Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Strange and Weird Stories, by James W. Nelson




Strange & Weird Stories (The unknown: As close as beside you)

In these stories stuff just happens.  There is no scientific justification for anything, and there doesn’t need to be.  Look at your own life: Doesn’t stuff just happen, all the time?  Like what happened to my homework?  I know the dog didn’t really eat it. Or where’s the remote? Or how did I get here…and where is here? Who am I? You know what I mean, but, of course, stuff that happens in these stories is a little more serious than a lost remote. The late-nineteen-fifties and early-sixties television series, Rod Serling’s THE TWILIGHT ZONE, in my opinion, was filled with stories of events that just happened.  When that show began I was ten years old.  I would glue myself to the screen, and Rod Serling himself was one of my early heroes, and still is.  According to the 1996 Oxford Dictionary, the “twilight zone” refers to “…any physical or conceptual area that is undefined or intermediate, esp. one that is eerie or unreal.”  So Rod was right on target in naming his series.
            I’m not saying my stories will come up to Rod Serling’s standards; what I am saying is that what he created helped me immensely in what I have created.

Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens.
British scholar & fantasy novelist (1892 - 1973)

This is one of the shorter stories (in entirety.) A second one "Food Project" will follow. There are eleven more. Following the second story will be a Contents list, and more information.

     He tensed himself and leaped, up, high, turned his head both ways, landed again, and leaped again.  But, all he could see in any direction were others like himself.
     He landed, brushed one of the others.  Barely enough room for elbows, let alone leaping and hoping for the same spot to be open when he came down.  The other shot a dirty look at him, then turned away and moved farther into the sea of others, all alike except for some facial differences, eye color, height, weight, all anyone could see of the others.
     All wore the same clothing.  Gray suits with hoods, hand openings, trapdoor crotches opening only in back.  They didn't do much of anything, mainly stood around chewing on the gray doughy masses called viands, conversations mostly limited to one word descriptions of the viands varied tastiness.
     Tart, spicy, salty, or bland and lumpy.
     Two groups stood in line by the gray Houses of Excretion.  One group waited to make their deposit, the other to receive their portion of fresh while you wait viands, and all could hear the sound of machinery grinding and whirring away in the processing of viands.
     In gray, out gray, the sky gray, the ground.  Everything was gray.  He, nearly six feet, taller than most, often wondered if anything existed except gray.  He wanted to believe something did, but, from birth, all he had known were changing one gray suit for another as he grew.
     He decided to jump once more, would give this leap all he had.  So he gathered his legs, waited for the others to move away slightly—which sometimes happened—then squatted low, stretched his arms behind, took a deep breath, and leaped, up.  Up.  UP!
     And for just one second he thought he saw something, far away.  Something brighter, and another color, something like that bright ball that occasionally appeared in the sky among gray clouds.  He decided to try leaping once more, even though he had about used all his energy.
     So up he went.  But not far.  He had weakened.
     When he came down he struck another body, so close were they jammed.  Both fell down.
     "Why do you not watch what you are doing?" the other shouted at him as they scrambled up.  But the voice was different, higher, reminding him of his mother not seen since weaning.  Remembering his mother, and that other place with other mothers and the smaller others like himself, he thought of the one time he had seen a fence, the only structure in their world except for the Houses of Excretion.
     "I am sorry," He said.
     The other brushed itself off and faced him.  Some light colored hairs had escaped the hood, which were quickly tucked back in, but yes, this other was different.  The face was smoother, and the body appeared to be more slender except for two bumps just below the neck, and other unusual features, features he remembered, barely, his mother having.
     "Why do you stare at me?" the other asked.
     He did not know why, "I do not know," but he did know he enjoyed what he saw.  He had felt so little joy in life that he had only dubious understanding of what joy was, "You look funny…I mean different, you look different."
     "Of course I am different."  The facial features changed.  The eyes softened, the mouth widened, the cheeks took on a rosy glow, "Have you never seen a she?"
     "She is mine!"  A voice, loud, what He was more accustomed to hearing, interrupted them as a third other, elbowing, pushing, arrived, carrying two of the viands masses.
     She?  He had heard of the shes, that they were very much different, but he had never seen one.  Only hearsay, for the sexes were kept separate, allowed together only for breeding purposes, strictly decided and controlled by the sachems, also dressed in gray except in robes with black belts rather than body suits, and generally taller, taller than He even, and all carried a staff.
     The third other grabbed the she by the arm, then jerked her into the masses.  But, remembering his good feelings of joy, He decided he could not let that happen.  He wanted to keep staring at the she, so followed, doing his own elbowing and pushing, and soon caught the two, and grabbed the she by the other arm.
     "Stop!" He said.
     Both stopped, and gawked at him.  Many of the others stopped their eating and standing, and also gawked.
     Facial features of the she changed again, changed to warm, and radiant.  And again He felt joy, greater joy and happiness than he had ever known, "If you will come with me," He said, "I will take you away from here, and protect you forever, and keep you warm."  He had no idea how to do what he had just said, but it had sounded like all the right things to say.  Long ago he had decided there had to be
something different, somewhere.  Had he not just seen that faraway, unexplained brightness?  Suddenly he clung strongly to believing it truly existed, and was better.
     The she shook off the other's apparently illegal grasp, "Then I will go with you."  The she's facial features changed still more, became still more wonderful.  He felt his own features changing.  They felt wonderful too, very wonderful.
     "I am called He," he said when they were alone as possible.
     "I am She."
     "No, that is what you are.  What do the others call you?"
     "I am called She.  All of us are."
     "But you are different from the others."
     "No, I am the same.  But I am glad you think I am different.  I think you are different, too."
     "Come," He said, "We will leave here."  It was then or never.  He was positive of somewhere else existing, and the appearance of She made him want to find it more than ever.

