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Short Story

Crucifix

A short story by Danny Kodicek.

***got a good reason***

– Crucifixion is the only choice. In a world where our choices have been taken from us one by one, only the crucifix remains, the last symbol, the only decision left to us. Oh, the illusion is there, the illusion that makes me think that the step I take is my will, but that choice is a figment, imposed by the world which, choiceless, I inhabit. Look –

– AND HERE THE FIGURE IN ITS GRASSWORLD INTERACTIVE GARMENTS AND RETINAL STIMULATORS WILL GESTURE TO ITS INTERNAL AUDIENCE, INDICATING THE DESOLATION ABOUT IT WHICH IT CANNOT PERCEIVE –

– the invisible world hidden behind the facade that imposes itself on my senses, that determines my actions even as I am unaware of it. How in the face of this can I believe that my movement –

– HE WILL LEAP AT THIS POINT. THE RAT WHICH PATTERS UNSEEN BENEATH HIS FEET WILL BE NEATLY AVOIDED. OBLIVIOUS, HE WILL CONTINUE HIS VOICELESS MONOLOGUE –

– is a choice and not a programme, a necessary consequence of the unknown world?–

…As your thoughts followed their usual path, you made your way through the landscape. The cool breeze cushioned your naked body, your bare feet padding through the grass which grew unhindered among the hills. The surrounding countryside was almost empty, only the occasional figure imposing itself on your view. Your body drank of the sun. Only your mind remained unmoved by the natural beauty around –

– WHICH WILL BE MAPPED ACCURATELY TO THE DESOLATION. EVERY PERCEIVED OBJECT WILL BE ONLY A CONSTRUCT THAT COINCIDES WITH THE GREY WORLD. AS THE FIGURE REACHES A BUBBLE-CAR TRACK IT WILL NECESSARILY STOP –

– because you were unable to cross that torrent, the rush of water which –

– is entirely fictional. Why am I unable to ignore my senses, the signals of my world which fool me into believing falsehoods? I know that there is no water here. On the other hand, perhaps after all this is a river which blocks my passage. I cannot know which real objects inspire my world’s creations. “Direction” –

– A glowing direction arrow superimposed itself on your vision. You sighed and turned to follow it –

– THE FIGURE WILL TURN TO FOLLOW THE WALKWAY THAT FLANKS THE CAR-TRACK. LOOKING ABOUT ITSELF, IT WILL MAKE ITS WAY AT AN EASY PACE, CERTAIN OF ITS DESTINATION –

– which is the place of choice, my final resting place, where there is no rest. Poetry in motion –

– A message flashed across your view, tastefully created in your sky by a wheeling flock of birds. INCOMING MAIL–

“Scan”, you said, sitting on the ground;

– CUNNINGLY PLACED TO AVOID THE PILE OF VOMIT –

– and a piece of paper fluttered towards you in the breeze. “Where are you”, it said. “I thought we were linking for a sexsess”. “Vanish”, you said, and the paper disappeared instantly. “Create mail”.

ADDRESS?

said the birds. “Last recorded”

PROCEED

You picked up a stick and began to sketch in the earthy ground of the path: “TAKING THE EASY WAY OUT”. “Message ends”, you declared –

– “Got a good reason”. My reason is the best there is: that there is no alternative, or none that retains any truth. Only the darkness remains as an option. The crucifix.–

– HE WILL HEFT THE BAG WHICH HANGS OVER HIS SHOULDER, BULKILY IMPEDING HIS MOVEMENTS –

– the plain wooden cross, its splinters digging into your naked shoulder, a weight which would not allow itself to be forgotten –

– THE BAG WHICH WILL HAVE BEEN PACKED ONLY THAT MORNING, ITS CONTENTS HAVING ARRIVED A WEEK BEFORE.

