The Failed Test Subject

Her father led her into the elevator, then pressed a button. Down they went, lower than the ground floor, the car park, lower than she had ever gone before. Her whole body tingled with a mixture of excitement and fear, and she shivered.

"Are you sure about this, Lynette?" her father asked, for the third time in five minutes.

"Yes, yes, of course!" she replied immediately, eyes shining. "I want to see him! Just one look, dad, you promised! Please?"

Her father sighed. "Alright. I know I've told you already, but--"

"Yes, I know there's a bulletproof glass wall between us! He'll be nice, I just know it."

Down and down the elevator descended until, with a final ding, arrived at its destination. The doors opened. Her father stepped out warily. Lynette practically bounced out with excitement.

The one long corridor was lit with white electric lights on the ceiling, giving the atmosphere an artificial glow. At the end of the corridor was a lone door - made of steel and kept locked at all times, expect when the person on the other side was fed - three times a day, every day. Other times, he was kept confined, alone, and his actions were monitored ceaselessly.

Lynette's father opened the door, and they stepped into a small compartment. Another door blocked their way. He locked the first door behind them, then thrust the key into the next, which slid open noiselessly. She stepped into the room.

At first, she couldn't see anything. It was dark, lit by a silver light in the shape of a crescent. She could clearly see the glass separating the room into two. The side she was standing in was empty, painted black, and devoid of any furniture or colour of any kind. The other side was much bigger - many trees, but not enough to be a forest, a small pond, vines, and a house. It was a large house for one person, painted brown, and stood ominously in the darkness.

Her father let out a low whistle, then paused and waited. He whistled again. "Come on out, Visere!  You have a visitor! A visitor is someone who comes to see you. Isn't it exciting?"

Nothing happened for a few moments, then the front door of the house opened. A tall man walked out - sixteen years of age, dressed in a short-sleeve shirt, baggy pants and no shoes. His dark hair was down to his waist and immensely tangled, his eyes were too big for any human, and gleamed with savagery. When he opened his mouth, Lynette could see that his teeth ended in points.

"Lynette, say hello to Visere," said her father.

She took a breath, but the words caught in her throat. Her eyes were glued to this strange spectacle. She tried to speak, choked, then cleared her throat and tried again. "H...H-Hello..." Desperately, she turned to her father. "Does he understand me?" she whispered.

His father didn't answer - the person did. "Yes," he said quietly. "I do." His voice was hoarse from lack of use. His large, dark eyes stared into her soul.

"Oh," Lynette squealed. "Well, um, hello." Once again, she looked to her father for help, but he smiled and prodded her forward. Hesitantly, she took half a step towards the pane of glass. "My name's Lynette. Um... my father said your  name was Visere. Is that right?"

The person nodded almost robotically, face devoid of expression.

"It's nice to meet you," she said, blurting out the only thing she could think of. "Um... it's... nice weather, isn't it?" Lynette blushed. Obviously in this dark underground room, he couldn't see the weather outside.

"I don't know," said Visere, still in his quiet tone. He switched his gaze to her father. "What is a 'weather'?"

Her father cleared his throat. "It's the, uh, conditions of the sky."

Visere swung his head up, looking at the black ceiling many meters high, then turned back to Lynette. "Yes," he said conversationally. "Very nice weather. What did you say your name was?"

"L-Lynette."

"I'm sorry." Visere inclined his head, half-bowing. "I do not... remember things well. I do not need to remember anything here."

A pang of pity stabbed through Lynette's heart. "Oh, um," she said timidly, completely lost for words.

"I do not, of course," continued Visere slowly, "usually have visitors. I am to be kept in solitary confinement for the rest of my life."

Her father looked uncomfortable. Lynette ignored him. "D-Do you like that?" she asked.

"No," he replied. "Not really. But I cannot do anything about it. I understand that this is for my own safety, and the safety of others. I do not want to... to..." He struggled for a word. "I do not want to make everyone else feel unsafe."

"I don't think that's fair," said Lynette quietly. "I think you should have a chance to live a normal life, too. Even if you are a bit... different."

"I am not different. I am a failed test subject."

"Well, did you volunteer to be tested on?" she demanded.

He frowned and closed his eyes, as if trying to understand what she was saying. A few seconds later, his eyes opened again, and his face was a mask once more. "No, but I do not mind. Not really."