****

Their first day passed.  Then their second.  Then a week, and a month.  He and She pressed on through the endless masses of others in gray suits.  They stood in line at the Houses of Excretion, made their deposits, ate their viands, dodged the sachems, and hoped the others would not tell of their illegal act of being together.  And it occurred to them that few others even noticed, so impassive were they.
     Finally one day conditions began to change.  The others were no longer just standing, eating, existing.  Many had actual expressions, twisted and ugly and showing anger, and fear, and anxiety, all expressions causing He and She to feel the opposite of joy.  And none of the others were talking.  Sounds now were of agony, mourning, and the further He and She walked the worse conditions became, until the others were fighting and shoving, trying to go in the opposite direction.
     The direction He and She had just come from.
     But they pushed on, holding onto each other, pushing and shoving themselves.  "We must be getting close to somewhere else," He said, "I have always believed it existed."
     "So have I," answered She, "But I have talked to no other who has ever seen it."
     At last they broke free from the hordes of others and stood alone in an open space for the first time.  But close ahead, what the others evidently had been trying to escape, roared a wall of that different color He had seen in the distance so long ago.  The bright wall stretched in both directions as far as they could see.
     "Do not go into it," said an other nearest them, "I have heard some have, and have never come back."
     He waved to the other, then turned to She, who gave him the warmest change of facial expression he had ever seen.  It made him feel so very, very, very, wonderful.
     "Maybe," said She, "The reason the others never come back is because it is better there."
     "Yes."  He agreed and again faced that bright wall of whatever it was.  It was radiating heat like that great ball in the sky, producing wonderful feelings in both He and She.
     "Maybe we should remove our suits first," said She.
     He did not know why they should, but also did not know why they should not.  So they did.  Soon both stood nude, facing each other and experiencing primeval thoughts as to why they were so different.  But they were at last alone, but still hearing the sounds from the masses of others.  But so good to be alone together, seeing each other without those ugly suits, and learning about their new feelings, and wondering what else they would discover about being alone together.
     "You two!  Put on your suits!  You are illegal!"
     They turned quickly toward the others.  Outside the masses stood a sachem.
     "He, I do not want to,” said She, “We cannot go back."
     "And we will not."  He grabbed She's hand, "Come, we will run into that heat, and die if we have to."
     They turned toward the wall of bright color, held each other's hand tight, and ran.  The sounds of agony and mourning rose behind them, and the sound of the sachem shouting at them.  But they paid none of it heed and ran faster, faster, getting closer to the heat becoming hotter, until it felt unbearably hot, but they would not stop.
     "Faster!" He shouted, and pulled She along faster.
     Together they leaped toward that bright wall of whatever it was, and into it.

