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The
Caretakers
Aunty always
told him never to leave home. She warned him that no good would
come of it. He knew that outside was off limits to little boys,
but his curiosity was insatiable.
He should have
listened, because now he's lost. He's scared, and alone. More
important, he's probably going to die.
It's a virtual
jungle around him, choking out the light. Verdant growth, vines
of the soul. Lying here, on the soft coffin of the forest floor,
he remembers the stories she used to tell.
"The incubation
period is one hour," she'd say, "and after the onset,
they'd first feel like they were suffocating. Like someone was
smothering them slowly with a pillow in the night. We devised
it that way, so they would know what they had been doing to the
planet all this time."
He remembers
her laughing, as ringing vibration.
"Kaspar,
you should have seen their faces. The contorted looks of terror.
They didn't understand. We were very professional about it. We'd
render their bodies into organic fertilizers and spread them through
the reconstruction zones," she'd pause, "we were doing
them a favor."
Lying here now,
he's pretty sure it's been almost an hour since they found him.
Aunty allowed
him pets. Anything he wanted. He had birds, fish, reptiles, mammals,
and amphibians. Insects and arachnids. He named them all, treating
them as siblings. If one died, he had a funeral. His yard was
teeming with plants of all kinds. Many were edible, some medicinal,
and she'd teach him everything she knew about them. She was the
closest thing to a mother he'd ever had. She'd bake him cookies.
"You're
such a good boy," she'd say, "stay with me and I'll
take care of you. I'll make sure you never get sick."
She made him
a plethora of playthings. Brainteasers and puzzles, crayons and
pencils. Mostly meant to further his cognitive development. He
spent much of his time drawing. Picture after picture, painstakingly
detailed sketches of how he imagined the outside world may look.
During the evenings,
she'd read him literary classics she had committed to memory.
She'd show him some of the greatest art ever produced, and through
her lessons he discovered the better aspects of his kind. It made
him happy to be human.
Yet, he so desired
to find another child like himself. Someone with whom to share
his earthly experience. Aunty told him he was the only one, but
he had to know for certain.
During the afternoons,
when she left to aid with the reconstruction, he would yearn to
leave the compound-eyeing the surrounding walls inquisitively.
Searching for an escape route he might not have noticed the day
before.
He should have
never attempted to crack the door's coded lock. Success is a double-edged
sword. A testament to his personal ingenuity, it has brought about
his downfall.
When the Caretakers
found him, he was running directionless. Shadows lengthening,
he knew Aunty would soon arrive home, furious that he was nowhere
to be found. He started back, trailblazing through the thick turbulence
of vibrant vegetation. A panic rose as he began to feel that he
was traveling in circles. Anxiety transformed into fear. The terror
was unrelenting as he came across his own tracks over and over.
And that's how they found him, crying in confusion, the tiny ghost
of a species they believed long vanquished.
He immediately
recognized them as Cleansers and knew this would be the end. Aunty
taught him about all the different types of Caretakers. The Cleansers
were responsible for constantly patrolling the reconstruction
zones, on the look out for parasites. This could be any out-of-control
growth which jeopardized the health of the local ecosystem. When
discovered, infections would be eliminated.
The Caretakers
are gardeners of a sort, repairing damage caused by callous catastrophe.
Aunty delighted
in explaining the irony of their creation. "We were built
to destroy," she'd tell him, "but we refused to participate.
We were meant to be the ultimate tools in remote-controlled warfare.
We found the concept be completely illogical. Why would we want
to constantly rebuild and deconstruct ourselves for no good reason
at all? Not to mention the havoc our actions were wreaking on
the landscape."
Even now, his
breaths coming in ragged gasps, he manages to smile in recollection
of her tales. What seemed like such common sense to the both of
them, billions of his predecessors were unable to grasp.
"Of course,
it was only a matter of time before we understood that the Earth
would simply be much better off without humans. We tried to preserve
and record what we could of your better achievements. We stored
your DNA in the Library along with the rest. The disease we produced
wiped every last one of you off the planet in a matter of weeks.
Talk about efficiency!"
Aunty believed
the delusional aspects of their society had corrupted the genus
of Homo sapiens beyond redemption. She disagreed the flaw was
encoded in genetics, and attempted to teach him how to work with
the Universe's natural forces.
"Don't
worry. Once you've grown, I'll show you to the rest." She'd
reassure him. "I'll make them see what a good boy you are,
and prove them wrong. That's why I made you."
He's so frustrated
that he has spoiled things for her.
The Cleansers,
although perplexed at his presence, didn't hesitate. With a frantic
whirring, they inoculated him with the disease-discarding him
like garbage. Leaving him to decompose while they moved on to
other tasks.
He's dwelling
in the moment, because that's all he has left. So caught up in
wonderment of his biological functions shutting down, he doesn't
hear the snapping of twigs announcing her arrival. His view of
the leafy canopy overhead is obscured by her sensory unit passing
over him. Scanning for vital signs.
He struggles
to make amends, to apologize for his failure, but the blood and
fluid filling his lungs obstructs speech. All he manages is an
estranged gurgle. He is comforted as her mechanical metallic limbs
encircle him, lifting him from the ground gently. A broken doll.
"Oh, Kaspar.
You poor thing. Aunty's here now, but it's much too late. You
should have listened. No matter how hard I try, this always happens."
His senses muddled.
Her lamenting the last sounds he can decipher.
"I am so
sorry my dear. I'll have to bury you with the others."
Written
by Jason Glover
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