I was writing a poem when I saw him hack the body a part.
It was the second time. The first time I saw him I was in class. It must have been a week prior. I had drifted of into a frivolous daydream during history class. Mr.Hanikus was writing something on the tronic-board. There was a black bird outside, cawing. At first I didn’t know what to do. I let it envelop me completely.
The window before me was frosted. The figure, shattered in light, was tearing the corpse a part limb by limb behind it. No blood. Sounds. Dynamos and motors. Everything became still; a humming void of nothing behind my eyes. I found my hands clasped around my hair when I awoke. Dust and decay had clawed its way into my nostrils. Maybe others have felt the same as me. It happens just like that. Thoughts. Feelings. The pouring of another soul into yours.
The Chain event. I don’t exactly know when it happened. Probably at a time when everything and everyone seemed most connected. We liked to think of ourselves that way before it happened. Linked. By cables and computers and our ‘smart’ pocketed devices. Thousands of miles in one electronic nano-second. There must have come a point when the Universe had gotten sick of it. It wanted to shake things up. Toss us into the wild. To see if we could survive, if the only thing we were connected to, was each other.
But it didn’t happen that way. We slowly began to feel, see and experience the worse of us. Connections to people we could neither relate to nor understand. People that defied explanation. That defied logical sense. Bad people.
I feel Tox for the second time in my room. He’s tearing a part another body. I taste sweat on my own lips. It isn’t mine. My eyes search for something that isn’t there. I’m seeing his memories – I know it. He tears the flesh from a man in a black suit. His jaw snaps and breaks across his fingers like a chicken bone.Tox’s arm is metallic- a cannon of twisted chrome. He’s obviously a Kinetic. One of those things.
By the time he’s finished I know he has stopped trying to remember. He can feel me too. That I know. I envision him sitting up, wherever he is, and trying to remember me. It’s difficult for me to remember his face. There’s too much haze. I don’t think he can see mine.
But he knows my name. Samantha. I heard him speak it once in a dream.