****

Together they landed and rolled on the other side.  Still hand in hand they leaped up and looked at their new world, and walked partway into it.  There were no others.  None.  For the first time in their lives they stood completely alone, and saw their world unbounded and beautiful, with that great ball above shining in a bright and cloudless sky.  They saw many, many, things they could not give names, and other living beings that walked on four legs instead of two.
     "What is this place?" She asked.
     "I do not know, but I like it."  He gripped She's hand and turned them around to again face the bright wall, "Come, let us go back and tell the others they do not have to worry about the heat, that there is a wonderful world on this side."
     The two hurried away, and would have returned to that other world of grayness.
     But a much different sachem appeared in their path and held up a hand.  This one was dressed in a robe the color of the sky, "Stop.  You cannot go back."
     "Look, He," She said, "It is a she dressed as a sachem."
     "Yes, He and She, I am different from what you have known, and your selfless act of returning to that wretched other world is why I stopped you.  The he sachems control the masses, and the she sachems help to guide life on this side of the flames.  Only the others with the courage to strive for something new and better are allowed to leave there, and to stay here.  Only those who dare face the
flames.  And it would be pointless to go back."
     "Why?" He and She asked in unison.
     "Because few would believe you.  Impossible to find those who would."  The sachem in the sky-colored robe scrutinized them calmly, then raised her staff, nodding toward their new home, "Now go.  Go out into the forests and meadows.  Clothe yourselves and give yourselves new names.  Find the others who have gone before you.  They are few but they will help you learn about your new life here."
     "But what will we eat?" She asked, "Where are the Houses of Excretion?"
     "The Houses of Excretion are humankind's ultimate consequence for overpopulating and fowling its nest," the sachem said, "Long ago, He, your kind was called man, and your kind, She, was woman.  But men and women became vain, thinking of each self as the ultimate glory, caring not that their resources were finite, that their wastes were poisoning their very existence.
     "Life here would have ended had we sachems not taken control, and herded all humankind into the enclosure of flames, with the fences around women and another for women with young.  One day soon, when enough others have braved the flames and escaped…," the sachem hesitated briefly, her face sobered, "Then we will allow the flames to sweep inward.
     "So, in this world you bury your excretions and find different food.  Viands are a thing of the past."
     He faced She.  The exact meaning of what the sachem had said escaped him, "Come, She.  Let us discover this new place of beauty and brightness."  They turned, began walking away.
     "Now that you are man and woman again," the sachem called after them, "There are three rules.  Use only what you need.  Treat others with respect and dignity.  And reproduce yourselves with only one young."
     They stopped, again and faced the sachem, "Reproduce ourselves…?" asked She.
     The sachem smiled, "You will discover what I mean."

The future? Yes, if we don't change our ways.
--0--

FOOD PROJECT (1400 words) Alex, slaughterhouse employee, watches the killing of Torbo, a prize-winning Holstein steer, which wasn’t supposed to even be there.



      The back door began opening.  Daylight appeared, brighter than the small circles of light surrounding Torbo and his Hereford companions.  Maybe daylight meant freedom.  Torbo pushed forward.  His body was lighter-built than most of the others, but bulky enough to hold its own.  A man appeared in the daylight holding a long pointed object.  Torbo had seen the object at the beginning of the trip, when he had been jostled onto the corral that moved.  He knew the object stung like the bite of a fly only harder.
      But it did not frighten him.

****

Alex had watched the trucks arriving and held his prod ready.  He didn't use it often, but sometimes, to speed a critter on its way, to prevent mayhem, yes, he would use it.  From beside the truck a young boy about twelve appeared with a dog, "Hi-yah!" The boy yelled. The dog barked.
      A panting Hereford steer went down.
      "Hi-yah! Hi-yah!"
      With the relentless yelling and barking some of the critters stampeded, some leaping the fallen Hereford, others trampling.

****

Torbo moved with the crush of bodies toward the door.  Daylight streamed onto sweating red backs, and Torbo's black-and-white one. When Torbo reached the fallen Hereford he stopped, sniffed, then carefully stepped to miss it.
      They filed down a steep ramp onto concrete into a small pen, then through a gate, then another and another, until they were allowed to move about almost freely. The fallen Hereford finally got up and joined them. The last gate clanged shut.
        Torbo's world had been reduced to steel and concrete, but at least outside in the sunshine.  But where was his own corral?  Where was his dry, personal pen where he rolled in dust baths?  Where was his green pasture with lush grasses?  Most of all, where was the young woman who rubbed his nose, scratched behind his ears and massaged his great back?
      If Torbo could have thought he would have wondered these things.  But he couldn't think.  He couldn't speak.  He couldn't feel on exactly the same terms as humans.  But he did sense that something was very, very, different, in his world.

****

His shift was about over but Alex had never watched the actual processing.  It was time.  He worked there.  He needed to see what happened inside.  He deserved to see what had to happen in order for people to have food.  Besides, one particular critter had caught his eye.  That Holstein steer, a tall, beautiful animal, the one that had stepped carefully over the fallen Hereford.

