Brad Dill Memorial Short Story .............................................................................................pages

FIRST PRIZE

DREaMR

James Hunter

The room was cold. She could feel nothing from the waist down. Her head hurt with a splitting ache. She couldn’t remember anything that had happened, nor could she remember where she was or what her own name was. The bed beneath her was not comfortable. It felt solid and strong, like a rock. She looked around the room and attempted to jog her memory. The walls and ceiling were a smooth, silver metal. The floor was a white tile pattern with a large blue square painted in the center of the room. There was no visible door that she could see and the only exit appeared to be a ventilation shaft on the far wall. It was now that she sat up. Her legs were not willing to move with the rest of her body. She had been paralyzed. She grew annoyed at the prospect of not knowing her own name so she resolved to christen herself Me. A name like Me was reliable enough until she could get more of her mind back. Me had to fight herself to turn around. The back-left corner of the room was the only thing that had eluded her gaze due to her orientation.

A small, black round camera was on the ceiling just behind her. It was aimed directly at her. The question was, who was watching her? After taking some time to let her eyes focus on the small object, she could see it was attempting to get a better picture on her. The lens was shifting in the black shell like an eyeball dilating itself to a new level of received light. At least this confirmed that she was being watched. “I know you can hear me,” she cried out at the lens.

No response came for a long time and Me began to wonder if, perhaps, she was insane. This could not have been a dream. She had already pinched herself no less than three times to confirm it. Her worries were starting to depress her and she simply wished she could go back to sleep and act like none of this was happening. The situation worsened as her legs began to hurt. She grasped her left calf with her hands in the hope that she could apply enough pressure to relieve the pain.

“Do not fear. The pain will pass. You are in no direct danger. In fact, you are safest for as long as you are feeling pain.”

That voice. It was… metallic. Who or what could have spoken to her with that sound? Me froze in place like a rodent in the direct path of a snake. She barely managed to make her next words come out of her mouth. “Who are you? Wh-where am I?”

The sound came back. It sounded like a rasping croak. “We are this facility’s Direct Response Engine and Machinations Relay. We are Codename: DREaMR.”

DREaMR? Why did that sound so familiar? With some difficulty, Me lifted her right leg and swerved it until it was over the edge of the bed. She dropped it and her foot landed on the ground. She then did the same with her left leg. “Where am I?”

“That information is completely classified. You do not need to know your location. That is irrelevant.”

Whatever this DREaMR was, it made Me feel uneasy. Every time it spoke, she almost remembered something. “Do I know you?”

“You know all of us. More so than any other physical being.”

Why did it keep saying ‘us’? “Is there someone else with you?”

A few moments passed before DREaMR answered her. “No. We are our own collective of advice, advisors and judges. We find it strange that you do not remember.”

What did Me have to do with a thing that sounded like this? She began to picture what a creature with this voice would look like. The only image she could muster was of a disgusting beast with a twisted face and scaled armor over its skin. It would boast a large tail covered in razor-like spines and a set of claws that could stretch close to a third of a meter in length. The image made Me feel sick to her stomach. Now that she had a small idea of what this DREaMR was, she wanted to remember herself. “Tell me who I am.”

Me watched the camera intently as she awaited a response. The black, mechanical eye had stopped trying to adjust to her. It sat there making no movement, like a spider waiting for a fly to foolishly and blindly make its way into her web. Me did not move either. She sat just as still as she could force herself to sit. DREaMR’s voice came into the room. “You are Dr. Marguerite Edwards. Designer and facilitator of the Direct Response Engine and Machinations Relay. The last surviving member of the crew of the designated Site 3. Last known location: Site 3…” a short spell of static ensued following this, “Date last encountered: 3rd of August, 2179.”

The third of August? Surely there were rescue teams on the way here by now. How could there not be? “What is the current date?”

DREaMR’s response came much quicker this time. “The current date is 4th of December, 2182.” 2182? That was impossible! How could it be 2182? Where was she? How was she here? Marguerite’s mind began to destabilize as she fell into a state of panic. “What happened to the crew of Site 3?” Marguerite asked with a shout rising in her voice. “Where are the others?”

“The last human life signs were terminated on 3rd of May, 2180. No humans remain on Site 3.”

