The Truth

“So you see it now? Can you? It’s so simple when you think about it, it’s the true meaning, the reason for everything; don’t analyze it, it’s not meant to be analysed. It is sacred and not for everyone you know. Some will never see it…well they will never know; will never find it, never obtain the truth. What is the truth? I know and the truth is terrifying beyond anything that you can imagine; picture the most euphoric and twist it in on itself; the most horrifying. It doesn’t even come close.”
….
Tuesday 5th June 2040
Saul flicked the pages of the newspaper, a look of boredom across his face. How he longed to turn the pages of old, in the time when his fingers would have been blackened by the ink fresh from the printer’s press. Instead he skimmed the pages displayed before him in mid air, a perfect crystal clear sheet of text yet he could run his hand right through the middle and not break the code. Virtual reality they used to call it when he was a boy, so far from reality and yet here he was 25 years on and living in this insane world of technological dictatorship; a world where the only ‘trusted’ source of accurate information was intravenously delivered via a data feed. He leaped up with violent force and roundhouse kicked the pages, “Fuck you.” Saul was alone; he was always alone fighting a one-man, one-sided war partly with the source and partly with himself…his life would have been a far easier ride if he had complied and allowed himself to be a vehicle; driven by the system to which the human race now seemed to be slaves. The irony? That they didn’t even know; that they considered this normal. A human race of clones, no religion, no beliefs, no fighting, no passion. Nothing. Yet nothing was everything.
Anger was a pointless emotion; he knew that yet Saul was anger personified. He ripped the visor from his face, sickened by the shallow news. News was politics and discussion and conflict, war and hate; passion and love. He wondered if anyone remembered the truth; if there was one other person who would join him on his quest. Popping a pill he pondered this thought as he did a million times every day and then pushed it aside, for now at least. It was time for him to leave; there was work to be done and his work was vital, not to anyone else but to him; it kept him sane, it gave him purpose and meaning. He had no intention of resting for in his mind if he took his eyes off the ball for one second it would be over. 
“Open door.” Nothing. “Open door,” still nothing. “Open the God damn motherfucking door!” He kicked at the door to his apartment, anger raging through his veins like a freight train. If the door had a handle he would have been out minutes ago but instead, as with everything else, the door was controlled by the source. “I can’t even open my own front door without their permission. OPEN DOOR!” With that the door slid open, he stepped outside and it closed behind him with a robotic voice saying, “have a nice day now.”  
“Fuck you,” he replied.
Saul was tired and worn; it showed in his eyes, once sparkling and blue they now reflected sadness and gritty determination, his youth fading and the passing of time with its leaded hands had shaded his face; yet the handsome man was still visible beneath the heavy dark circles and drawn mouth. He took a long drag on his cigarette; his only joy in life, he knew it was bad for his health and had intentions to give it up someday. He enjoyed his vices though; he enjoyed the rebellious streak. He had started the habit as a kid, at school; always the rebel. His peers aspired to be him; with his balls and blessed good looks he was the shining stone to their magpie. He was the one who had the girl first, the first proper kiss (with tongues), got head for the first time, tried drugs first. He had that daredevil nature and constantly tested himself to see how much further he could go and with coke, and later H inside of him he was invincible even more so than usual; he could take on the world and win and now years on that is exactly what he intended to do.
Leaving the high gates of his apartment complex he took a cursory glance back; the camera swivelled and focused on him, he could see behind the lens a face; his father Frank. He reached down and picked up a large stone from the path and threw it. “Bull’s-eye!” he hit the lens smack in the middle and made a hairline crack in the glass. This satisfied him a little, getting one up on him. Frank was a good man, before he was brainwashed. A proud and loyal husband and Father who gave him everything he could afford and more. Saul felt that familiar feeling as he thought of him, a sense of pride in his chest, the feeling growing until his chest was full like a water-filled balloon on the verge of exploding; the swell of pride began to morph until he could feel it begin to move; the familiar butterfly in his tummy. He tried to catch his breath, “relax, Saul, relax.” It was no good, he knew it was coming; it was already there. 
