Fiction by Bailey Crocoll,
Honorable Mention Fiction--2016 Met Awards
They told us that they would change the way the world saw war forever.
"A weapon in a league of its own," they proclaimed, virtuous smiles plastered across their faces. Many bought into the idea, willingly throwing their support towards the proposed advancement. Others were skeptical, calling the weapons "immoral," "evil," unethical." Yet their shouts were unheard, buried beneath the pedestal of golden promises. They weaved their way into any crack they could find, aiming to convince the population that their cause was just. They brought the weapons into the schools; showed them to crowds of eager children, spoke of the glory our country would experience with the use of these weapons. "Brainwash," some accused, jutting fingers at the scientists that created them. The suits and ties shook hands, spoke words smooth as silk, and flashed artificial smiles at the hoards of flashing cameras. Eventually they lulled the country into a false sense of security. Those that opposed never even stood a chance.
"Beneficial advancements," the head scientist at Bellum Genetics proclaimed, sidestepping to let the audience and cameraman get a clear shot of the weapon. Lithe limbs, a frame curved with bulging muscles, two piercing eyes brimming with intelligence. Applause rippled across the room, praise for the animal that stood attentively on display. A German Shepherd—or what used to be one—pants gently, appraising the crowd with a cocked head and perked ears. "German Shepherds are used and preferred by the police force for a reason. According to Stanley Coren, a neuropsychological researcher, German Shepherds rank as the third most intelligent dog breed. With only five repetitions, 95% of the Shepherds were able to obey a command. Coupled with their exceptional strength, they are bred for combat," the scientist pauses to let the audience absorb his words, he licks his lips.
"And with the help of today's science, we are presented with the extraordinary opportunity to strengthen their assets." A hand pops up in the audience. Slightly annoyed by the interruption, the scientist clears his throat and gestures toward the woman to speak.
"You're referring to the modification of the animal's genes, correct?" She asks, staring at him with an undiluted doubt weighing in her voice.
"Simply put, yes," he responds dryly. The woman hastily scribbles on her notepad. "We can alter the mammal's genes before their birth. Making them stronger, faster, and more intelligent. They can be used for wars, you see. They breed quickly, they train and learn at a rapid pace. With these animals working alongside our soldiers, we will save countless lives." Several snickers rise up from the audience, skeptical whispers are exchanged.
The scientist purses his lips, "You doubt these animals?" The audience falls under a hush. He forges on unfazed, "you can see that this subject here is larger and more muscular than the average dog," he gestures to the animal. "His cranium has actually been enlarged to enable a stronger jaw, raising the force of their bite from a pound-force of 238 to a pound-force of 975, comparable to a grizzly bear, enough to crush a bowling ball."
No one is laughing now. On a cue the lights in the room dim, leaving a spotlight centered over the animal and another over a mannequin. The crowd shifts from foot to foot nervously. A single word is uttered over a loud speaker and suddenly the animal is bounding across the room at an unimaginable pace towards the dummy. Within seconds the mannequin's ballistic gel head is sent tumbling down towards the rows of agape spectators.
We live in a world of fear now, filled with solitude and uncertainly. They bred hundreds of them. Thousands of those modified beasts. At first they worked flawlessly, eliminating thousands of wartime enemies and saving the lives of countless soldiers. So naturally, that wasn't enough for the scientists at Bellum Genetics. They were hungry for more. The animals were bred across the country, for wars, for the police force, to stand guard out front of schools and social events. Crime rates dropped dramatically. Blinded by the praise illuminating the subject, no one suspected that the animals would turn. No one guessed that the animals would stop obeying orders. No one had anticipated that the animals would breed to be increasingly intelligent. No one suspected that the most dominant alphas would want to lead their own packs rather than be lead by humans.
