From: joshua@dmccorp.com (Joshua Lellis)
Subject: REPOST: Collected Stories
Date: Fri May 26 05:06:17 MET DST 1995

          Collected Short Stories and Poems

By Joshua Lellis




Silence
A Deadly Weapon
by Joshua Lellis
Copyright 1994 Joshua Lellis

   A dark light cast itself across the area between the gas tanks and the
store. I waited silently, by myself, in this dark area, breaking the
darkness only once by lighting a cigarette.
   Shit. I'd sweared I'd given up on them.
   But you can't give up. There's no giving up on anything. I puff on the
cigarette, cough, and look at it. The faint glow of the end smiles at me,
and I frown back. Imagine what this crap's doing to my lungs. I drop the
cigarette on the ground, and smush it. I took the pack and tried reading
the side. The latest S.G. warning.
   There's a woman in the store, buying booze. She doesn't have any
money. She doesn't look rich. The man behind the counter motions her to a
room in the back. She goes there.
   I light another cigarette, and wait. I wish there was a place I could
sit. It gets boring. I've been doing this for two nights in a row now.
Nothing's changed.
   She comes out crying, booze in hand. There's a new tear in her shirt,
above her right breast. She walks out of the door, towards her car. She
puts the booze down in the passenger seat, sits in the front.
   She cries for ten minutes, twenty maybe, I lose count after a light
goes out. Then the pop of a beer can, and a guzzle. She tries to drown
herself in the booze, end the problems that way.
   I walk towards the store, push the door, and enter. The man nods to
me, and I nod in return. I rest against the wall for half an hour,
staring him down. He finally asks me, "Got a problem, dick face?"
   I nod, pull the shotgun, and blow his face off. "That's for her."
   I walk towards the back room, quietly. There's a man sleeping in the
bed. I walk towards the closet, open it. There's a little girl, nine
years, bawling her eyes out in a dream. There are women's clothing on the
hangers. I pull off a nice looking dress, and plop it on the floor. I
wake the little one up, and tell her to get out. She runs.
   I took out my lighter and set the dress on fire, and then threw it at
the man. He stirs, jumps and cries out in pain. "What the fuck what the
fuck!"
   I aim the shotgun at him, and blow off a chunk of his leg. "Ahh, shit,
what the fuck!" he screams.
   There's movement somewhere, a back room to the back room maybe.
   "Did you enjoy what you've done, you sonuvabitch?"
   "What?" he yells back. "What do you mean what I've done?"
   I take off his other leg. He drops to his knees, and the blood rolls
over the floor. "Man, you know how much pain you're gonna be in soon?" he
asks me.
   "No. Please explain further."
   I fire into his abdomen. He doubles over onto his stomach, and his
butt rests on the back of his feet.
   "I'm gonna-- gonna-- ah fuck... -- take that gun, and I'm gonna shove
it up ya -- cough -- ya ass."
   I fire at his head, and pieces fly off the skull, chips.

   The sky bleeds blood at night when no one is awake and listening.
   Morning is the time for the imp to rest, and the midday ends the
   peacefulness when man realizes he will die.


Untitled

Last night the world ended
No one noticed
Everyone's dead
And no one cares
The world is gone
And life is over
The moon burns brightly
And the sun is drenched in blood
The screams of humanity call out to you
But your ignorance stops you from listening.

Untitled

Nobody listens when nobody cares
Nothing is lit when there is no light
Nobody walks where they are not wanted
The world ends when the last one gives
up hope
But when there is no hope to be distrubuted
how can one obtain hope in the first place
We are brainwashed to believe the others
And spoon fed to be addicted
When the hope is lost before it can be reasoned with in
The stream of life
There is a polluter
Calls himself authority
With a top hat and a dollar bill
He can ruin life with a phrase
And believes he can create the life that he has destroyed
once he commands it
The fish of the stream of life are begging for their gills to be reopened
While the frogs of the stream pay penance for their sins.



Mon Dieu
By Joshua Lellis
Copyright 1994 Joshua Lellis


"Glory be to the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, as it was in
the Beginning, now and always shall be, a world without end."