****

As the morning progressed, more and more of the others who had arrived with Torbo had left.  Then gates and partitions of fences had been moved to make their pen smaller, never giving them more room.  Torbo and his seven remaining Hereford companions were still almost body on body in the steel and concrete pen.  No room to lie down.  No water, no food.  No communication except for an occasional bellow from somewhere.
       Those in Torbo's pen were silent, just standing, looking at whatever movement caught their attention or passed their field of vision.  Not much.  An occasional car on the adjacent street.   An occasional human passing their pen.
       None spoke with soothing voices.  No comforting hands.  Most did not even look at Torbo and his companions.  Where was the young woman who had been with Torbo since birth?  Where was her voice?  Her hands?  Her loving arms?
        Where was Torbo's world?
        Shift change came.  Men began arriving, many of them.  And some women.  Torbo sensed some were women because they smelled different.  His nose searched for his young mistress.  But her scent was not among them.
         A man appeared at their pen with the pointed object.  Torbo did not fear it.  The gate clanged open.  Torbo's companions began to push.  Torbo pushed back.  They became a crush again, and moved from their outside pen into another pen in a building.  More steel and concrete.  Then they reached a very narrow pen which soon became just one body wide.
      The men began shouting and jabbing their stinging sticks.  From ahead of Torbo came the sound of a thud.  He had never heard such a sound.  He lifted his head above the rump of the body ahead of him.  He saw nothing but men and darkness.
      The sound came again.  It meant nothing to Torbo, yet it began to affect the chemicals in his brain, the senses in his being.  He saw one of his companions ahead of him disappear through a very small lighted doorway.  Then came that sound of thud again.
       Had a bound and blindfolded human in such a situation begun to hear an unusual sound, the human would have begun to feel fear, and then, as the human ahead of that human moved ahead and the sound came closer and closer and again and again, that human would soon have known irrationalizing, terrifying, fear.
      The body just ahead of Torbo went through the narrow opening. Torbo went through too, at least his head did, and he saw a man ahead with a different object, different from the stinging stick, yet Torbo could tell no difference because he had no intelligence.  None, at least, that humans could understand.
      The man placed the object behind the ear of Torbo's last companion.  Came the thud sound. Torbo's companion went down.  All four of its legs had buckled.  Then Torbo's companion moved forward again, but no longer by its own power.
        Torbo was next.
        Deep in Torbo's brain fear was building.  From behind came the sting of the stick.  It didn't hurt that much.  Torbo did not fear it.  But he moved ahead anyway—where was his mistress?  That soothing voice?

****

Alex watched the Holstein step onto the killing slab.  Its lustrous black-and-white pelt appeared to have been currycombed daily.  He pictured the handsome animal as a young girl's 4H project.  But the blue ribbon winners did not come here, at least not early in life, at least he hoped not.
        The man with the stun gun positioned himself.  Another with a large knife approached. The Holstein lifted its head.  Alex wished the Holstein would fight.  But he knew no matter how hard it might fight it was going to die.  That's what the critter had come here for.  To die.

****

Torbo saw bright lights.  He held his head high as he could and looked all around at the many humans.  The different object touched Torbo behind the ear.  Torbo finally knew fear.  His brain flashed the message to run.  He tried.  The thud sound came, but Torbo did not hear it.
       No more visions came of the comforting hands, the soothing voice, the loving arms, for Torbo was no more.

****

Alex kept watching.  He had to watch.  Just once.
        The Holstein's legs buckled under it.  Its body hit the cold concrete.  It moved ahead but not of its own power.  The feet and lower legs left the body.  The head left.  Hooks grappled the body onto its back.  A knife cut it.  More hooks removed the shining black-and-white hide in one swipe.
       A great knife then cut the carcass into two pieces, then four.  Smaller knives cut it into more and more pieces until they became sirloin for the rich, hamburger for the poor, bones for meal, hide for shoes, guts for fertilizer.
        Alex could watch no longer.  The beautiful Holstein steer had been reduced to so many pieces, so quickly, that nothing was left to watch.  From birth to death the animal had been nothing but a project, a food project.  He left the kill floor, now only wanting to go home, away from this.
        He reached his car.  On the adjacent street appeared a speeding pickup.  His hand on the door handle, Alex hesitated.  The pickup squealed onto the plant's parking lot, then speeded up and finally slid to a stop just outside the pens.
        A young woman, sixteen or seventeen, leaped out.  Her eyes wide she ran from one worker to another.  Alex heard just one word, "…Holstein…" and wished to hear no more.
--0--

Some years ago I worked at a processing plant as gate security. When it came close to my departure date I asked permission to watch the "kill" one time. Permission was denied. I suspect the reason was fear from plant officials I might have been a member of one of the animal-rights organizations with a hidden camera. I'm not a member.
I had made some friends of the workers, so I asked one to describe to me what happened. He did a good job, as "Food Project" was born.
But since working there I continue to think of those thousands of beef cattle that moved through those gates.

The Last Unemployed Man (2100) Futuristic
The Quiet Little Town (2000) Beautiful space
What Would be Heaven (2000) What is Heaven?
Dead Animal Farm (3300) Homeless people are disappearing
The Dreaming Glass (2400) What we all dream of
Viands (2000 words) The future, if we don’t change our ways
Requiem for Homogen (2900) Don’t look in the mirror
The Levigation of McLeod & McLeod (3100) Revenge on a workplace
Intermission Block (3000) Déjà vu
The Chair (2850) Workplace Heaven
Food Project (1400) The killing of Torbo
To the 19th Century (6300) A dangerous warp of time
The Commons (8000) A trip to the past


Thanks for reading!
Contact
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http://morningshinestories.com
http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004GW465S
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