cause of account closure is Fatal Cerebral Collapse and the Dreamland Fun Corporation notes both its sadness at the client’s passing and its indemnity in this matter. The client’s signed disclaimer discharging the Dreamland Fun Corporation of full responsibility in the event of application abuse–which was obtained upon account opening–is attached to this file. This recording notes that it was the client’s own choice–attached wav-file where client admits this–despite the noted and communicated risks involved with the repeated use of the Dreamland application. Upload complete. Severing secure socket layer and formating Conduit connection. End.

And then the room was empty.