Soft Apocalypses Read Free Page B

tongue into his eye. The ball squirts off to the side as my organ drills deeper, the tiny mouths rasping through the thin socket bone into his sweet frontal lobe. After the first wash of cerebral fluid I’m into the creamy white meat of him, and—
    –Oh, God. This is more beautiful than I imagined.
    I’m devouring his will. Devouring his memories. Living him, through and through. His first taste of wine. His first taste of a woman. The first time he stood onstage. He’s at the prime of his life, and oh, it’s been a wonderful life, and I am memorizing every second of it as I swallow down the contents of his lovely skull.
    When he’s empty, I rise from his shell and feel my new wings break free from the cage of my back. As I spread them wide in the elevator, I realize I can hear the old gods whispering to me from their thrones in the dark spaces between the stars.
    I smile at myself in the distorted chrome walls. Everything is clear to me now. I have been chosen. I have a purpose. Through the virus, the old gods tested me, and deemed me worthy of this holiest of duties. There are others like me; I can hear them gathering in the caves outside the city. Some died, yes, like the ragged man, but my Becoming is almost complete. Nothing as simple as a bullet will stop me then.
    The Earth is ripe, human civilization at its peak. I and the other archivists will preserve the memories of the best and brightest as we devour them. We will use the blood of this world to write dark, beautiful poetry across the walls of the universe.
    For the first time in my life, I don’t need faith. I know what I am supposed to do in every atom in every cell of my body. I will record thousands of souls before my masters allow me to join them in the star-shadows, and I will love every moment of my mission.
    I can hear the SWAT team rush into the foyer three stories below. Angry ants. I can hear Betty and the others calling to me from the hollow hills. Smiling, I open the hatch in the top of the elevator and prepare to fly.
     

However ....
by Gary A. Braunbeck and Lucy A. Snyder
     
    “The great epochs of our lives come when we gain the courage to rebaptize our evil as our best.”
    –Friedrich Nietzsche, “Fourth Article,” Beyond Good and Evil
     
     
    Of the three children it was the youngest, Penny, who was finally able to free herself from the manacles. So emaciated had her limbs become that she easily slipped her left hand through, but her right was still swollen at the base of the index finger and thumb where the bones had been broken. She did not cry out, even though it was obvious to the others that she was in terrible pain. Pausing only long enough to pull in a deep breath, Penny gripped her right wrist and bore down with what little strength remained in her body. Her face turned red from both the agony and the effort, but still she did not cry out.
    “Hold on,” said Carl, who was older than Penny but not as old as Lewis. “I got an idea. But.…”
    From his corner of the cramped holding area, Lewis said, “But what? ”
    “It’s kinda gross.”
    “I don’t care!” said Penny, tears on her face but nowhere in her voice. “This h-h-h- hurts! ”
    “Do it,” said Lewis.
    Carl blanched. “But—”
    “I already know what you’re gonna do, okay? And Penny? He’s right, it is kinda gross.”
    She pulled in a deep breath. “Will it hurt?”
    “It might sting a little.”
    Penny looked in Lewis’ eyes. Lewis—as he always did at times like this, times when the bad things were really, truly, terribly bad—leaned as far toward her as his chains and manacles would allow, smiled at her, and then stuck out his tongue. Penny laughed. On the periphery of his vision—and while he was still making faces at Penny—Lewis watched Carl rise to his feet and walk quietly toward Penny. Carl, though the second oldest of the children, was also the smallest, and the chains binding him to the damp stone walls were heavier.
    However,