Perfection Lost

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Perfection Lost

“Reflect on your...Childhood...Your sensation...Your words...Your emotions...Time...It will not wait...No matter...How hard you hold on...It escapes you...And...”

 -Kazushige Nojima

1

 The sand blew thick and the dust bore a shape.

 He was a drunken yellow soldier, walking along a clouded path. Each side of him lay in ruins, with every step he took- the more the dust cleared. The burning skies continually shone down upon his jar skull.  

There was a spoiled playground. Since parts of it were still intact, the soldier planned to use it for rest.

The label on his wine bottle could now be made out: “White Rose brandy”.  The brandy he had drunk and his dehydration had dawned on him.
Behind the one crushed roundabout slid out a brown man in blue rags. Whirling around, his scarf was red and his sniping gun aimed at close range. He blasted white sparks, and the soldier fell.
Sliding between worlds, the soldier's bottle dropped first.  Deep red poured out of an open wound, caused by a bullet which had narrowly missed his bullet vest, and instead burrowed into his flesh.
For a brief second the yellow wastes became green, he was almost home before he regained consciousness.
His Bottle of White Rose had landed in-between two rocks, it stood erect towering over him not only couldn't he reach it, he wouldn't have the strength to yank it free.
  The last of the smoke rose from the Sniper’s gun, fading into the burning skies.

 The sniper’s other bare brown burnt hand removed the bottle from the rocks, and placed it to the dying soldier's lips. A small amount of the liquor trickled down his throat, and the solider slowly drifted away, escaping from the decaying lands.

2

He was barely a teenager, yet he was a sniper. Afraid of the consequences of the American soldier’s murder, he ran through rough the Hamrin mountain range near Baghdad. It was the year; Two-thousand and three, bombs marked the cities as no longer safe. He grabbed hold of an uprooted tree, which wilted and cracked under his weight, he then leapt down onto a man-made trail. At the end he reached a gate, then he climbed over it and then he was on the cliffs once again, looking down upon the burning city, only still deepening cracks compared to the inevitable oncoming of Soldiers.

  It grew later and the sand was blowing over, he didn't notice the cliff's edge until he slipped over and rolled down into a valley. Unknown to him, a few feet away in the darkness of the rocks away from the small dust storm, laid the severed head of a gingered haired American.
Slush, slush, slush; the rains had come and gone in-between the snipers slow crawl out of the wilderness. He was now on two feet, moving his way slowly across the boggy path. Black smoke now stood miles behind him.
Slowly he raised his head, to see two more American soldiers directly in front of him. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but the two men looked exactly alike. One of their guns thudded down on his head knocking him out cold. He heard the sounds of a helicopter and he knew someone important was coming.

3

He was a middle aged man. Bald after years of helmet use, and in return he had become a General. The plane had touched land and he stepped off.  The sniper was reawakening as the General approached him.  "Why did you do it, why?” The General asked. He wasn't one who would apply torture more than regulate it from a safe distance. "That was my son you killed, you shot him then intoxicated him, why?  Is it part of your religion? Do you not agree with our methods?  How did you know what he was?"

“ SIR,” one of the two identical soldiers shouted.
The General's head whirled around, he stared down at the soldiers with sunken eyes, and his head was skull-like. To the sniper he would have been the personification of death itself.
“I am still the General of this fleet, and that was still my son. I want to know how this happened”.  Angrily the General slammed his foot into the snipers face.   The General snatched the snipers gun.  "This will not reach Fortinbras,” he yelled, firing two bullets into the snipers chest.
Warm and then becoming very hot, is how the sniper felt. The last word and name he would ever hear would be "Fortinbras".

4

He lived in London. A sixty year old weapons manufacturer, Fortinbras was on his way to work, through the underground.  A tramp sat shrouded in grey cloths, very thin and corpse like. "Do you have the time of the day sir?" The tramp asked him.

  Fortinbras turned and looked upon the mummified old man. He felt a pang move all around him when he looked at the man. Time had stripped him of all dignities and then discarded him in a place between places. Fortinbras looked at his watch, which read; “3:00 pm”."It is one-thirty pm," he lied.

Fortinbras, was a deviser of many tortures and weaponry in wars. His favourite was confusing the captive's senses of time. The destruction of the internal body clock brought him great joy.
For he had begun, building his own bodies, each with their own unique understanding of time, some for the night and some for the day.  It would be a fine selection of new soldiers, for a new army.
In his own life, Fortinbras only once cared for one woman and right now she lived miles away from where he was standing.