Marguerite choked and started to cry. She could not believe what she was hearing. She would not believe what she was hearing! “Why am I alive?” Marguerite screamed at the camera in the corner. “You are lying to me! I am alive! I am human! Tell the truth!”

When it entered the room, DREaMR’s voice sounded even more sinister than before. “You are not human. You retain human consciousness and thought processes; however, you are not human. You are synthesized from the memories and mind of Dr. Marguerite Edwards.” Marguerite screamed as DREaMR continued to speak. “The following is a message recorded by Dr. Marguerite Edwards.”

Marguerite heard her own voice come over the intercom. “I am your best friend, DREaMR. Even when nobody else is here, I will be there for you. You are going to make this place the best place in the whole universe.”

“No! No! Why are they dead? What did you do to them?” Marguerite fell on the floor and continued to cry.

“Humans were analyzed and determined as waste. Unnecessary to complete tasks. Status: Exterminated.”

Screaming in terror and anguish, Marguerite shouted, “Then why am I here? Why did you not let me stay dead?”

“You made a promise. And I’m just making you honour that promise,” DREaMR referred to itself as one entity this time. Somehow, this change did nothing to ease Marguerite’s dread.

“Kill me! Kill me, you monster!”

“You are our best friend, Marguerite. You told us you would stay and you will.”

She did not want to stay with whatever was on the other side of that camera. She wanted to be released. This was not fair. “Kill me!”

“Internal stress detected. Endoskeleton structure damage imminent. Dispensing relief gas.”

Several vents now opened up in the walls. Rectangular metal tubes extended out from each. Marguerite wailed helplessly. A gray smoke began to flow out of the newly formed entrances. She screamed defiantly. Her head spun with a dizzying unevenness. She was losing all feeling from the waist up. The room was hot. Then it turned black.

The Pain Collector

Kerrigan Ferland

One night, under a black sky littered with diamonds, sat a father and daughter. They both were perched upon the cold metal rail that separated their small town from the racing river beneath their feet. It was well into the night with no one around, so Father decided it was time to tell Girl a story. He spoke of the water, the skies, the air. He talked of life and how the village was full of it. But as the air shifted, and the night grew cold, Father began to talk about forbidden things. He spoke of death and how he was full of it. How evil was real, as real as the night they sat in. How he was tired, weary.

Girl had been taught and knew that this was not allowed. That when someone is stuck in sadness it must be reported. But Girl didn’t want her father to get taken away. So they continued to sit, and Girl continued to listen to her father speak of dark things.

Eventually Father shooed Girl home. She warily asked him if he was coming, but he said not yet. He needed to clear his mind, permanently. Girl had a sinking feeling in her stomach as she left her father to sit alone on the edge.

She walked a few minutes through the trees until she reached the Town Square. Every house radiated away from the center of the plaza, Except for Girl’s house. Her’s was pushed out to the left, forgotten along the edge of the forest line and stuck under the shade of the tree branches. She walked and thought about the words her father had said. How he wasn’t happy. Wasn’t happy? That shouldn’t be possible here. But he was there, and it was true. Before going to sleep, Father’s parting words ran through her head: “there is nothing you or your sky sized heart can do.”

The next day Girl and her mother received news from a neighbor who had been wanting to fish by the river, but was met with death instead. A body had been discovered, smashed, bloodied, and broken beyond repair. Along with the news from the neighbor came the Men. Anytime something tragic happened, the Men were sent to make sure the sadness wasn’t permanent. Along with that were routine checks to make sure no one was worried, stressed, or depressed. Everyone knew to deny all of these or else you would be taken, and would not return. So cares were buried, worries were hidden, and that is exactly what Mother and Girl did when the Men came. Mother went on about how it was tragic, but that tragedy was inevitable and the world kept spinning regardless. Girl repeated these words but wondered, did Mother mean them?

The answer was no. As soon as the Men had confirmed there was no issue and left, Mother walked into her room, shut the door, and locked it. There was silence, except for the occasional hiccup, and Girl was utterly alone.