   I go to mass on Sunday. The Church hasn't changed since the highway
plowed through it, rendering the cathedrals as condemned buildings. There
were electronic cathedrals now, and family trips were being arranged. The
information superhighway had changed the ways people had began to view
the world, and people were angered at this.
   I was angered at this. I'd grown up with the American tradition
planted firmly planted in my mind: freedom, liberty, and war. It was an
oxy-moron, I know, but then again, I went to mass on Sunday. No one went
to real mass on Sunday anymore. People preferred the formal heresy of
going to the highway and attending mass there. The number of priests
needed had cut down, and costs were cheaper. So was this experience
better? I thought it was indifferent, the one time I tried it.
   It was raining when I stepped out of the car in the empty parking lot
and looked up at the light that greeted me with a smile. I pulled my
trench coat around my body, shivered slightly, and looked around the
parking lot. There wasn't a car here.
   I walked towards the Church, opened the doors, and stepped inside. An
elderly woman sat repeating prayers.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among
women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of
God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen."

   I sat in the back row, all non-highway Catholics did, and waited for
mass to start. An altar boy lit the candles on the altar, and shuffled
away for another chore. The Church was still dark, gloomy. Morose.
   The priest walked down the aisle, stopped at the altar, and bowed. He
walked behind the altar, kissed it, mumbling a prayer. He began the
opening prayer, and I stood, listening.
   "My, we have a crowd today don't we?" I muffled a laugh.

"Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come,
thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily
bread and forgive us our offenses, as we forgive those who offend us."

   I stepped out into the rain, and caught up with the Father before he
ran back to the residence. I stopped him in the downpour.
   "My Father." I said.
   "My Son." he responded.
   "Where are you going so fast?" I asked, curious.
   "The information highway has made a stop upon my door. I have a mass
to give, my Son. Forgive me. I must leave."
   I looked at myself. And the rain continued, the clouds sucking up the
sun, taking the light from it's rays.



Alone in a White Room with Jesus Christ
Non-Fiction
by Joshua Lellis

   I took a deep breath when we had arrived at the Vosswood, the -- how
do you put it? -- nursing home for old people. An old folks home,
basically.
   The van rolled to a stop and the person closest to the door pulled it
open, and we all slid out, breathing slowly. We'd been guarenteed
bowling, but this wasn't bowling.
   We waited in the lobby as our leader told an elderly receptionist that
we'd be visiting, and where should we visit?
   There are five levels at the Vosswood. The ground floor is the lobby,
and no one -- sorry, no old ones -- live there. The second, third, and
fifth house the elderly folks. And the fourth?
   The receptionist shook her head and mumbled a word. Our leader nodded
and we headed up to the second floor. He walked up to a receptionist
there, and spoke with her a moment. "Is there anyone on this floor we
should talk with?" he asked.
   "Yes, but remember to knock before you come into the room." And so we
split up into groups of two. Our leader sat down next to a woman smoking
a cigarette. Upon seeing him, out of fright, or out of respect, she put
out the cigarette and began to chat with him.
   And there was a door with a slight crack in it, so I walked up to the
door and looked inside. Six of our group were standing around an old
gentleman, who was smiling and shaking someone's hand. "It's not often
we have visitor's here." Then, upon seeing me, he said, "My, another one."
   I opened the door fully and entered. He turned back to the group.
"Where are y'all from?" he spoke in the perfect Texan accent.
   "Strake Jesuit College Prepatory." someone answered.
   "We're here to visit you." another continued.
   "Because we're on a religious retreat." a third finished.
   He'd been having trouble keeping up, and he looked at me now. "Jesuit?
What's a Jesuit?" he asked slowly.
   I noticed the Caution sign on the door and now I saw why. Hooked up to
the wall were two tubes, one that rested somewhere behind this man's
pillow, and the other leading somewhere else. The man's roommate was not
here.
   "A Jesuit is a priest. It's a religious order, Society of Jesus and such."
I, personally, have a priest by the name of Father Hypolite who teaches
me French. Strange fellows, the Jesuits.
   "Them." he said, almost as though he'd recognized the Order. "I think
I went to a Jesuit high school."
   I read the sign on his cabinet and took in a sigh. "Whoever is
responsible for caring for Mr. Kokas should remember to take out his
hearing aids and his batteries before he goes to sleep."
   By the time I'd read the sign, the visit was over and I was being
pushed out of the room by my fellow classmates. "Go. Go." was the
command. "Visit others."
   And I walked down the hall, and walked back down the hall, looking
into Mr. Kokas' room. He was sleeping, his arms behind his head and his
elbows pointing to the sky like some sort of odd praying session.
   I closed my eyes and looked up at a lamp. It was hanging from the
ceiling, a fake gold outside covering the light bulb on the inside. I
smirked at it and stared at the group of people wandering the hall.