[memory: the advertisement in the Grassworld net-sheet. “Take a die trip and live – contact crucifix.comp for details. The grass is always greener on the other side.” Bringing to mind rumours passed between net-players. Rumours of an alternative]

***for taking the easy way out***

– THE FIGURE WILL COME TO A BRIDGE WHICH CROSSES THE BUBBLE-CAR TRACK. HE WILL STEP ONTO A WALKWAY WHICH SPIRALS SMOOTHLY UPWARDS. A GENTLE BREEZE –

– ruffled your hair as you made your way along the hilltop. On the other end of the ridge, one of the rare figures to be seen in your world reached the crest and began to walk towards you. –

– She saw him walking, a serious figure moving with difficulty. She smiled as she appraised him, a young body (not that there was any certainty in this world of makebelieve) and well-equipped. He nodded abruptly as he passed her, acknowledging her presence. –

– She stopped as you passed her. “Hello”, she said. You ignored her, walking on –

– THE TWO FIGURES WILL APPEAR ALMOST POIGNANT, SILHOUETTED AGAINST THE SKY. ONE WILL SEEM IMPASSIVE, WALKING WITHOUT PAUSE. THE OTHER WILL CALL PETULANTLY AFTER HIM. “AREN’T YOU GOING TO SHAG, THEN?” –

– You continued on your way, your burdened step unaltered. She ran towards you. “Ain’t you got no fucking manners?” At that, you stopped, turned to her.–

– He raised his arms to a horizontal position, his hair waving hazily in the breeze. His head lolled onto his bare chest. “Christ”, she said, “A fucking die tripper” –

– SHE WILL TURN AWAY IN DISGUST, LEAVING THE FIGURE IN HIS CRUCIFIED POSE. A SLIGHT SMILE WILL CROSS HIS NORMALLY SERIOUS FACE AS HE WAITS FOR HER TO LEAVE BEFORE DROPPING HIS ARMS AND CONTINUING HIS JOURNEY.

***one way ticket yeah***

– The Die Trip. Some call it that, the ultimate drug, but the concept goes beyond the personal trip. What will I care about the sensations that the crucifix generates? I will not live to remember them. But the benefit to the world, the additional voice to the fugue, the added colour to the kaleidoscope, that is the true worth of the act. Only choice can create life from lifelessness.

[memory: The moment of realisation. The transformation which occurred in the midst of orgasm, on the created grass by the fictional forest. The dreadful sense of despair and the ensuing hopelessness]

I did not wake up from my incomprehension, but now at least I dream lucidly. Now I am aware of the transition from sleep to wakening. That final moment when I wake –

– Your path came to an end by the edge of a stream. “Direction”. The arrow indicated downstream. Stepping into the water, feeling the sudden chill as your bare feet entered, you began to make your way further along towards your destination, sharp rocks cutting painfully into your feet. You shifted the weight of the cross on your shoulder.–

– She stood on top of the ridge, looking out in the direction he had walked. He had seemed so grim, so certain. “Trace?” she said. The clouds overhead arranged themselves into a query.

ADDRESS?

“Last interaction”. A trail of small cakes materialised on the ground in front of her, indicating that the information was only in short-term memory and would soon fade. Even as she watched, small sparrows settled on the nearest cakes and began to peck at them. –

– THE TWO WILL NOT WALK MUCH FARTHER. THE MAN WITH THE BAG ACROSS HIS SHOULDER WILL FOLLOW THE PATH AS IT WINDS BY THE BANK OF A RIVER, THE WOMAN HURRYING BEHIND. –

– To the side of you, a rocky cliff loomed, an unscaleable barrier. “Distance”, you asked the world. Flickering sunlight reflected from the water informed you

150 METRES

in shimmering, momentary patterns which scattered into whirlpools and miniature waterfalls. –

– She could see him ahead of her. He seemed less serious from behind, his pale buttocks looking almost comical as he picked his way down the stream. “Name?”