"Yes you do!" Lynette cried. "Of course you mind! Who wouldn't mind being trapped down here by themselves for the rest of their lives, just because they were tested on and found to be 'dangerous'? It's a horrible thing to do to someone!" She gasped, and suddenly clamped a hand over her mouth. Had she gone too far? Lynette glanced sideways at her father, but he was looking away from her, and she couldn't see his expression.

"I am told," said Visere, "that the other... option... is death. I do not know what death is. I have asked everyone, but nobody can tell me. I do not want something that I do not know. Do you know what death is?" he asked.

"I-It's," she began, then seemed to choke on her words again. Lynette fell silent and shook her head, as she tried to prevent tears from leaking out from the corners of her eyes.

Visere nodded sadly, as if he had expected this. His large eyes seemed to be drawn on something. He blinked curiously. "You have water on your face," he said. "Where did it come from?"

Lynette supressed a sob, then wiped the tears out of her eyes. It didn't work, because they just kept flowing. "I... I'm just... I..." She had to stop as a sob wracked through her body. The tears didn't stop.

He seemed to realize what was going on, and adopted a calmer tone. "If you are upset with me, you do not have to stay here."

She shook her head so quickly that her vision blurred. "I'm not upset," she hiccupped. "Not with you, anyway. But I do have to go now." She hesitated. "You're a really nice person, Visere. You know that? I'll come back for sure, to talk to you. I'll be your friend."

Her father put an arm around Lynette's shoulder, and walked her out. The door closed and locked behind them. Visere was left standing, watching silently through the wall of glass. At last, he said to himself, "I do not understand what a friend is."

Then he shook his head, and went back inside his house.

Farewell

Inspired by Touchstone from Sabriel. 

He stared up at the dusty photograph, left on a broken shelf in a home abandoned long ago. His hand moved upwards, instinctively, brushing the dust off, and took the picture off the shelf. A beautiful woman, with a three-year-old daughter. Both were laughing, the light was bouncing off the woman's black hair like it shone of mirrors. The light shone in the young girl's face.

The man closed his eyes and allowed tears to flow. He didn't wipe them away as they dropped onto the picture. He took several deep breaths then, with an effort, put the picture back on the shelf, and walked out of the room. The tears remained on the glass, glistening in the dim light.

Misc

Firstly, belated happy birthday to Nathanial Reyes, MC of (the unpublished) Civilisation's Cycle written by Maxy.

Chris Baty is leaving OLL D: I'm sad. But good luck, Chris!

And there's lots of work for me this Tuesday...IPT Trial HSC coming up! Wish me luck :) I'm going to die...

Noldorin Units

Noldorin units cost...

 

'They generally cost 10% of your payroll, 50 acts of random kindness, a hundred times of honesty, and 2 hundred times of love! (What the...) Spread the love! After all, all of us are children of Eru are we not? Consider these Units as Timeless-Halls sent! ' - My wonderful nephew Ereinion

 

Therefore! I shall be keeping track of how many acts of random kindness, honesty, love, etc.etc. I do! I will fail epically! ...Who cares. 

An argument

"I said no already!" Visere whipped around, eyes furious. He shot the girl opposite him a menacing glare. "I told you, I'm not going to die!"

There was a wooden table between the man and the girl, who was on a plush leather chair, and looked a little too comfortable. She sighed and took a breath. "You have to, Vis!"

"Look, Therese, I have everything planned out. I have a whole group of Sorcerers from both kingdoms. I have a huge political influence, more than enough money, and an army at my disposal. Who's going to kill me?"

"You'll get killed before you get the money and army."

"I already have them."

The girl called Therese quickly backtracked. "I mean, before you get to them."

Visere's eyes flashed. "I thought you wanted this," he said accusingly, standing up. His intimidating figure was towering over her. "I thought it was your idea to have a four-way battle! To frame two innocents! Why do you want me dead now, at the crux of things?"

"I don't want you dead!" snapped Therese. "There are certain ... sarcifices ... which need to be made. You'll just have to be one of them."

"Why?"

"Why? For God's sake, Visere! You're evil! You're the villain! Villains have to die!"

"So this is for the sake of the plot?"

"Everything is for the sake of the plot!"

"Therese--"

"Stop calling me Therese!" The girl cut across him. "I'm your Authoress! I feel like you're insulting me every time you call me Therese."

"Therese stems from Authoress," Visere explained innocently. "I can't exactly go around calling you Thoress."

"Then explain why it sounds insulting."