   "Level two, three, and five are just fine. People on five might not
talk much, though." the receptionist answered.
   A heavy set woman added, "You wanna go down to four, you gonna get
fried. Four's them Alzheimer's people. You don't want to go down to those
Alzheimer's people." She grinned, adding, "Or maybe you do."
   The receptionist responded with:
   "Well, if you visit four, make sure no one's following you. And don't
get into the elevator if someone follows you."
   And I could see it now, our group running into the elevator with a
mass of Alzheimer's people, yelling to them the words:
   "Don't worry, everything will be fine. We're going to go home."
   And they'd nod, roll their heads off to one side, and question me
with, "Who are you?"

   And I saw a woman wearing a blue medical uniform, sitting on a big
chunk of concrete, smoking a cigarette and sighing. I leaned my forehead
against the glass and looked down at her. I could sense what she was
thinking. What we were all thinking. Maybe she was the one that cared for
Mr. Kokas. Maybe we are all the people that care for Mr. Kokas.

   And the candle flickered and the voice said again:
   "Relax and focus on the candle."

   Relax and focus on the candle.


A New Year's Resolution
by Joshua Lellis
Copyright 1994-1995 Joshua Lellis

   A new dawn approaches this small town on the eastern side of the
Rockies. It is cold. Very cold.
   I was blanketed in my covers, blinking my eyes and pushing the empty
bottle of champagne away from me. The many empty bottles, it seemed, as I
stood up, still clinging to the covers, a thick quilt warming my body.
A woman was standing on the balcony, covered in a blanket as well. She
was watching the sun as it came up over the horizon.
   I stifled a belch, made my way to the restroom first, then, a few
moments later, came out to her, and tried to remember the night before.
The words Happy New Year formed in my mind, and, hell, I must have said
that. She responded with the same, and I looked at her.
   There must have been a brief moment of peace in the world. The tube
had been turned off sometime last night, probably mid-bottle, probably
after Times Square had gotten tired, drunk, plastered, smashed, and left
their party for home, and the comforting place in front of the porcelin
goddess, otherwise known as the Throne of the Shit-Kings, but on this
occassion, once a year, it was the goddess of all over 21, or anyone with
six bucks in some places, for lack of a governing law that cared about
that anymore.
   In any case, the tube was off, and no news entered my mind, no news of
the outside world as I stood on this balcony with this woman with these
streamers above my head. There was snow on the ground below us, one floor
down. I'd gotten this house as a Christmas present seven years ago from a
rich uncle of mine, who, having never given anything to the family before
(winning the lottery, that is), decided to give everyone a house.
Flattered as one may seem, I decided upon this one, east of the Rockies,
and home to some of the best b-b-q outside of Texas. It was a nice little
house, a fireplace on the first floor, and two bedrooms, the master one
which had the balcony, and the bedroom downstairs.
   "Another one happened again." she murmered at first. Then she slammed
her fists down on the balcony's wooden rail. "goddammit." The blanket had
slipped off of her shoulder, and she caught it now, bringing it back up
to her neck. "goddammit..." She looked at me, and I kept the quilt I had
around my neck. "They'd promised no more attacks, especially not with the
new year coming around. First the anti protestors planted one, then the
pros planted another."


















                   They'd promised no more violence.







The Sun Of The Worlds
By Joshua Lellis
Copyright 1995 Joshua Lellis

   Mountains were ashes, nothing more. The explosion of the sun, our sun,
giver of life to everyone of us, had burnt them to a cinder. Burnt
everything to a cinder. Burnt me to a cinder.

   I was walking past a deli when I first saw it. It was a big flash of
bright light that filled the sky. I couldn't see anything except the
light, and then I felt the heat, the intense and pure white heat that
baked my skin.
   Then it died down and the sun seemed smaller.
   Don't look at the sun. Never look directly into the sun. That was what
mother always used to say. And I paid for it with the majority of my
sight, the glasses I was wearing. Brother used to joke about them being
the size of two liter coke bottles. You know, when you looked at the size
of the lenses.
   I ate carrots. Boy did I eat carrots. I ate so many carrots that I
hated carrots soon after. My sight, alas did not improve at all. Not to
my knowledge.
   There was yelling now. I couldn't hear what they were saying. Run
away, find shelter. Do something!
   Run.
   Don't look back.
   Run..
   Eyes forward, head up, keep going.
   Run...
   Ignore the pain. Ignore the pain.
   Run....
   Keep going. Shelter close. Keep going.
   Run.....
   Goddammit! Run!! RUN!
   RUN......
   I can make it. I can see shelter. I can make it.
   RUN.......
   Ignore the pain. Keep going.
   RUN!
   ...............
   RUN!!!
   ...........................
   Another flash of white light. White because white is good. White is
the color of security, of happiness, of purity. Wedding dresses are made
white. White, because white is misleading. White will make you believe it
is comforting. It eases the pain when you can't see anything. I prayed
for the dark. I had no time to pray.
   Keep going.
   Fires catching around me.
   Keep going.
   Just wanna stop.
   Keep going.
   Stop and die.
   Keep going.
   Don't wanna continue.
   Just wanna die.
   Just wanna die.