Stumbling toward a patch of grass he fell to his knees as he waited for it to come. The sensations increased in velocity and the hiss was audible, he felt the forked tongue flicking against the insides of his gullet. Eyes brimming with bloodied tears he lay on his back knowing it would grow rapidly and would make walking impossible. The reverb from the hiss shook him to the core as his intestines inflated to accommodate the anaconda inside, the snake began to travel in both directions growing away from itself and into him as it writhed its way through his tubes, seemingly reaching every crevice in his body. He screamed inwardly, passers by who glanced at him and scurried away with fear in their eyes and looks of pure distaste. The pythonic mass moved its way up his windpipe, choking him now; he began to gag as the tail wormed its way to the back of his throat and he opened his mouth wide. The tail was visible at the back of his mouth, thrashing around and leeching his air. He wretched and vomited noisily for several minutes. Passing faces grimacing as they hurried past.
Exhausted he came to on his hands and knees panting, surrounded by vomit. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and gathered himself. It was over. He knew that was it for now, he had got to know it’s routine; it seemed to get pleasure from taking him close to the edge. Aware that he had no control over this as it was far stronger than he was, he sat a while in the morning sun and allowed the rays to bathe his pale face. Closing his eyes he drifted…
“I love you twelve.”
“I love you thirteen.” Smiling he reached out to stroke her cheek, “my beautiful girl, my moonshine.” Indeed she was. Romney was beautiful, a little like a pixie with cropped hair as black as the night and piercing green eyes. She poked her tongue out, teasing him. He watched her, he watched her a lot. Romney leaped from the bed, her silk pants raised to expose a cheek. He instantly became hard. She always had that effect. He watched her jog towards the kitchen and she giggled, “Stop looking at my ass.” 
He pulled an indignant face, “What me?” They both laughed as she walked back in carrying two cups of coffee. He took the cups from her and grabbed her by the ankle. She screamed in a dramatic manner, “Help, help I am being molested!” He laughed at her; she always made him laugh. He pulled her down beside him and she fell next to him on the bed. Their smiles dissipated as they lay staring at each other. He began to stroke her arm, gently tracing his finger tips along her velvety skin, and she sighed and leaned forward, her lips soft and damp. He kissed her mouth and they both groaned a little. “I love you twelve,” he whispered. “I love you thirteen,” she whispered back. Their lips connected softly, she ran her tongue across the inside of his mouth and bit his lower lip slightly as she pulled away, their mouths meeting with increasing passion. His hands traced the curves of her body, reaching down his hand probed her wetness and she gasped. His fingers seeking out the spot he knew so well, his fingers moved slowly, gently, and the moisture increased. Pulling away from her kisses his lips traced a path, his touch like fire on her body. He kissed her neck, her breasts, he licked slowly as she writhed beneath him. He smelled her sweet scent as he deftly replaced his tongue where his fingers had been. Romney was lost in a world where nothing mattered. He tasted her as she flowed freely into his mouth; spreading her legs a little wider he inserted a finger whilst still eating her, his cock aching and he couldn’t hold back. In a swift movement he turned her over, his fingers still inside of her wet pussy. Lowering himself he pushed himself deep inside; she was tight and he was past the point of control. He slid his cock into her as she gripped herself around him, thrusting harder and feeling her tense her muscles was too much to bear. Harder he plunged into her, he could sense she was close too as her pussy contracted and her groans were louder as she descended into orgasm. His cock twitched and he felt himself coming, “Oh my god,” he grunted as he reached climax. Rolling onto his back Romney nestled into his neck, her soft languid kisses on his skin and the rise and fall of her breath were hypnotising, and they drifted into a deep sleep.
Saul came to on the grass, woken by water dripping onto his face and the stench of his own insides invading his nostrils. His head throbbed and his mouth was cracked and dry. He just sat and stared at nothing, going over the dream he had just had, his beautiful girl snatched away from him too soon. They had had plans and dreams, a future. She was his future and now she was gone; all he had was his quest and he dreamed that when he found ‘it’ he may find her, too. He felt sure that they would have kept her, she was too beautiful, too precious. He just hoped that they could see it too; or maybe he didn’t. “You bastards,” he screamed, pounding at the floor with his fists, blood dripped from the side of his finger. He pulled a splinter from the inside of his nail bed. A splinter? His momentary contemplation and bewilderment of being pierced by a splinter on the soft grass brought him back to his senses. He drew himself up, stilling a moment to gain composure before walking to the water fountain, each step resounding through his aching skull like a jackhammer; he popped a pill, splashed his face; and so his day began.