Visere smiled playfully. "Obviously I'm degrading your title of Authoress into a name which can be given to any lowly character."

"Obviously." The Authoress smiled painfully. She thought that she should pull this back on track. "But I am the Authoress, and I move the plot. Without the plot, the book is nothing! Nothing, you hear me?"

"Aren't I your favourite?" Visere complained. "Don't I get a chance to live? Can't the evil guys win, for once?"

"Well, I planned that until my Muse came up with another idea," mused the Authoress. "Besides, that wasn't High Fantasy enough. That was running away and Eragon-y."

"I can't believe this," said Visere icily. "You're throwing me away because you have to let your main character win?"

The Authoress gave him a nervous smile. "Yes?"

Visere was silent for a moment. Then his lips curved into a vicious smile. "I understand," he said, turning around. He began marching out of the room. "I understand completely."

"Where are you going?" cried the Authoress. The door from which he entered vanished just before his hands touched it.

"Why Therese," said Visere pleasantly, "haven't you realized already? I'm going to kill your precious main character!" He clicked his fingers, and vanished from the room.

Visére

Visére wasn't a person with a good sense of justice. He didn't struggle with morality. He never wondered whether his actions were for the greater good. He only ever wondered about a few things, and one of them was himself. The other was how much money he had. The third was how long he was going to survive for.

So even he surprised himself when he volunteered to become a spy. Yes, he would be pleasing his own lure of danger. Yes, there would be enough money for him to spend the rest of his life. But no, he wasn't going to survive very long. Not at all. Definitely not if he was caught.

Persuading a young, naive, arrogant sorcerer to become a spy was the last thing he wanted to do. He couldn't foresee the reaction. If Klyte said no--and he had every reason to say no--then Visére was dead by morning. On the off chance Klyte agreed, Visére could still be killed later. Klyte could double-cross him. He could be killed in battle. He could be assassinated.

On the other hand, if he didn't get killed, he would spend the rest of his life in the palace, servants flocking to do his bidding. He would be in the greatest honour of the king. That is, unless the king backstabbed him. Visére frowned. That was possible. What use would he be when the war was over, when they had won? The king would have no need for a spy; especially someone who was so good at hiding secrets.

Visére made up his mind, and nodded to himself. Oh, he would play along being a spy for now. But when the time came, he will take his own section of the army, hopefully allied with Klyte's sorcerers, and forge a new empire for himself.

Oh yes, and then Klyte would have to die.

Walking

They were kids once, too. Playing in the park, drawing in the dirt with sticks, shrieking with laughter as the swing brought them one step closer to heaven.

Klyte lifted his head and looked up at the pouring sky. The dark clouds rumbled overhead; it was probably time to go inside. He took a breath and walked forward, away from the house he had lived in for sixteen years. Every step leant him the courage to walk further, and eventually there was nothing but a trail of muddy footprints leading from the silent house.

His feet led him in a straight line, just walking. His tousled hair stuck to his scalp, his muddy shirt was drenched. He kept walking, until the remnants of civilisation gradually started to appear. He kept walking, dark eyes cold and silent, acknowledging and accepting the curious stares that came his way. He nodded towards a child who ran for his mother. He tossed a coin to the homeless man lying in the street. And always, he kept walking.

He walked to the castle gate and gazed at the towers he had once lived in. It was still raining. There were dozens of soldiers on the battlements, and every single arrow was trained on him. Klyte allowed them to take his interest for a few seconds, then stepped forward once more. The bridge of the moat came down silently.

He walked through the courtyard, through corridors of gold and silver. The incredulous soldiers moved out of the way as he slowly but surely walked into the throne room.

He looked up at the newly coronated king.

"Hello, Klyte."

Klyte nodded, as a vague greeting.

"I said hello, Klyte," the king said forcefully.

The boy's eyes showed no sign of interest.

"Not going to greet your king?"

He opened his mouth, hesitated, then spoke. "I already have."

"That nod was not a greeting."

"It was greeting enough."

"I am the king!" thundered the man on the throne. "I will have the respect I deserve. I know you are here on a mission to assassinate me, Klyte. I want to know why you simply walked into the castle, in plain sight."

"You let me."

"I made your job easier because I did not want to humiliate you."

Klyte reached into his bag and pulled out a dagger. "This is what I'm supposed to assassinate you with."

The king chuckled. "Well, aren't you going to do it?"

His cold eyes glinted with new-found interest. "Of course."