Anymore
By Joshua Lellis
Copyright 1995 Joshua Lellis

The time had come,
   they had said
to talk of many things,
   of hacking,
of pirates,                                                  5
   of cheating,
and things.
   Yes,
the time had come.

The familiar ringing                                         10
   in my ears
reminding me
   reminding me
of times before
   happier times                                             15
in which I'd sworn
   never to be back here
still the same
   until it hits me
and I smile..                                                20

Not worth repeating
   my brain tells me
not worth continuing
   it warns me
not like me to be here.                                      25

I don't belong here,
   neither do you.
We've done this so many
   times before you'd
think we'd had enough.                                       30

Enough of the virtual violence
   virtual hate
virtual reality, virtual
   peace... virtual
And everywhere I look                                        35
   it seems like there
is more people.. more hate?
   that log on, tune in
and pick at a habit,
   like children do                                          40
with a scab -- created by
   themselves... for themselves?
for the pleasure of picking away
   at their own skin
for the sight of blood                                       45
   oozing from the wound
like ketchup from a bottle
   slowly.. bringing out the pain...
the pain.... elongating pain...
   encouraging it...                                         50
like watching a traffic accident
   looking for the red stuff
and smiling.. pleased?.. smiling
   encouraing it.. aiding it...
wanting the scab.. for one reason                            55
   or another
to become a scar..
   an everlasting momento
a sign
   like gang grafitti on a wall                              60
or spilled food on the cafeteria
   floor, accidentally dropped?

happiness
by joshua lellis
Copyright 1995 Joshua Lellis

Did I ever tell you just how happy I was
that night on the beach when we'd walked along the shore
watching the lights of the city
watching the stars and the moons and wondered how awesome it was
  to be standing on this earth, created billions of years ago
  and for what purpose, to shelter a race of humans?
watching the waves as they came towards the shore
  overlapping one another like pepperoni slices on a piece of pizza
  and curling up one final time, in a grand finale of love
  of joy, of pleasure, of longing, of undescribable happiness
  and then dying, ending their short lives as they hit the shore
  enter the sand, nip at my feet, my cold toes, your cold toes
watching the last boats coming into dock
  fisherman on most of them, some happy, some sad,
  and we focused on the happy ones
  because we were happy and thought only of each other
  and the happiness around us that hugged us and loved us
  and promised us a home should there ever be a time of need
and watching each other
  you with your little quirks of noticing everything around us
  noticing me watching you, in love with everything you did,
  everything you said, every little movement, anything
  that you did, just being around you and seeing you smile at
  me, telling me this moment could last forever, forever and
  ever with no interruptions and just a feeling in my chest
  that pounded at my brain and told me I wanted to be here
  more than I wanted anything else in my life?
You promised me you'd love me till the end of the world
and that our souls would love each other in Heaven, or Hell,
  whichever place the other chose to go, or had to go,
but you were so angelic, you wouldn't dare consider going to Hell
  because you'd had the perfect life, you weren't rich, but you
  weren't poor, you were beautiful, you loved God for all that
  He gave you, for all that He gave us, and you were not demanding
  for material things, because you knew life was more then just that.
You promised me we'd be together forever and ever
and I believed in it
  like a monk believes in a Divine Image,
  worshipping God for what He'd given, a sneak preview of
  something mortals only dreamt of -- I dreamt of you --
and I wanted it so much to be true!
God knows I wanted it to be true,
and I'm sure I told you that I wanted it to be true.
Maybe I thought of you as a God,
  I know I thought of you as a reason to live.

