The one with a heavy heart|
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- There was not a single suicide in forty years. It can seem like a petty time gap... But let us try and imagine it again: not-a-single-suicide. In forty years. Not a single person feeling that desperate, hopeless, and dire to confront themselves violently and to cease their existence for the eternity and beyond. And people followed each other; they decided to conclude that suicide is conceptually a moral degeneracy, - he gazed into the monitor. - We changed people's hearts. Instead of letting them sink, we raised them to the surface and forced them into floating just like lily flowers. We saved them.
Hand lowering the gun.
- Do you understand, miss Tennek, how important that is for us? - pause. - Them.
Night tainted hair strands waved in agreement.
- Do you think we are not aware of your relationship with that Misanthrope?
A contrast lacking photograph in the monitor; a bridge with two figures, Cail and Alice.
- An oddity right in front of your nose, and you do nothing! - his face shifted; he was almost hissing. - Just like you did not inform us about the Wanderer! It is utterly unforgivable, Tennek.
- Sorry to disappoint.
A loud sigh.
- You are fired from the MAO bureau. You will never have any affairs with this branch, and you will never return to any media outlets, including television.
- You... You are firing me? - her lips childishly protruding.
- Just like that?
- Oh, please, - he smiled unnaturally. - Just don't tell me you will miss that silly show of yours about travels. Just look at what evil motives it stirred upon particular persons like that Wanderer. If not for your show, he would safely barricade himself in his snail shell until the end of perpetuity. Of course... All is harder due to your utterly despicable narcissistic greed to demonstrate your beautiful little face everywhere and all the time.
Alice gazing into the floor, void.
- That is not all, however.
- Ah? - she gazed into the man, now walking in circles.
He licked his lips.
- You are moved to another bureau. The executive branch.
The man stroked his chin and grinned.
- First job in. Eliminate Cail Spenser.
Marble falling into the ground, shattered. The figure stopped drowning and is now foolishly waving on the land that is the apartment's floor. Cail lying next to Hazel's left over marble suitcase, stretching his hands, toying around with the water spilled.
- Drowning and not even capable of waving.
The world demands drowning. Is this world not already the ebony Oceania meant for a final doomsday? Merely because no one is annihilating themselves, it does not mean they do not desire death. People, bleak and blank and speechless cogs made for the techno-scientific evolution. They do not care whether they live, but they dutifully check their health once every three months. And they gasp - they gasp when their tooth is being pulled, when their wounds are being tended, when they break a limb. They look at the widescreen monitors and fatalistically give away their lives to politicians that are now called demigods as that is their new morality. But one thing that has never ceased to exist within them was empathy. They still feel - all too much, all too human. And the ruling party does not object that, au contraire, it encourages it. Because any faith requires tenderness, even if it is so brutal and impertinently murderous. But - a-ta-ta - a disorder within you? A cognitive or emotional malfunction? Stop the conveyer, friends. Let God weep for he has created a fallible copy of himself. No. This world is too poor to be worthy of drowning, Hazel. It is a lot better to get into the water to your knees into the ocean of Valhalla and have a friendly card match with the eternally cheating Odin.
Long black coat. Her hair, looking, feeling, smelling like drowning people. And her; drowning, but never sinking, amusingly playing the same match without a single drop of realization.
- They told me to eliminate you, you know.
Rain drops from her chin.
- But I eliminated him instead, you should know, too, - frown. - Are you even listening?
A book flying into Cail's face.
- Damn it, Alice, - effortlessly graceful face after a blow. - He has won again.
- He has a long term practice.
- And Valkyries.