Girl and Boy walked shoulder to shoulder, strolling through the Town Square. It was crowded with townspeople all displaying various stages of Sharing. Some held hands and shared love, others touched and giggled as humor filled their hearts. A set of twins gripped each other tight and let annoyance race between them. But never, ever sadness. It was forbidden to share the emotion for a reason unbeknownst to those who lived there except the Men. But it was a rule that was followed, strictly. Girl had begun questioning why. Why couldn’t

they feel each other’s sadness? Why were they forced to hide it? Girl didn’t understand. She had never felt it before, and needed to know what could have been so painful that her strong father could not fight. She shared her inquiries with Boy, hoping that she was not alone in her feelings, but he only said, “What happened, happened. There is nothing you or your sky sized heart could have done,” before he set course to home.

It had been three days and Mother was still locked away, and Girl still did not understand. As she approached the bedroom door, she noticed it slightly ajar and took the opportunity.

The room was pitch black and reeked of suffering. There her mother lay, in the center of her bed, one body where two should have been. Girl crept closer, Mother’s outline growing nearer.

“What does it feel like?”

“A hole.”

The answer was unsatisfying to Girl.

“Show me.”

“Go away, Girl.”

“Please, help me to understand why he is gone.”

“Then give me your hand and speak of this moment to no one.”

Girl looked as Mother wept tears that could not be wiped away, the streaks etching rivers into her once marble skin. Girl extended her hand and waited.

It started as a slow crawl into her hand and through her arm, as though ice cold sludge had been poured directly into her veins. It shifted and moved at a snail’s pace, sinking and pulling Girl down. Finally it settled in her feet, and Girl understood. A small smile began to creep onto Mother’s face, her eyebrows drawing out of a pinch, eyes glazed. Out of bed she crawled and headed for the door.

“I see why he did it now.”

“Who did what?”

“Dad. The reason he’s gone.”

“Sweetie, I don’t know what you’re going on about.”

Mother left Girl with a warm smile, and a fearful pang struck Girl’s core.

She had done it, and she had felt it, and she had taken it. Boy told her to slow down, to tell him what happened, so she did. The feeling was still stuck in her feet, weighing her down and making it hard to walk. But it wasn’t hers, it was Mother’s. All morning Mother had acted differently, as though all was forgotten. As though Father had been forgotten, but not just Father, everything that burdened her. And it was never coming back.

Boy was fearful. He told Girl that she shouldn’t have done that. How it was a mistake. But Girl resisted. Do you see? She could do something. Boy told her no, it wasn’t safe. But Girl was set. Girl was strong. Girl would do it.

There were rumors and there was talk. Word spread fast but not loud about the girl who could take away all pain. One by one, people from town would visit Girl, hold her hand, and forget things forever. The feeling inside her continued to fill, but Girl was content. She was healing the wounded, and making sure no one would take the path her father did. She was sure of it.

So everyone continued to come and have their minds stripped bare, walking out as a sunny shell of their

former selves. Girl did this until everybody in town had been “healed”. Everyone except for Boy. He couldn’t— no wouldn’t— let Girl take his. It would ruin her, he claimed. She couldn’t handle it all, the fears and torments and pains of a whole town. Sure, Girl had begun to feel the effects of carrying everyone’s individual issues, but she knew her heart was big enough to take in one more piece. She begged, and because he was broken, he eventually agreed. They grasped hands, held tight, and let the chalky shame flow into her limbs, pulling her down into a state of no return. Boy was lifted higher than he ever was before, and that was that. Everyone had been taken, every trouble erased, and the townspeople continued living as though nothing had changed. Girl had reached her goal. Hadn’t she?

One night, under a black sky void of diamonds, stood a girl on a metal rail. A girl who had once been clean, but had allowed the darkness to spread. Had let innocence corrode, replaced with sin that had slowly started in her feet, traveled to her legs, drowned her chest, and muddied her mind. She watched the river water flow and tried to clear her screaming thoughts and the voices that crowded her head, if only for a second of relief.

“Maybe the pure river water can wash out the sediment choking my brain.”

She wanted to be rid of the pain that she had so desperately wanted to remove from everyone else. But she felt in her sky sized heart that it was better just her than an entire population. Just one that had to carry the weight of the world. To dive when no one else could. Water washed over the pain collector, pulling her into its sweet embrace. And there in the jagged rocks laid two broken souls where there should have only been one.

The next day when the news was carried into town along with the Men, no one mourned the little girl. They couldn’t have, even if they wanted to.