So here I am, talking to you here and now,
  remembering all these events in my life
  looking back and smiling
  and recollecting the lost images
  of you entering my room late at night,
  when I was busy at work
  and you turned off the light
  put your index finger to your lips
  and whispered to be quiet.
I hate long goodbyes,
  they make me remember things I don't want to
  but maybe, just maybe, now that you have time to think,
  you'll remember the happiness of the beach
  and not your situation now...
  you have eternity to think,
  i have till the end of my life


hate
by joshua lellis
copyright 1995 joshua lellis

it all seemed so special
the times we shared
all seemed so dear and close
touching my heart and swearing
never to be more than an arm's reach away
to make it seem so sad now
to hate you and hate me
my life
my existance
myself
want to die


cyberpunk
by joshua lellis
copyright 1995 joshua lellis

couldn't fucking believe
when i cut myself shaving
and it was only a short time ago

and i couldn't believe
when i laughed
seems like a short time ago
with the same thing that scarred me
such a short day or two ago
doing something else

and laying in my bed
then turning over and crying into my arm
and wishing it was you here
instead of myself
anything would be better than me

and clutching my hair and pulling as hard as i could
while some strands did come out
and too many were left in

and turning my feet and kicking up
and rolling over
and almost onto the floor
ending up looking at the ceiling
and listening to the stereo
as it plays something
that i scream along to
and i wonder why i'm screaming
my voice is not that great
and my singing could use a lot of work
i could use a lot of work

and maybe they'll say i was quiet
and maybe they'll say i was quite
and maybe they'll say i was strange
but they won't say i was me
i wasn't me
and i didn't get a second chance


the shit
by joshua lellis
copyright 1995 joshua lellis

for cara


  the shit was stored in the back.
  kept cool at around negative three hundred degrees, the shit was frozen
solid. transportation costs and all that made sure that the shit had to
be frozen. crossing the climates was hard work, of course, and the
temperature changes demanded that the shit be cool enough so that it
didn't break open. if it did, who knew what the fuck would happen.
  the shit wasn't exactly something you wanted to break out. it was kept
that cold when they were transporting it, like right now, from the lab in
los angeles to it's final destination just outside of new york city.
  they were handling it dangerously if they were going to take it from
los angeles to new york. first, they shouldn't be taking it by truck,
because anything could happen along the way. shit, the truck could blow a
tire, and they had eighteen, and the entire truck would flip. it would
flip, and the truck would break open. the shit would be spilled out along
the highway, eventually it would defrost, and if there was a crack in it
from being handled incorrectly, or from someone who breathed on it wrong.
someone who breathed on it funny, someone that accidently let some part
of it loosen a bit, then what? it would get loose. it would do what it
was supposed to.
  second, there wasn't really enough to protect it. the shit, in itself,
was about the size of a broken pencil tip. doesn't sound like much, does
it? well, it isn't much. but there are about fourteen billion shits
inside that container, and each one of them programmed to do something.
all of them inside this one pencil tip that was designed back in the los
angeles lab. a couple of the doctors had decided they didn't want to take
part in the shit project, locked themselves in quarintine, and waited it
out until they died. you see, you didn't want to work on this shit
project.
  third, the shit was so contagious. it was, of course, programmed to be
that contagious. they had had a tough time deciding whether or not to
just keep it contained to direct blood-to-blood contact, or to have it
airborne. eventually they decided that the chip would make it so that
they could have it airborne, if they had an anti-gravity device on it.
but they couldn't shrink the device down that low without just operating
one big anti-gravity machine on it. that would lift the whole world, tear
it apart at its seams. it wouldn't work.
  so the shit was airborne. so they were traveling the shit to the lab in
a truck. the shit was about twenty miles from new york city, and they had
stopped on the road, at a rest stop, to get a couple of beers and then do
whatever.
  the shit was just sitting there. it wasn't melting. if it had melted,
everyone that had come in contact with it, handling it, would be dead.
not like they took the shit out of its container and dragged it along for
a walk. the shit stayed where it was, and whoever touched it needed to
put on a space suit and walk inside there.
  the shit, however, had already found a way to melt its way through the
large layer of ice that surrounded it. the container had burst, and the
shit was now making its way into the normal world. all the shit had to do
was to find some life forms.
   unfortunately, there was one way for the shit to travel off of the
truck, by itself. it would have to be in a particle of water as it went
through one of the cracks in the truck. that's how it made it off.
   they had gotten their beers and were driving again, the driver, of
course, not drinking anything. well, he didn't drink the entire beer.
   the shit stayed at the rest stop, crystallized.
   someone has yet to pick it up.

