Perpetual Interference
"Insanity and Chaos go hand in hand," The lab coat clad scientist said, holding out first one hand, then the other with the words, "And together they create Destruction." With the word destruction his hands parted, almost as if blown apart, cued by some terrible force. Now, he began pacing back and forth, a frenzy of thoughts, spewing forth from a mouth and tongue backed by the fervor of a madman. "And what does Destruction bring?" His pacing stopped momentarily as he turned,one eyebrow raised high, demanding an answer. I didn't get to release the merest utterance however, for at the first movement of my lips he resumed his circuit. "CREATION! Destruction is nothing more than the seed of Creation!" His arms shot into the air as if in exasperation. This, combined with his non stop, break neck pacing speed and his lab coat's tail fluttering behind him, truly gave him the look of a mad scientist. The man continued his rant, talking more to himself now, his audience almost completely forgotten.
"And Creation gives humankind Hope and Purpose, the two most vital emotions for survival. So when you really delve into the matter at hand, and think about it in a logical manner, I am in essence, the ultimate Good! Rivaled not even by GOD!" Here, he stopped and waved his hands at the Heavens, taunting God to strike him down for his Blasphemy, but no Smiting came. After a few moments, his hands fell limply to his sides and he turned to me, once again catching my gaze with his fevered eyes. "Do you see? Do you understand? I do this not for me! I do this for humankind!" With that, he turned to the computer console behind him and typed in a single command, unleashing the doom of mankind in the form of several rockets carrying a doomsday disease.
"You sir, are insane..." I said, then dashed to the table across the room. Among the papers and vials, there was a revolver holding one bullet, no doubt intended for his suicide. I decided however, that he would suffer at the hands of his "Creation" and used it on myself instead.
I suppose I should explain a bit. You see, I understand that is is not how a story usually begins. Or rather it does, with death, I mean. Because what is a good story without death? This is no children's book. This is something else entirely. This is the thing nightmares are made of. What science fiction novels tirelessly pursue, but never seem to get right. What people fear...
There I go, prattling on again. Let me get back to what is at hand. My story. You see, this really is the beginning. It begins with my death, and the death of billions of innocent people. But... well, let me just tell the story. That would be easier I think.
I fell. Forever. An eternity stretched to a maddening length, until it seemed time was but a string, frayed and hanging on by a single thread. I seem to remember having conversations. Whether they were with myself or with others, I couldn't honestly say. And memories. They flooded in at regular intervals, a barrage of mistakes and triumphs in equal measure. Was this hell? Limbo, perhaps. No way of knowing. I don't seem to remember speaking to Satan, or God. Though looking at it now, it's entirely possible.
What I do vividly remember however, was one of the memories. I stood on a bridge, in a pouring rain, a piece of paper clutched in one of my hands. The writing was blurred beyond recognition by the rain, and I was enveloped in an overwhelming sense of loss and sadness. Why, I can't for the life of me remember. Also, I'll admit, I may have been crying, but if you would have stood next to me that day and asked if I was, I feel with certainty that I would have denied it, blaming it instead on the rain.
Why that memory sticks with me, I now know, but that's further into the story and I would hate to spoil things for you.
It was shortly after that memory that I awoke.
The room was foreign to me. Inspecting it, I found that it quite clashed with my personal tastes. I like black. A simple color that went well with everything. This room was decidedly un-black. The curtains were a deep blue, stretched from ceiling to floor, and looked to be made of a very thick material, most likely suede. I did not care much for suede. The walls were a light powder blue, accented with white swirls that looked to be painted on with a fine brush.
I rolled quietly off the bed and to my feet, a thick shag carpet greeting my chilled feet and toes. The carpet, like the rest of the room, was blue. A deep royal blue, that I almost liked, simply becuase it was nearly black.
Next, I took stock of my attire, and belongings held there-in. I wore black slacks and thin black socks, likely the reason my feet had been so cold. For a top, I sported a white button up with a breast pocket on the left side, that was halfway buttoned and partially tucked. In seconds, the shirt was tucked and rightfully buttoned. The breast pocket contained a notebook. It was of no help however, as all the pages were completely blank. I returned it to the pocket and checked the contents of the slacks. A pen, a lighter, and an identification card were all that my search revealed.
The pen and lighter held no interest for me and so they were quickly stowed away where they had been found while I inspected the I.D. A man stared at me from the card. His eyes were a plain brown, set beneath arched eyebrows. The eyebrows held an angle that, when seen with the slightly downturned corners of the mouth, gave the impression of anger or mild disapproval. His hair was a dark brown, that could easily be mistaken for black, was medium length, and was not combed, but rather left to lay flat whichever way it fell. A slightly upturned nose sat in the middle of his face, and had a slight bend in the bridge. A square jawline that was partially obscured by a neatly trimmed and obviously maintained gotee finished of the picture.
All of this was nothing new to me as it was my face I looked at, the same one I had been looking at for as long as I could remember. The reason the card held my attention so long, was because the name was not mine.
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