Saul worked at a local garden centre, ‘Mac’s Garden, we hoe, you go’.He loved the routine and sense of purpose it gave him, but he hated the fact that in effect all he was selling were computer generated images; he would give anything to rub fresh lavender and inhale the scent. He hated the faceless customers in their generic five seater electrics, the ones with the fake smiles, the ones who didn’t even bother to fake and the ones who were just out and out assholes. His boss was a fifty-something woman, probably never been shagged in her life he had decided. June was a stocky build with a rogue patch of facial hair that he was convinced grew before his very eyes at times. In fact a lot of things happened before his very eyes; things that he would not dare to tell another soul. He disliked June; she was nosey and always wanted to know how he was. Why? She didn’t give a shit. He determined her reasoning for questioning was the need to obtain insight to his mind in order that the source may gain entry. When June asked him in her saccharin tone, “How are you feeling today, my dear?” He replied with the same answer he always gave, “Still breathing.” June would sigh and return to her work, an affected look of concern across her fat hairy face.
He returned to his duties. It was hot in the greenhouse, the summer sun bearing down on the glass; he could see no purpose in a greenhouse where nothing was real anyway. He rolled up his sleeves and quickly yanked them down again. “No, no, no, no.” A customer looked at him and tutted, shaking her head. Assimilated, the lot of them, he was surrounded by them; it seemed everyone was crowding around him and the oppressive heat and the lurch of human faces was tipping him. He lifted his sleeve; it was too late, he could see it just beneath the surface of his skin, he could even make out the legs, he counted them, eight. His heartbeat exploded; an ear-splitting pounding and whooshing of blood mixed with the stentorian voices of the crowd tipping him to the point of lunacy. He ripped at his shirt, tearing it from his body, one leg at first travelled up his arm and across to his chest at speed and seemed to wrap itself around his chest, constricting and pumping it at life-threatening speed. He could hear June’s voice but was impervious to it; he tried to focus on her familiar tone which seemed strangely seraphic to him now but it was impossible. The bulbous body lurched forward, dragging its seven remaining legs with it, each joint on its leg felt like barbed wire as it dug a channel into each vein it conquered. A second leg grew now, traversing his thigh and advancing toward his scrotum and anus. He screamed as he felt it break the skin on his perineum and plunge into his darkness, the shaft of the leg course and determined as it drilled into him. His stomach lurched as he defecated and projectile vomited, “GET THE HELL OUT OF ME!”
Thursday 30th June 2011
“How is he?” Doctor Peter’s voice echoed as he walked up the stairs. Romney and Frank stood at the door, bleak looks across their faces. “Not good doctor, how much longer can we expect this to go on?”
“He’s over the worst of it. I know it’s hard to believe but he has come a long way and this torment is an inevitable part of the process. His body is dispelling years of poison; years of memories, of horror and paranoia. Can I go in to see him now?” Romney and Frank nodded in unison.
Doctor Peters unlocked the bolts to the door and removed the padlock. He had been in every day to administer medication to Saul yet he knew he would recall nothing of his visits; he was clearly hallucinating for much of the time. The stench hit Dr Peters and he held his handkerchief to his face. Saul lay on the bed, the soiled sheets damp against his skin. Romney rushed in and dutifully changed them, carefully picking her way through the mess she didn’t want Saul to see. “My darling,” she brushed his hair with her fingers; it was wet to the touch. “Not long now, my angel, it will be worth it. We are only doing this because we love you, please always know that.” She never got a response. She turned to leave the room to fetch clean sheets when she heard it; a faint whisper. “I love you twelve.”
1st January 2012
“So you see? It’s so simple when you think about it, it’s the true meaning, the reason for everything; don’t analyze it, it’s not meant to be analysed. It is evil and not for everyone you know. Some will never see it…well they are the lucky ones, they will never know; will never have to see it. I chose my own path; I know and the truth is terrifying beyond anything that you can imagine; picture the most euphoric and twist it in on itself; the most horrifying. It doesn’t even come close, this is my truth and that is my past, and this is my future.”