I'm jerked awake from a fitful sleep. I sit up, rubbing the haze from my eyes and strain to hear whatever it was that woke me. My younger sister is asleep on the couch beside me, buried beneath a pile of quilts. My mom, sister, and I fled the city at the first signs of chaos, heading towards the mountains. When Bellum Genetics' program started going south, their overly intelligent animals began escaping...overrunning neighborhoods, towns, and eventually entire cities. At first people waved dismissive hands while the bronze newscasters assured us that there was nothing to worry about. The death toll rose and the animal's population was increasing and still we were assured that, "humans are the dominate species, the top of the food chain, nothing to worry about, absolutely nothing at all, folks." The warning from the Emergency Broadcast System has been frozen on our television screen for almost three weeks now.
There's a scuffle from somewhere outside. I squint through the dim light of the room we all share. My heart stutters in my chest as I realize the mattress that my mom usually sleeps on is empty, blankets thrown back. Slowly, I rise and cross the room, my socked feet whispering across the scarred wooden floor. I try to peek through the boards that barricade our windows. I see only darkness. The rifle that is usually mounted above the door is gone, the front door unbolted. When did she leave? I never even heard the door unlock. Warnings thrum through my mind, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I glance back at where my sister lays, peaceful in her oblivion. Biting my lip, I pat my side to where my pocketknife hangs on my waistband. My only weapon.
Steeling myself, I cautiously rotate the knob to meet the frigid breeze that comes sweeping in. Eyes watering against the cold, I let my socks sink into the dewy grass outside. The darkness is suffocating, swallowing any signs of my mother. I tentatively call out her name, letting my words hang in the air, mingle with the chirp of crickets and the babble of the brook. I venture forward, farther from the comfort of the room behind me, and into the looming shadows of the trees. The moment I step into the tree line I know that I've made a mistake. I can hear their labored breathing, the stench of their breath, the ice of their eyes staring at me. Blood running cold, I hear their growls reverberating through my shivering body.
They were right. They would change the way the world saw war forever.
A Cloud of Ash
Fiction by Joshua GleasonHonorable Mention Fiction--2016 Met Awards
She went and did it again. He guesses he shouldn’t be so surprised, it’s not the first time. There was that time on Halloween she had promised to take him trick-or-treating. She didn’t She showed up at grandma’s when he was finished. She stayed only for a few minutes then decided to leave, but helped herself to his best candy because she knew he wouldn’t say no. Typical. Then, there was that time he got an award at school. His grandma made him call her and tell her. She acted excited. She promised she would show up. Unfortunately, she did show up this time. His stomach fluttered with embarrassment as she fell over chairs and talked over everyone. He pretended like he didn’t even know her but she kept calling his name louder and louder waiting for a response. Today is different though. He needed her today. He waited hours for her in the rain before deciding to walk home. It was unforgiving and relentless, just like her. He walk in the door soaking wet thinking today is the day I tell her how I really feel, but I know it’s going to make me cry. He can see her on the other side of the living room and his heart starts to race. For some reason he hesitates. He wants to scream at her so badly and tell her that she is a horrible person for treating me the way she does. He walks up behind her chair slowly as he built up the courage to say something, knowing it will be hurtful. Its time however. You know, this is why I live with grandma, he says, it's days like today when I wish I didn’t have to deal with you. He waited for a response but heard none. He figured he must have hurt her. For some odd reason his body is tingling with triumph. He now has the confidence to keep going. You are never there for me, never have been, never will be, he says. I will grow up and you will never see me again. I will never talk to you once I leave this place unless you can show me that you love me or at least care. Once again he hears nothing but the sound coming from the infomercials on the television. He says, is that it? Really? You can’t even say that you love me? What a worthless piece of trash you are he says with a heaving chest. His breathing so rapid he starts to see white spots. His emotions were pouring out his mouth like a bad taste that he couldn’t scrape off his tongue. It wouldn’t go away and he wouldn’t stop. I know you’re on drugs, I don’t know why you even try to hide it, and you looked so stupid when you came to my awards ceremony, he says. This is why I live with grandma, because your pathetic. And still he hears no response. In an instant, he grabs the ashtray off the table and throws it across the living room, creating a cloud of ash and breaking the television. As he stands there, panting like a ravaged dog when he realizes that he is better than this anger. His grandma had always raised him to be a bigger person and to always look for the good in people. He couldn’t find the good in her anymore though. All he found was constant disappointment. As he stands there, letting his blood settle, he looks for a broom to clean up the mess. He finds one, walks across the room to clean his mess, sobbing. He can’t believe that after all that she has nothing to say. She just sat there looking at the shattered television with no word leaving her. Only a blank stare. He walks over to her and can see that needle sticking out of her arm. He thinks to himself, she is too high to understand what I’m even saying. He looks back and with one final glance, a sense of peace comes over him as he knows only good things can come from a future without this horrid, self-destructive person in his life. I’m sorry it had to be like this he says, I hope you have a wonderful life. He left, never to see his mother again. And she never left her chair.