Love
a poem in so many lines
by joshua lellis
copyright 1995 joshua lellis

Pondering thought
Differences in location
Same in thought
Minds practically intertwined
Things we shouldn't do
Pleasureable things we shouldn't do
Staying up late talking
Learning each others secrets
And promising love forever.
Shit happens to good people, I guess.


Responsive Reaction
by Joshua Lellis
Copyright 1995 Joshua Lellis

   You don't tell anyone, you're so scared out of your mind.
   That and it seems to be a rule when they start off.
"1. Don't tell anyone.
"2. Don't scream.
"3. Don't do anything that I don't tell you to, and obey everything I
tell you to."
   And you'll follow what they say, too, because:
"I love you."
   And looking back on it now, sitting here, I feel sorry for the guy who
bothered to even think he could get away with it.
   Most of the time they did get away with it. It's every now and then,
with fuck-ups like myself, that they don't get what they want.
   And you'll have to understand *my* point of view. I mean, come on, I
*couldn't* just turn him into the police. They'd never believe me...
I...
   We'd first met in a comp store. I'd seen him before, and I was looking
through holo-video games and such. ("drooling over the drool" as mother
called it.)
   Tall, slender man, black trenchcoat, black pants, white collar shirt.
And an innocent smile.
   I should've recognized him then for what he was, but..
   "My name is Mr. Fredrick. My.. young.. friends call me Freddie." he
said, turning behind me (to block any exits).
   "Joey. My friend's call me that, too. It's my name."
   "It's nice to meet you, Joey."
   How old was I? Ten. Eleven, maybe.
   "Yeah."
   "So what brings you here, Joey? Looking for a holo?"
   I shook my head, and turned to look at him.
   Damn, he was tall.
   "Nah, I'm just looking around."
   Freddie smiled, looking down at me. "Found anything you like?"
   I shook my head.
   "You know, I have a holo in my car that I've been.. waiting to show
someone just like you."
   I'd been waiting to show him something, too, but I'd kept it inside
all these years.
   What had lasted as a relationship from that point on, ten years of age
then, twenty now, had turned into a sort of psychological warfare.
   He fucked with my mind, I fucked with his.
   He was better at fucking with my mind.
   And now, sitting here, shooting a rubber band against the wall. Now
spitting. Now kicking. Now crying, head in hands and knees spread. So
young and so innocent... now a wasted life?
   Not wasted, just used.
   Arms moving, now, resting on the carpet in front of me. Toying with
the rubber band. Flinging it across the room and hitting the phone book.
   Antiques.
   And then swimming through number after number, ad after ad, scratching
my way through it.

In Peace And War, We Are Just As Violent As The Rest.

   Finally finding a store that could let me borrow what I wanted.
   Christ, I'm twenty now. How much longer do I have until Freddie's left
here? (how much longer do I have for revenge?)

   To fire, the trigger is pulled back with the left hand and held back
with the thumb of the right hand. The gun is then aimed and the thumb
releases the trigger and the thing actually fires.

   Taking the rubber band and pulling it back across the nails.
   Walking up the house walkway to the doorway and knocking.
   "Come out come out come out to play."

   Damn, I'm ugly.

   To the basement and back down where he was sleeping, arm around a
thirteen year old girl. She has a black eye on the right side, and her
lip is cut. She's been crying, the make-up he put on her has been running
down her face. Her lipstick is smeared for one reason or another, and
she's been through more shit today than anyone should *ever* have to go
through. Especially with this bastard.
   I want to take her by the arm and get her the fuck out of here.
   She's pretty, considering. She's rather well developed, a lovely
specimen of the human species. But now ... ?
   Will she go on? Can she?

  CAN I???