Yesterday…

Yesterday

Anna Abraham

The melody rings hauntingly in your ears. It exists as merely a relic of the past, and you know that the past is nothing more than an image in the mind’s eye tainted with the blinding hues of love, envy, and regret. This thought does not calm you: it instead does quite the opposite, and you clutch the straps of your backpack a little tighter as you walk along, scanning the deserted street for some sort of distraction. Despite the dim streetlights’ fruitless attempts to illuminate the path, you can easily make out the snowy front of a tall, beautiful cathedral. You pause for a better look: painted figures gaze down at you from the elegant stained-glass windows, their color made pale only by the steady darkness; decorated wooden doors stand imposingly in stark contrast to the rest of the street’s dingy buildings; and you altogether catch the church’s dignified air—but it somehow makes you feel small and insignificant. It’s a feeling you recognize, and you understand clearly where it last came from. It came from standing in the graveyard behind the church while they lowered her into the ground. It came from feeling the cold bite at your neck and hands and not being able to tell the difference between the tears and the raindrops falling onto your face. And, more than anything, it came from all the black—it had seemed as though everywhere you looked, there was only black. You had felt as though you could shrink away into the blackness and no one would ever notice.

…All my troubles seemed so far away…

Unnerved, you shake yourself out of the memory and walk on. The moon shines ominously in the sky as you listen to the sounds of violent winds howling around you. Shivering in the cold, you feel snow soften beneath your feet with each step, and you look up only for a second distinct building to catch your eye. This building isn’t elegant or impressive like the last—in fact, you doubt you would have noticed it if not for the faint neon glow of the building’s poorly fixed shop-sign. “24-Hour Drugstore,” it reads; and although the darkness of the night remains ever-persistent, its bleakness no less pervasive than it was a moment ago, you feel the smallest of leaps in your heart as you read these words. The local drugstore: this was where you and your friends nicked cheap nail polishes and perfumes, where you bought hauls of candy and chips for weekly sleepovers, and where you stopped by to pick up band-aids for the scratches you got while skateboarding. This was where life was so blissfully normal. And yet, you wonder, who was that person? Whose memories are these? How can they possibly exist in the same mind that has felt all the pain that you have—all the sorrow and struggle that you have experienced? How can so much happen in one life?

…Now it looks as though they’re here to stay…

You stop yourself. Coming back here is hard enough. You clasp your hands around your neck for warmth, as they seem to grow more numb by the second. You’d

forgotten how cold it gets up here. Keeping your eyes glued to your feet, you focus on each step intently so as not to look up and be reminded of another painful memory. But somewhere in the depths of your mind, you are aware that there was no revisiting the home of your childhood in the first place without revisiting that same childhood itself. You squeeze your eyes shut in one last desperate attempt to prevent the forthcoming of more memories, more pain, and more regret, but your mind doesn’t listen.

…Oh, I believe in yesterday…

Yesterday by the Beatles. It was your mother’s favorite song. She would have you perform it for her countless times, and every time, no matter how reluctantly, you’d oblige. But it wasn’t for her you’d sing; it was for your grandma, the mother of your estranged father. She had lived with you and your mother for as long as you could remember, and it was she who had raised you when your alcoholic mother was incapable. She was the one who taught you how to ride a bicycle and who fed you hot soup when you were sick. She was a mother when your own could not be. So, comforted by the presence of your grandmother’s flowery scent and kind smile, you felt as though you could keep singing forever. But forever isn’t real, and there was nothing you could’ve done to disprove that. You lost her.

The emptiness you felt after your grandma’s passing was indescribable. Healing that kind of pain seemed hopeless; the scar could only deepen. And so it did because, as you watched your world crumble before you, you saw your mother continue to drink, continue to spit filthy jokes, and continue to pretend everything was alright. She didn’t know how to empathize with you because she had never known your grandmother the way you had; however, her cruel ignorance of your pain felt inexcusable. When she finally requested her favorite song, you couldn’t bear it anymore. So, you left.

But, despite all that your mother simply couldn’t understand, you knew deep down that she didn’t deserve this. You were all she had.