She went and did it again. He guesses he shouldn’t be so surprised, it’s not the first time. There was that time on Halloween she had promised to take him trick-or-treating. She didn’t She showed up at grandma’s when he was finished. She stayed only for a few minutes then decided to leave, but helped herself to his best candy because she knew he wouldn’t say no. Typical. Then, there was that time he got an award at school. His grandma made him call her and tell her. She acted excited. She promised she would show up. Unfortunately, she did show up this time. His stomach fluttered with embarrassment as she fell over chairs and talked over everyone. He pretended like he didn’t even know her but she kept calling his name louder and louder waiting for a response. Today is different though. He needed her today. He waited hours for her in the rain before deciding to walk home. It was unforgiving and relentless, just like her. He walk in the door soaking wet thinking today is the day I tell her how I really feel, but I know it’s going to make me cry. He can see her on the other side of the living room and his heart starts to race. For some reason he hesitates. He wants to scream at her so badly and tell her that she is a horrible person for treating me the way she does. He walks up behind her chair slowly as he built up the courage to say something, knowing it will be hurtful. Its time however. You know, this is why I live with grandma, he says, it's days like today when I wish I didn’t have to deal with you. He waited for a response but heard none. He figured he must have hurt her. For some odd reason his body is tingling with triumph. He now has the confidence to keep going. You are never there for me, never have been, never will be, he says. I will grow up and you will never see me again. I will never talk to you once I leave this place unless you can show me that you love me or at least care. Once again he hears nothing but the sound coming from the infomercials on the television. He says, is that it? Really? You can’t even say that you love me? What a worthless piece of trash you are he says with a heaving chest. His breathing so rapid he starts to see white spots. His emotions were pouring out his mouth like a bad taste that he couldn’t scrape off his tongue. It wouldn’t go away and he wouldn’t stop. I know you’re on drugs, I don’t know why you even try to hide it, and you looked so stupid when you came to my awards ceremony, he says. This is why I live with grandma, because your pathetic. And still he hears no response. In an instant, he grabs the ashtray off the table and throws it across the living room, creating a cloud of ash and breaking the television. As he stands there, panting like a ravaged dog when he realizes that he is better than this anger. His grandma had always raised him to be a bigger person and to always look for the good in people. He couldn’t find the good in her anymore though. All he found was constant disappointment. As he stands there, letting his blood settle, he looks for a broom to clean up the mess. He finds one, walks across the room to clean his mess, sobbing. He can’t believe that after all that she has nothing to say. She just sat there looking at the shattered television with no word leaving her. Only a blank stare. He walks over to her and can see that needle sticking out of her arm. He thinks to himself, she is too high to understand what I’m even saying. He looks back and with one final glance, a sense of peace comes over him as he knows only good things can come from a future without this horrid, self-destructive person in his life. I’m sorry it had to be like this he says, I hope you have a wonderful life. He left, never to see his mother again. And she never left her chair.
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