UNKNOWN

said the water.–

– To your left, a rivulet of water cut its way through the cliffside, gushing down to join the stream in which you were walking. Your own stream, merging with the other, became turbulent and dangerous, so you turned to walk up the rivulet towards the waterfall above it–

– THE PIER ALONG WHICH THE FIGURE WILL WALK WILL BE NARROW AND WINDSWEPT. THE MUDDY WATERS OF THE RIVER WILL BREAK GREENLY AGAINST THE CONCRETE SUPPORTS. PICKING HER WAY ALONG BEHIND HIM, THE WOMAN WILL STOP AT THE END OF THE PIER, WATCHING FROM THE SHADOWS –

– And so my destination is reached. I do not know where it is, only that it was the place assigned by the crucifix. So even the place of my death is not chosen. “Reality”–

– The branches of the sycamore beside you arranged themselves into a final question:

ARE YOU SURE?

“Yes”, you said to them.–

– She was horrified when the serious man spoke his words. He vanished from her sight for a moment, then reappeared as her Grassworld system readjusted to include him in its list of perceived objects. But now he was holding something she had not seen: a plain wooden cross.–

– THE FIGURE WILL PLACE HIS SHOULDER BAG BESIDE HIM. HE WILL BEGIN TO UNPACK –

– How painful it is. I am so accustomed to the perceived world of imposed beauty that it is hard to keep my dispassion. But I could not remain in the lie of this virtual truth, not for my ending, my beginning, my final transubstantiation. –

***it took me so long to find out***

– FROM THE BAG HE WILL TAKE A CONE-SHAPED OBJECT AND FOUR CROSS-PIECES WHICH ATTACH TO THE APEX. HE WILL TAKE OUT A SPIKED METAL HEADSET WHICH HE WILL JOIN BY A CABLE TO THE BASE OF THE CONE. HE WILL TAKE OUT A HANDHELD TRIGGER WHICH HE WILL PLUG IN BESIDE THE HEADSET. THE COMPLETED WINDMILL WILL STAND BESIDE HIM, ITS SAILS TURNING IN THE BREEZE –

– He buried the base of the cross firmly in the stream bed, water from the waterfall sparkling in a spray about him. A circle of thorns appeared in his hands, and he placed it on his head–

– DABBING ELECTROLYTIC PASTE AROUND HIS FOREHEAD –

– And now it comes. The moment when all merges, when determination ends. Will I end? Is the question meaningful? –

– You took the trigger in your hand, faced the river, and raised your arms–

– The body was spread out on the cross, displayed naked under a libation of water–

– HE WILL PRESS THE TRIGGER GRASPED TIGHTLY IN HIS HAND, AND THEN WILL COME THE POWER SURGE –

– and

[memory: Emergence. Warmth and water turn to pressure and rejection then light and pain haaa]

now

[memory: Life. Mirror = me? Seeming other look smiles I smile = love]

[memory: Discovery. Me and other combine in whiteness and surge of heat. More wanted. Good?]

begins –

– Your life –

– So much. I never knew –

– Your –

– And I turn gently, my vanes streaming with my –

– life –

– I am choice I am world I am resurrection I am life For ever and ever turning turning the prayer wheel broadcasts power and glory I counterpoint I harmony I melody –

– THE CRUCIFIX WILL TURN ITS SAILS IN THE RIVER WIND, THE BODY LYING BESIDE, ITS HAND–

– stretched out on the arm of the cross, dripping blood. She stared for some time until the hand ungrasped and the head slumped forward. Then she spoke quietly. “Reality.” The trickle of blood that flowed with the rivulet towards her whorled into the words

ARE YOU SURE?

“Yes.” And she saw the windmill there on the pier, turning, moving but constant, the body beside it, arms outstretched–

– SHE WILL SMILE AND REMOVE HER GRASSWORLD CARTRIDGE. WITH A SWIFT MOTION, SHE WILL THROW IT INTO THE RIVER. THEN SHE WILL WALK SLOWLY AWAY THROUGH THE SCARRED STREETS. AND A FLURRY OF SYCAMORE SEEDS WILL GUST AFTER HER, SPINNING, SPINNING –

– World without end for ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and

***I found out***

This story takes its original inspiration from an image suggested by Peter Chilvers. Danny Kodicek is a maths graduate from Cambridge University and is currently writing a novel.