It's been raining. Maybe that's why I'm thinking about July, about 17. There's a half smoked cigarette trying to burn away at my table, a mug holds irish coffee I traded in for the bottle. I'm ashamed to say that I'm not alone. I was never a family man, that wasn't my sort of I guess it wasn't anyone's thing when your parents get killed, when you wished their charred bodies were beaten as badly as they bruised yours. On the mantel of the isolated home I keep a constant decoration a framed picture moving with me. I was young there, when I joined in, here in these walls of fowl mouth traitors I found family. They weren't involved with the our field activities, they handed out Xeroxed papers labeled with information we followed and ended with explosives shoved through hollowed out corpses called our targets. Some of those bodies came back, some stay checked into that worm filled resort.
Originally it was set that no one would die for good, originally it was set that the God defying medicine would be revolutionary, originally it was just another assumption on assurance to make big money a reality to those whose moral rights died under neglect.
At first arrival we didn't know any of that, we didn't even know each other, they called our names for the first and final time before assigning us another. We without hesitation were knocked into a chair, strapped down only to hear a whisper that this wasn't the worst part. My world faded twice that evening, daily I wish that the first black out would have killed me, it did others. It did many others. I wouldn't have minded dying to the sound of all those screams, I can't remember the pain, the visuals at this point are only a cubic blur of that jagged needle plunging into slit wrists pumping a dose of squirming, dancing black ooze.
The world entered as it had faded in what seemed to be years ago. Every inch of me burned at the movement of my heartbeat. There I tried to recall what I had signed for if this was all hidden in the fine print I hadn't cared to read. Laced with an internal sunburnt sensation I found myself alone, the man, the chair, the straps, the needle, the ooze, all gone and ghostly touching my chilled skin. The room was lit by flickering white lights humming hard rings into my ears muffled only at a whisper tainted by static. This was the worst part it called out, people of unknown gender walked in from hell knows where tightly dressed it black matching attire, the humming stayed, the walls echoed out my teenage cracked screams of agonizing trauma. For the while my mind couldn't decide what was most frightening, the inevitability that I was going to die or feeling each and every puncture wound. The humming stayed, but it faded, it left either when the steel toed boot bashed into my skull, the curved dagger slammed to the hilt against my left lung, or when oversized hands made my knee bend the other way. At that time I don't know how many more died, I of course was not among them, I looked back and think if someone had died they would have killed all of us. I wish they did, the inferno I am decaying in was further rotten by every day I continue this unwanted life, loss is a bad thing and grief can kill a man, but living on like a circus mouse is my toxic slip of insanity, immeasurable, inescapable no matter how we try. I sometimes believe that with enough stomach curdling hope and time I could made a difference, but we were not like the others, not then, not now, not ever.
I thought I died. It was the sweetest lie I ever fooled myself to believe. That gunk they placed in us was a treatment, we guinea pigs were given eternal life they told us when we awoke. If questioned they offered a demonstration. Throughout the blood splattered walls their ivory teeth never hid, it was bizarre breakthrough. We were trained, we were death in human form, each one of sick by the job that dulled into acceptance. I was 14. The attachment began with my still to date father figure Silver, he was keen in business and medicine, any non severe wounds closed, healed, it might still kill you but not by infection. He's saved the soulless life of mine countless times.
We were allowed outside these walls when we began, unbounded did they assume we were. The ones that disappeared were labeled as traitors fleeing from promise rather than corpses. I was given a home by that man, I was fed and fucked over once that sadly was for my own good. He was married to a girl that did the same, I fell in love with them growing into a bond lasting 4 years. She joined for our happiness despite the knowledge of her slit wrists and beating she wanted to be closer, she got real sick but shorthanded the men behind all this gave her a desk job aiding in production of that gunk, they were planning to go national. She fought it and won. It was May when she did. By then there was paranoia in the air news had gotten out, and we had moved into a small territorial expansion created by them. We weren't allowed to leave. We'd die out there they told us, but by then the idea of eternal life was still a honeymoon dream. There were complications happening with those men some of their morals weren't completely withered.
July 17h was to be normal, the impact of that date didn't hit until the next day, my and his incident came a year later.