Grief and Flowers

"This is Central Command. We have confirmation of EMF activity. Code Tantalus."

A sigh escapes my lips, but not one of regret. Springs squeal in protest as I rise from the bed where I was seated. Looking back, it’s cramped. Only when lying down fully can anyone fit there, or a corpse

(his)

that’s gone through rigor mortis. Am I pessimistic? No. I’m realistic. Besides, I’m used to these confined conditions.

How long have I been asleep for? If not asleep, tossing and turning, knowing my turn was soon to come again. The monsters never stay away for long.

Whether I was asleep for five minutes or hours, I only have one single hour. I have no way of telling when the next chance will come, so I’d better make it count.

Over to the Chamber. I can hear the Gears whirring and buzzing. They tell us it’s dead, but whatever it was, and is, seems very much alive.

(am I bitter about that?)

Herbicide’s sleek hull greets me, the oval resting on titanic legs with large feet for stability. 
As I step up to where my place is to be, the hull of my chamber hisses open, revealing a chair and a myriad of wires.

I sit, pull the straps tight, lock them into place. I’ll need them.

The door seals behind me and ahead of me another opens. An airlock, but for keeping things out, not in.

I fiddle until each part is in its place – the headset, the eyepiece, the gears and steering equipment. With a clank, the SLUG moves out. I remain, watching, waiting. Senses are at my command, I can smell, see, even touch what the Herbicide touches.

Immediately I’m met with the stink of rotting fruit and flowers. Hitting the filter controls, I am rewarded with a whoosh and the rush of fresh clean air.

It’s a lonely journey, tramping

(alone)

over the fields. Poppies. Oh, the irony. What a kick Tantalus must get out of it, if something like that has feelings at all. That’s one of my favourite things about the job. I can feel I am doing the right thing, despite the fact that I commit murder. They are not people, they are not human – however much they appear to be. They do not think like we do, or feel as we do. They are the deceivers, and I feel no guilt from slaughtering them.

(He felt)

There is a figure up ahead. I would recognise the face anywhere, those empty pits of eyes and that grin, that terrible smile.

He recognises me too. If it’s possible, his smile grew even wider.

I know this will have little effect, yet still I hit the button. A projectile, a small rocket, is launched from somewhere in the sides. It lands with a boom and a cloud. When the smoke clears, and I can see the wrecked torn soil of the field, I am not surprised to see it standing there still, grinning its grin, unharmed

(he was harmed, why isn’t this hurt, unfair, bitter)

and unfazed.

(just like my Navy days, why won’t they die why don’t they die)

Now I know there truly is no God, no Higher Being that’s looking out for us, not even Demiurge would taunt us like this. Murder for murder’s sake is very human, and this being revels in the carnage it causes, and the depression it leaves in its wake.

They say it was the only one of its kind to be given a body by humans. That I can understand now all too well.

The bulb flashes. An alarm sounds. I have had half my time, staring at this monstrosity. Only half an hour to enact my revenge, to do my duty for ‘King and Country’.

It knows me, and tries all the more to elicit the feelings from me that it feeds on. It’s an emotional manifestation, right? Emotions made real. Fear, grief, that’s what it wants from me.

I will give it hate.

Herbicide, named as it is, has a weapon.

At the push of a button, I sit back and watch as gas is released. It seeps from tanks through vents, and all the plants it touch die, drooping and blackening. Almost a watered down form of Agent Orange. That’s why we use these tanks, mechs, SLUGs, call them what you want. To protect us from them, and to protect us from what we use against them.

(if he’d had one maybe he’d be with you still)

Just for an instant, the smile droops with the flowers. The edges of the grin fade. If the flowers show his power, then weedkiller is the answer. Of course it’s not enough to kill it or even harm it, but it serves as an annoyance and a warning:

Do not touch us.

Swiftly, my thoughts return to the day when I found him.

My friend of ten years, and violets lying nearby.

(and now he is avenged)

The buzzer goes. Ten minute warning. Satisfied with what I have done today, I turn around and head in. Until our next encounter.