the animal
Feb. 2nd, 2004 04:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alonewiththemoonWhen I was small, perhaps six or seven years old, our magcar hit an animal.
Much later, I concluded it must have been a raccoon. Animals aren’t supposed to be able to climb on the magcar tracks. There are fences, both material and electronic, to prevent anything from reaching the tracks. Yet there it stood, eyes glowing yellow in the headlights’ glare, as the magcar was swept along the rails. My father tapped nervously on the car’s guidance panel, but there is no leaving the tracks while on the speedway. All we could do was watch as our vehicle bore down upon the animal. I remember both my mother and myself screaming at it to run, banging on the windshield to frighten it away. But with an inevitability that twists my gut to recall, the animal remained frozen in place, eyes glowing, and we hit it with a sickening sound containing both a thud and a crunch. I twisted around to look out the back window of the magcar, but my mother gently pulled me back around. When we arrived home, she hustled me inside and away from the magcar as quickly as she could, but I still could see the wet blood and bits of fur and flesh spread across the metal plating. It was a moment of horror but also of fascination. I knew that we had done a horrible thing, even if we hadn’t wanted to, and that I should have been repelled completely, but some small part of me had felt a tiny thrill at this evidence of something being alive one moment and dead the next. My parents told me later that for nearly a month, every time we drove at night I asked if we were going to hit another animal, and why couldn’t we have stopped in time and why didn’t the animal jump away.
Tonight I ask myself the same questions. Am I going to hit another animal, why couldn’t I stop in time, why didn’t he jump away?
After I hurt Jean, the crew keep to the walls of the bridge, putting as much distance between themselves and me as they could. The rotten fish smell is overwhelming my senses, but the scent of Jean’s blood cuts through in a sharp counterbalance. It helps. I realize that my tendrils have been coiling and snapping and with an effort I soothe them. I repeat, “I didn’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to hurt anyone. But I think you all can see that things are a little out of my own control.” I had intended to sound calm and confident, but even I can hear my voice break at ‘control.’
Nasr is the first to respond. “If you know that you are no longer in control of your own actions, why do you not relinquish command of the Ehrengard to your first mate, to Melville? Clearly you are not fit for duty.” The words seem cold, but I can hear the concern in his voice. Concern, and… a taste like soured honey, a layer of sweetness over a contrary intention. I am no longer captain to him and he will betray me, I am sure of it. He has put his prayer beads back in his pocket. He too is now sure that his betrayal is the right course to take. I do not want to hurt him. Please let me not hurt him. He looks directly at me, brown eyes flecked with amber, but he blinks a little too much. Meeting my eyes is uncomfortable. I want to believe it is just because my own eyes and face have changed but the flavor of his intent cannot lie. He takes a step towards me, holding out one hand. I can’t see his other hand. Oh Nasr, do not do this. I just warned you that I do not have control.
He touches my wrist with his outstretched right hand, shuddering only a little as the nearest tendrils lightly touch him, brushing feathersoft against his fingers. The taste is stronger now, that sour honey. “Captain, please--release the controls to the ship. You need medical help, more than we can provide here. If we had a ship’s medic, that medic would relieve you of duty.” He pauses to draw a slight breath. “We do not have a ship’s medic with any authority of that kind, and so for this I apologize--” Quickly his left hand flashes from his pocket, no prayer beads this time but a syringe instead, honey smell thick enough to clog my throat. This time I do not vanish to that place of flint and clarity. This time I am fully aware of what I do as I strike the syringe from his hand with one arm and wrap his right hand, still gripping my wrist, in tendrils so that he cannot back away from me. I pull him closer, hold him tight, and now the fear taste is rolling from him, oily and rotten. His pupils are wide and he is pleading, trying to pry my tendrils free with his other hand. I wrap him fully. The song grows in my head, that crystalline song, and I sing to Nasr until the blood rolls from his eyes like tears, until I feel him go limp in my embrace, until there is no fear taste or honey taste or any taste at all emanating from him. I let him fall to the floor and look around the bridge at the others.
“It might be best,” I say, holding back my own tears and nausea, “if you all returned to your quarters.” There is no dissent.
I should stay on the bridge, make sure none of them comes back to try to undo my controls, but I crave my own quarters. There I find no peace either. The trappings of my life have come to seem alien to me, and I cannot even lie in my own hammock anymore, instead pulling all the blankets to the floor and falling down upon them. The only constant is Ifrit, who tastes of confidence and gladness of companionship and happily settles alongside me after a cursory examination of a tendril or two.
