1We Are The Hollow Men
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us – it at all – not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.
-Stanza 3, lines 13-18
The light flickers a bit as she sits there, uncomfortable under the cruel lights. The man standing before her doesn't much care. He leans forward on the table. Behind him is a mirror; she knows people are watching her. She looks back at the man.
"So," is all he says, but the word hangs in the air, a thousand different meanings lacing it. She swallows and rubs the scar at her shoulder, a nervous habit.
"You were in New York when the Clover attacked?" it's barely a question – he already knows the answer, after all.
The woman – girl, more like, barely twenty – shifts her weight. Why is she here? They already know about the Clover, more than she does. What do they want from her?
"Yeah," she mutters.
"Can you describe it to us?"
"You idiots were there, right?!" she snarls, "Why the hell do I have to talk?!"
"Because you might have seen things we didn't,"
She lets out a small moan and leans back in her chair.
"It was…
…it was as though hell had struck New York. Fire and brimstone and all that, y'know? Even the air was orange with fire and ash. Helluva sunset the Pacific'll be having, I remember thinking, the geologist in me working on autopilot. S'funny…every time I start freaking out for some reason, part of me just shuts down and the rest works on automatic. Like when my kid brother died. I was seventeen and I…
You don't wanna hear about this, do you?
Not really, no.
Sorry. Just…don' really wanna remember, y'know? Lots of people I know dead who shoulda been alive.
Aaanyway. Me and my boy, we were heading home from work – bartenders at a pub. 's how we met.
There was this…it was like a scream, but not a scream, y'know? The way the earth screams when it has an earthquake. It doesn' have a mouth, so it can't give voice…but it tries to.
This was a different kind of not-scream, though. This was a man-made not-scream.
Anyway, next thing we know, the Statue o' Liberty's heads comes fallin' down the street next to us like a boulder. The street shook – Jesus, we looked like zombies, all ashy and gray from the soot and smoke.
I remember seeing – well, no, I don't, I guess I remember not seeing it. I mean, it was like my eyes saw it, but my brain didn't process it. The thought was just too…too horrible.
A little way away from me was this chick, really pretty but just as gray as us, and I heard her say softly to her friends 'it's eating people'.
And then my brain finally processed what it had seen. The idea was just so insane so…so…
Unreal?
Yeah, that's the word! Unreal. My boy and I…we just couldn't get it. It just didn't hit us what it meant.
So we ran. Ran away from it, ran as far from it as possible.
My mobile started to ring. It was my older brother – he was on the other side of New York, but he'd seen the Liberty lady lose her head and wanted to know 'f I was okay.
Were you?
Physically? Sure. The monster – Clover – hadn't got anywhere near me. I was fine.
Until…
Until?
Until it's bugs started comin' after us and…and…
And?
One of 'em…
"…One of 'em bit my boyfriend," she breaks down into tears, "And it was…it was before they realized what getting bit did and so…I mean, I didn't see a silhouette, he just started bleeding and then he, he…" she gives a huge sob, "He yelled for me to get away, and shoved me so hard I half-flew 'cross the street but I could still see…"
She's just losing all composure.
The official watches. Professionalism battles compassion and compassion wins. He walks around the table to put an arm around her shoulders.
"I watched my boyfriend e…e…explode in front of me! S-s-so I, I…I was the one, when I saw the first medic…I was the one who, who, who had to tell 'em…tell 'em what bite poison did. And when they washed the poison and blood off me…" she gives up the ghost of control and bursts into heartbroken sobs.
For all intents and purposes, the interview is over. They'll get nothing more from the poor girl. Even if they do get her to calm down, the official isn't sure he wants to risk seeing her cry again.
After all, he has a daughter almost her age. And he can't bear the thought of asking her to relive the Clover again. Not if it means she'll cry again. He looks at the scar on her shoulder.
"Would you like us to do something about that?" he offers softly, pointing to the scar. She shakes her head.
"It's like a tat…helps me remember,"
Eventually she leaves. The official sighs.
"Send in the next one,"