   Brushing my hair back from my eyes and aiming at his head... and
reconsidering. Pulling the blanket back from the mattress and throwing it
aside. Taking the nude thirteen year old by the arm and moving her aside.
Throwing her a towel to keep her embarassment down.
   She is not embarassed. She's gotten past that stage of this. All she
does is cry and watch me.
   He's naked, too. It's funny, now that I think about it. Naked people
are supposed to be weak. If you're naked, they have power over you.
   I guess you could say she hides like Eve behind a bush in the Garden
of Eden. But this isn't the Garden of Eden. This is the Cain and Abel
story. Except this time, Abel's back from the dead, pissed, and has a
gun. A big fucking gun.
   And Abel's got ten long years of pain and hate and memories, all of
which are going to be here for the rest of his life. Each time something
happens. Every kiss, every hug. All of it, triggering memories.
   Can he even have a normal relationship anymore?
   Does he want one?
   I can remember a time when I loved. It was a spring day and we had
taken a family vacation to Wyoming. Only place that wasn't really
populated like the big cities, New York, Seattle, Los Angeles, Tokyo.
It was beautiful.
   I loved it.
   It was raw. There were no strings attached. It was: this is beauty. It
was plain. It was simple. It didn't demand anything and you didn't have
to give it anything.
   Come here, Cain, I want to kill you.
   I figure I only have one shot with my gun, so I'm not going to waste
it just yet. I want him to suffer. I want him to suffer everything I
suffered and more.
   I look over at the girl, who is shivering. "You don't have to watch
if you don't want to." I whisper to her.
   She shakes her head, and whisper back, "I want to watch him suffer."
   And then on top of him, the barrel of the shotgun coming down in his
pelvic region, and a scream. He lunges forward, I kick him in the mouth.
He falls back against the ground and shudders.
   And I put my foot to his neck and aim the gun at his head. I watch him
squirm and I hear crying behind me. I turn around, keeping the foot on
his neck, and I see the girl, knife in hand, cutting.
   And pain as he loses what had caused myself and that child next to me
so much grief.
   He's spitting up blood and she comes around next to him and shoves it
down his throat. The look on his face haunts me.
   His eyes widen, and I aim the gun one last time at his face.


This Was The Place Where I Was Born
by Joshua Lellis
Copyright 1995 Joshua Lellis

   "This was the place where I was born," he said, spreading his arms
wide as to glorify the spot. "In but this tiny little spot my mother gave
birth to me without drugs or any such artificial mixtures. I was a
healthy child, and from birth, I was a genius." He smiled slightly, yet
looking back up at him, I couldn't tell it was a smile, it looked so much
more like an expression of indifference. "Cursed with genius, no? Tis
sad, but true, that I was born of such poor blood in such a rural area.
Here we are, on a precipice of the new world that will guide us to
another area, yet, this was the place where i was born, and for that it
demands a sense of reverence. The mountains in the background and the
short drop here. There," he said, pointing. "was where the car was
parked, and there was where my father stood. We'd let the birth be
handled by a cybosurgeon, of course, as was normal in those days. These
days.. These days they load up the woman with drugs and pain killers, so
that it doesn't "hurt" or "endanger" her any. Poor women in the Urban
Jungle are getting knocked up just so that they can have the experience
of the ultimate drug trip, giving birth. I don't remember a time when
bearing children was so common and unnoticeable as for people to not care
about the power of life.
   "No, life means nothing in this Urban Jungle that used to be known as
America, land of the free, home of the brave. Justice for all died out in
the nineteenth century, and anarchists that claimed to be free thinkers
started trying to run the world, telling people to think for themselves
while subliminally *screaming* for people to follow their rule. And
freaks running around with long hair and looking for their next home."
That was a reference to myself, as my hair came down to the my shoulders.
"This, this was the place where I was born! This is my home! This is and
always will be my home." He took a step towards the cliff, scratching his
bald head. Softer now, "This was the place where I was born..." and even
softer, "this is the place where I will die.."
   I blinked, keeping my eyes closed for as long as possible. "And you
intend to take me with you?" I asked.
   He shook his ugly bald head and looked back at me. "No. It would be
such a waste of human life to take you with me. Where I'm going... I'm
going to paradise. You cannot follow me there. You are doomed to stay
here and live in this shit-world forever and ever, til the day that you
die and are sent to hell." Back to the cliff, another step closer. "You,
Joshua, where here to write this all down. To tell the world what will
and very soon has happened to me."
   Another step and without a word, over the precipice and to the bottom
and the end of what was a genius, or a madman, who never quite understood
the world.



d.n.a.
1
by joshua lellis
copyright 1995 joshua lellis

file://journal entries

break://1

description://this is a journal about the biomedical research at the
              university of maryland, fifteenth of may, two thousand
              thirty-five, and the following days after those.
              the project is explained in the first journal entry,
              fifteenth of may, two thousand thirty-five.

entry://5/15/35: cloudy, warm, high 83, low 60.