Somehow, I sleep.
I dream of yellow eyes and blood.
Much later, I concluded it must have been a raccoon. Animals aren’t supposed to be able to climb on the magcar tracks. There are fences, both material and electronic, to prevent anything from reaching the tracks. Yet there it stood, eyes glowing yellow in the headlights’ glare, as the magcar was swept along the rails. My father tapped nervously on the car’s guidance panel, but there is no leaving the tracks while on the speedway. All we could do was watch as our vehicle bore down upon the animal. I remember both my mother and myself screaming at it to run, banging on the windshield to frighten it away. But with an inevitability that twists my gut to recall, the animal remained frozen in place, eyes glowing, and we hit it with a sickening sound containing both a thud and a crunch. I twisted around to look out the back window of the magcar, but my mother gently pulled me back around. When we arrived home, she hustled me inside and away from the magcar as quickly as she could, but I still could see the wet blood and bits of fur and flesh spread across the metal plating. It was a moment of horror but also of fascination. I knew that we had done a horrible thing, even if we hadn’t wanted to, and that I should have been repelled completely, but some small part of me had felt a tiny thrill at this evidence of something being alive one moment and dead the next. My parents told me later that for nearly a month, every time we drove at night I asked if we were going to hit another animal, and why couldn’t we have stopped in time and why didn’t the animal jump away.
Tonight I ask myself the same questions. Am I going to hit another animal, why couldn’t I stop in time, why didn’t he jump away?
After I hurt Jean, the crew keep to the walls of the bridge, putting as much distance between themselves and me as they could. The rotten fish smell is overwhelming my senses, but the scent of Jean’s blood cuts through in a sharp counterbalance. It helps. I realize that my tendrils have been coiling and snapping and with an effort I soothe them. I repeat, “I didn’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to hurt anyone. But I think you all can see that things are a little out of my own control.” I had intended to sound calm and confident, but even I can hear my voice break at ‘control.’
Nasr is the first to respond. “If you know that you are no longer in control of your own actions, why do you not relinquish command of the Ehrengard to your first mate, to Melville? Clearly you are not fit for duty.” The words seem cold, but I can hear the concern in his voice. Concern, and… a taste like soured honey, a layer of sweetness over a contrary intention. I am no longer captain to him and he will betray me, I am sure of it. He has put his prayer beads back in his pocket. He too is now sure that his betrayal is the right course to take. I do not want to hurt him. Please let me not hurt him. He looks directly at me, brown eyes flecked with amber, but he blinks a little too much. Meeting my eyes is uncomfortable. I want to believe it is just because my own eyes and face have changed but the flavor of his intent cannot lie. He takes a step towards me, holding out one hand. I can’t see his other hand. Oh Nasr, do not do this. I just warned you that I do not have control.
He touches my wrist with his outstretched right hand, shuddering only a little as the nearest tendrils lightly touch him, brushing feathersoft against his fingers. The taste is stronger now, that sour honey. “Captain, please--release the controls to the ship. You need medical help, more than we can provide here. If we had a ship’s medic, that medic would relieve you of duty.” He pauses to draw a slight breath. “We do not have a ship’s medic with any authority of that kind, and so for this I apologize--” Quickly his left hand flashes from his pocket, no prayer beads this time but a syringe instead, honey smell thick enough to clog my throat. This time I do not vanish to that place of flint and clarity. This time I am fully aware of what I do as I strike the syringe from his hand with one arm and wrap his right hand, still gripping my wrist, in tendrils so that he cannot back away from me. I pull him closer, hold him tight, and now the fear taste is rolling from him, oily and rotten. His pupils are wide and he is pleading, trying to pry my tendrils free with his other hand. I wrap him fully. The song grows in my head, that crystalline song, and I sing to Nasr until the blood rolls from his eyes like tears, until I feel him go limp in my embrace, until there is no fear taste or honey taste or any taste at all emanating from him. I let him fall to the floor and look around the bridge at the others.
“It might be best,” I say, holding back my own tears and nausea, “if you all returned to your quarters.” There is no dissent.
I should stay on the bridge, make sure none of them comes back to try to undo my controls, but I crave my own quarters. There I find no peace either. The trappings of my life have come to seem alien to me, and I cannot even lie in my own hammock anymore, instead pulling all the blankets to the floor and falling down upon them. The only constant is Ifrit, who tastes of confidence and gladness of companionship and happily settles alongside me after a cursory examination of a tendril or two.
Somehow, I sleep.
I dream of yellow eyes and blood.