5

She was twenty-five, wearing thick sunglasses and long blonde hair. Her name was Cindy and she was preparing bandages for her sick son, who was just removing himself from bed.

He drew back the curtains and he stood naked, looking out at the empty alleyways beneath him.
His full body looked shrunken, he had long flowing black hair and his face pigeon-like. He stumbled into a black hooded jumper with an inked skull on the front. The hooded jumper covered the entirety of his diseased body and then he proceeded out of his room down a spiral staircase.

"I'm running out of bandages,” Cindy cried as she saw him heading down.

 He sniffed, and looked at her long thin voluptuous body, he snarled and made a growl that sounded like a vibration against wood.
"I’m going to the shop to get more,” he told her.  Her sunglasses came off as she rushed to get the door for him.
They walked together up spiral stone steps from the garden, onto Dynasty Road. Three blocks to go before they would get to the corner store. She would be accompanying the ruined creature.

 

6

  Once upon a time in a laboratory, the boy had been finished. He was complete. Fifteen fathers had gathered around him staring in awe at his perfection, whilst thirteen missing mothers celebrated their own imperfections down below.  The main father Fortinbras stood over his perfected Son. The General spoke on the intercom, and Fortinbras dismissed the multiple fathers of the specimen, sending them to join the mothers, at the party in the bar downstairs.

7

  Far, far away two electricity pylons marked the midway section between the boy's home and the corner shop. When he walked, the static ran through the boy's brain. He recalled the war negotiations and the cause he would serve.  The tortures to be performed on the human body clock, and he smiled.

8

Cindy was not his mother, but one of the secondary mothers.  She had been visiting the boy since he had been conceived. However the hospital doors were being sealed, for in the morning he would be shipped out to war.

9

The boy and Cindy had now passed the electricity pylons and it was now all downhill towards the shop.

10

Cindy had multiple keys, gifted to her in case of emergency. She had no job and had been gifted this responsibility entirely due to Fortinbras. She hurried through the doors, but of course the subject had been heavily guarded. With a new Robot, no less than the latest model. It awakened and a red light lit up deep inside of it, highlighting its name, Rosencrantz Robotron: 3000.

11

Of course she survived and they had now reached the shop, the boy entered whilst Cindy went over to the magazine section. The boy made his way over to the counter to the health and medicine section.

12

  The teenager jumped out of Bed and pushed his mother out of the way. The laser smote him and he was destroyed. 

13

"You fucking old bitch, I need medicine".

"You are not of the age to buy any,” said the ghastly old lady to the young man. She was far older and uglier than the boy, even after his body had been hit by the light.

14

BZZZZZ! Cindy had pushed the edge of her sunglasses, through the robots circuits, shutting it down. She at first thought the boy had been disintegrated. But as she bent down to collect his remains, he began to stir.  "Did we ever give you a name?" She asked as she picked up what she treasured as a son and carried him through the dark streets, into her home.

15

She knew Fortinbras would be looking for her, if he knew what had happened to his son, he would murder her. Yet she was in a public shop with the boy who was currently having a huge argument with an elderly lady.

16

   The son had been wrapped within bed sheets to heal his wounds. He stared at the clock as his mother came into his room.  Looking into its mechanism and importance on human life, he grinned. He had learnt a lot. "We can go back!" He shouted smiling. "I, no, everything can be perfect again". He twisted back the hands on the clocks to a week before the drunken soldier was murdered in Iraq. Five days before he was mutilated.

17

"FUCK YOU UGLY BOY!" The old woman snapped.

"Yeah well, fuck you too you old bitch and you know what? You're nearly dead,” the boy told her, coldly licking his lips on the final syllable as he walked out of the shop.
  He stepped out onto the cold street, alone. No cars in sight.  Looking at his watch, only half an hour had passed, still five long days to go before his accident.
Suddenly his stomach heaved, as the old woman penetrated a large knife through him.
His gooey tissues spilled out as simple sources onto the pavement, his vine-like veins were given a good twisting, the knife refusing to leave. He needed to excrete, for possibly the first time in his existence.

 The knife finally left him. He flopped to the ground into the puddle accepting his defeat and the old woman celebrated her victory with a chant. "Hulalala La!" She chanted as she spun around and skipped jollily away as if she was a child.

18

Across the sea, the broken Sniper took his last breath- before he also bled away into the sea time forgot.

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_Newshape- G.S.T