i have been hired by the biomedical research facility here, at the
university of maryland, to record the events that occur in and around the
current biomedical research project. the university has received funds
from the united states government to carry out this project, and
hopefully, come to a conclusion about the ability of genetic
mutation/editing, carried out by humans. the project has, as of yet,
involved only research into the past of biomedical genetic engineering,
such as early twenty-first century discoveries, occurring in the years
two thousand twenty, two thousand twenty-five, and two thousand thirty.
these are, of course, the experiments that ended up killing twelve human
lives, six americans, three japenese, and three english. the
experiments were attempts to altar the dna in humans, as to stop
diseases caused by gene linkage. there are only a small number of these
diseases in existance today, since many of them stopped the reproduction
of the human species, the reproductive organs either unable to work, or
not present.
the americans had rights, of course, so they weren't really reported.
these lines will be deleted from the final report, if it even ever gets
out.
the biological experiment that this team was working on right now was a
genetically linked disease. the disease involved underdeveloped body
parts, and eventually death. the brain could only take so much
information. cells would not reproduce. the person would be a walking
mass of dna, really, and would die.
the scientists had not really studied this disease before, so it seemed
unique. geno-fibrous breakdown was what it was nicknamed right now.
genetic research, as it is now, is rather low tech, compared to the rest
of the world. the same equipment being used now was being used fourty,
fifty, maybe sixty years ago. and we hadn't made all too much progress.
the united states government, therefore, wishes for me to record any and
all things that might, in some way, aid to the advancing research in
genetic engineering (if you ask me, this is a hopeless cause).
the scientists here at university of maryland work many long hours in
this lab, and even more hours in their offices, writing papers and
reports such as this one. i'm not a scientist, by any means. i am
probably the least informed out there when they start talking dna, but
i'm not stupid, and i can remember.
when i arrived, the experiments had not yet begun, and the scientists
were spending time in the university's library, reading through
holo-disks of research papers on genetic information, research papers
like this one, that informed them about everything and anything you want
to know about genetic engineering, and more. (they took notes).
the genetic engineering industry involves the changing of sugar bases and
such, to alter the dna and hopefully fix whatever problems there are. or
the scientists could take their tools and cut off part of the dna link,
the extra part(s) which probably caused the disease in the first place.
the experiments would begin in a few days. the first couple of
experiments would be tests on (human) guinea pigs which carried the
genetic disorder. scientists would try to splice the dna, isolate the
parts that were the disease, and hopefully splice the dna back together,
moins disease, to get the disease out of the system.
i believe that scientists neglected to think about what might happen if
the (human) guinea pigs did not go back to "normal" human functions, and
continue to grow. if the cells did not divide, the body would die.
even worse, if the guinea pigs bleed during removal of dna, they might
not clot up, in which case, they'd die.
geno-fibrous breakdown does not make an appearance until later in life,
around the age of twenty seven. at around this time, the body either
stops reproducing cells, or goes braindead, or starts to shrink. all
three end up in death. braindead is the quickest, of course.
my assignment was to record everything i see as this moves along, and
that is what i am doing. i have yet to meet anyone except the head
scientist here, doctor ned dorsmon.
he is a good man. he's going back in the years, i think he's fifty
something right now, maybe sixty. he knows his stuff, though, as he
guessed my age right off, and a couple of my quirks, like my favorite
colour. he picked red, he was right.
thank god he didn't start analyzing everything (which i'm sure he could),
or he would have gone on and on about my thirst for blood. if that was
true, i would have become a surgeon, not a recruit for the army, then
after i finished my term, a roaming freelance writer/researcher.
i wasn't exactly qualified for this job. while being introduced to doctor
dorsmon, my eyes kept on wondering away from me towards the female
specimens at this facility. some young college girls caught my attention,
and, to say the least, i hardly heard a word doctor dorsmon was saying. i
had my eyes planted on them. they were beautiful, and from the looks of
what they were doing, they were smart, too. i think they were smarter
than me, and one of them caught me staring, and just smiled. i smiled
back, nervously, and turned my attention back to doctor dorsman.
i'm going to go rest now, and i will be back to enter my next journal
whenever something happens. i imagine this project is going to be boring,
yet i know not what may happen. hopefuly one of the young college girls
will talk with me. maybe they're going to be working next to me as i
record everything i see. i don't know.



--
when you peel back my eyes i see the pain and feel alive my hatred heaps upon
this fire that burns inside and you blow higher but i don't need you anymore
you cannot hurt me anymore keep it away from the fire unless you want it to
burn it burns wildfire set on fire you caught on fire and when you take me
in your mind into this dirty sodden shrine i do not need you anymore you
cannot hurt me anymore -- kmfdm "ultra" -- joshua@client.dmccorp.com
joshua lellis -- jacob latter -- stauf (@ 204.156.18.1 5000)