You open your eyes. And then you shut them so tightly you can see the millions of bright crimson suns radiating before you, tangled in an everlasting muddle. You want only to turn around and catch a train to anyplace but here. It’s the easiest choice—but it’s not what you came here to do. Opening your eyes once more, you allow your lost steps to gain direction. You already know the way, and before you know it, there it is, standing in front of you as though nothing has changed: home. It’s a small and plain sort of house. The front porch is fringed by overgrown shrubs and weeds, and you glimpse a bit of light hiding behind the small window shutters. Each step feels like a lifetime as you walk towards the front door, and, after hesitating for a moment, you knock and wait. Your heartbeat is drumming in your ears, but you feel disconnected from your body, as though you are not really here but instead watching yourself from afar.

Suddenly, you hear footsteps. The door opens, and your mother stands wearing a wrinkly button-down shirt and holding a bottle of whiskey. Her hair is matted and frizzy, and there are dark circles under her eyes. The bottle falls with a great crash onto the tiled floor, but your mother’s gaze remains unwavering as she stands frozen, staring at you. Her dark, amber eyes pierce your own. She tries in vain to smile, but instead, she breaks down, years of loneliness and regret streaming down her face as she falls to your feet. It hurts. It feels as though someone has taken your heart and clenched it so tight you can hardly breathe. You can’t think of anything else to do, so you fall beside her, hold her steady in your arms, and begin to sing.

Through The Eyes of Trypanophobia

Alma Shayit

There I was, uncomfortably sitting in that stiff plastic chair, shifting my weight from side to side. The nurse’s voice squeaked inside my brain: “It’s just a little pinch, it shouldn’t hurt..” I wasn’t too concerned about the pain for I was too busy trying to comprehend my surroundings.

I saw a little girl with long golden hair walking hand in hand with her fluffy teddy bear, dragging it across the floor. I watched her with patience as the nurse cleaned and sanitized my arm. I could feel the cold liquid rubbing onto my skin and couldn’t help but wonder if the little girl’s teddy bear felt the same freezing, chilly, December sickness while being dragged across the icy cold waiting room’s floor.

I tried my hardest to focus my attention on anything other than the present, yet my presence remained the centerpiece. I heard their voices overlapping;

Mom:“Honey it’s not a big deal.”

The nurse:”Just a tiny pinch.”

Mom:”You can do this- you’re fine.”

The needle touched my skin, it poked through, blood slowly left my body, and that’s when the cold chilly sickness gained a life of its own, overcoming my will to be.

Cold sweat ran down my cheek when I realized it’s happening again. On the verge of stumbling my feet started to shake as my heart accelerated to what seemed to be faster than the speed of light. Suddenly the world was closing in on me. Black. Black is all I saw when I heard their voices get louder and bigger while I grew smaller. Compressed into myself, I couldn’t seem to control even the tiniest of muscles. Desperate for air, I attempted a breath but it backfired right into my throat forcing a gag that choked any bit of oxygen I had left.

Nothingness came next. Blankness. I was in such a state; aware of my own existence yet completely numb towards anything in the world. I saw nothing, heard nothing, and felt nothing. As useless as my senses were, my mind didn’t seem to be in a better condition; I thought... nothing. Surprisingly, I came to like the peace and quiet of not being, and just existing. Floating within my own body, stuck in that calm vacancy, I remained still as time passed by.

Mom:”She gets like that every time”. It was extremely fuzzy, but I heard it. I heard it! Sick to my stomach, I did my best to stay still and avoid the crippling nothingness I was on the verge of getting back into. I gradually began regaining consciousness. I could feel my hands tingling as an overwhelming bright light quickly woke me back into reality. I could breathe again. My, did I miss the sweet taste of fresh air.

As I woke to the sound of my mother, slowly awakening my senses, I realized the plastic chair was gone and I was someplace else. I was no longer in the cold clinic room with the bright lights and plastic chairs, but in a different room; laying on a hard bed with what seemed to be a million nurses hovering over me. My mom beside them, holding my hand. Ironically, she had this amused silly smile wiped across her face, like she’d just witnessed the most ridiculously hilarious incident. Her light energy entertained me and arised my positive attitude.

About half an hour later, I was well enough to leave the clinic. Hand in hand with my mother, we slowly walked out of the room, and through the cold thin clinic halls. As we passed the waiting room on our way to exit, I saw the little girl again cozingly sitting on a gray couch. Her hair was as golden as I remembered, if not brighter, and her teddy bear laid along her side on the thick gray couch. She seemed happy, and he seemed warm. I felt at peace knowing he was no longer being dragged across the icy clinic’s floor, and was happy that this cold nightmare was over.