Kazin

Flashes like lightning. Bright beams as if I am standing in the path of a speeding hovercar. At times the shroud of darkness is cast in a fleshy hue, as if someone is flashing a light into my eyes.

My memories are bending, becoming convoluted, always at the threshold of recall, yet never crossing into complete recollection. There is a constant fog misting my thoughts, and the hum of mental stagnancy.

But then I am jolted awake by a presence that will not leave. It shakes me awake, scrambles me until I am no longer whole, and leaves when I am undone. I slowly recover and recuperate, attempt to collect the broken pieces of my being, only to be woken again by the insertion of this entity. At times it is like a parasite squirming in the folds of my mind; at other times it is alike to an overcast sky, drenching the very air itself with the rumor of rain, so that I am reminded of its onset with every movement I make.

It is inescapable. It overpowers me, shackles me, sets me loose with false hope, grasps me, shakes me, undoes me.

Repeat. Rinse. Again.

*******

“Dad…”

He strikes me across the face and throws me into the closet. I scramble to my feet and bang at the doors, but Dad has already locked them.

I can hear screaming from without. What are you doing, Dad?

Wait your turn, a voice reminds me ominously. It will come.

What? What are these thoughts revolving in my mind? There are memories like postcards, and memories like sparks of light; other memories are like trains extending far into the horizon, to the beginning of my thoughts. But this do they all have in common—there is a common thread, linked in such a way so I know that the days of my past inevitably crossed that path. But these new memories…they are like glitches in a VR experience, absent one moment, then there the next.

Unnatural and uncanny. It does not match with me, who I know myself to be.

It is as if a moth congregates with butterflies. Its wings flutter, its shape is similar, yet I know it’s wrong.

The door bursts open, catching me in the cheek.

Dad yanks me by the shirt, and throws me onto the ground. I can see his blurry form through the tears veiling my eyes. His shoulders are much broader than I remember them to be. He is shorter, and stouter, like a stone sentinel upon some ancient road. Has Dad always had techSpects? I can’t make out the face behind them. His features are worn and unrecognizable, like a statue that has seen better days.

He watches me with scorn, then shakes his head.

“A disappointment. Not even half a man.”

But somewhere in my mind, I know I’m only a child.

Dad shuts off the light and closes the door, leaving me alone in the darkness.

*******

Another storm of darkness and light passes. My mind has been rent and restitched once more. It is wracked with the sore of healing fissures.

Then, as I open my eyes, I am swathed in warm sunlight. Trees comfort me with the cool of their shade, streams tinkle in excited laughter, and birds sing their chorus of praise.

I sit upon a stone bench. Two boys sit beside me.

A stone fountain gurgles forth clear water.

“Hey K-aAz-Z,” one of them says. He’s the broadest boy I’ve ever seen, built like an ox. A mop of black hair nearly covers his eyes. He nudges a bottle of whiskey in my direction.

“I shouldn’t,” I hear myself say. “My father—”

“Won’t be home for another week, my guy,” another boy says. “Coooooome oooooonnnn—” He picks up the bottle and lays it in my waiting hands. He’s as skinny as a toothpick, his fingers like long twigs. “Chug! Chug! Chug!”

The ox boy joins him in his chant. “Chug! Chug! Chug!”

“What about your mom?” I hear myself ask the ox.

His beaming smile falters. “You really gotta ruin the mood like that?”

“Ah, come on my dudes!!!” the skinny boy cries. “You’re both ruining the vibe!” He tries to act cheerful, but I can hear the uneasiness in his voice. “If you’re both that scared, just come to my place. Kaa-zzzmm-inn doesn’t even have to tell his dad, and your mom won’t mind if it’s me. Just tell her you’re doing homework or something.”

The ox boy nods. Goaded by their encouragement, I knock back too many swigs of whiskey. My throat burns, and each breath I expel makes me feel like an alcoholic dragon.

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Ox boy hands me a bottle of a dark-colored beverage. “Have some. It matches well with the whiskey.”

“Thanks,” I splutter. Just as I lift the bottle to my lips, a figure comes crashing through the trees.

“Mom!” ox boy says in fearful surprise, leaping to his feet.

“I knew it!” she shrieks. She points at the ground, the stiffness of her finger like to crack fissures into the dirt. “Get over here, now.”

Ox boy doesn’t listen, and she pushes her techSpects higher onto her nose.

“I said, now.”

Ox boy swallows, then obeys.

“You boys should be studying for your entrance exams tomorrow,” the woman says. She gives me a pointed look, her eyes full of accusing. “I hear you plan on dropping out of Azanona Academy, Kaa-aaazzuummniinnn. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to fail the entrance exams for Minzyu Secondary.”

I lower my gaze.

“Get back home, ---,” the woman commands. The skinny boy ups and quickly leaves.

“Please don’t tell my dad,” I hear myself whispering.

“Your scores will do the telling, Kaaaazzz,” the woman says. She takes ox boy and leaves. I stare for a long while at the dirt, studying its intricacies, marveling at the unmoving pebbles. The sun slowly sets behind me.

*******

A scream shatters the façade. The scene splinters and cracks like glass. I am thrown into disarray.

I begin unraveling, like toilet paper that rolls, and rolls, and rolls…Then, someone catches it.

And then it begins again.

Like a premonition, the sense of doom dawns on me. It rises and rises like an approaching tsunami, threatening to sweep me away into the clutches of death.

“Kindness is for the weak,” Dad says. “Hard men are required for hard times. Hard men have the strength to further the world.”

I look down at my hands. My palms glimmer with perspiration. I think of all those people that I have envied. The things I could never have. The things that were wrenched from my grasp.

“The entire world is yours for the taking, my son,” my dad would say to me. “All you need do is reach.”

I don’t want the entire world. I want those other things that I never had. A deep, dark hatred burns deep within me for those who live a life I could never. I am an empty shell, reminded of what I lack everywhere I look, every time I gaze into my face in the mirror.

And so, I trample them. I will trample them. I cannot lift myself up, so I will tear them down. Drag them from their pedestals, catch them in their obliviousness, and throw them into hell.

I gaze with hatred at my father. My entire life he has made it out that I am lacking, that I am less than he. But he has led us into failure; our family will suffer for the mistakes he made. And when he is dead, it is I who must be satisfied with his leavings.

Skinny boy rises in the world, acknowledged by others, loved by those around him. Why do his fortunes rise while mine fall? I want to hate him, but I can’t do even that. I would truly be alone then, without a single friend.

Ox boy…ox boy falls into drunkenness. He spends his days and nights away at nightclubs and hostess clubs, at pleasureHouses and VR hubs. His mother calls for him to return home, but he will not. Why should he? There is no worse hell than one of a parent’s making.

A scream gathers in my throat. This is wrong. This is not me. This is not Kazin Moyashino.

*******

I lounge outside, laying in the grass. I toss my backpack to the side, and gaze at the blue sky. The clouds pass me slowly by, languid, without a care in the world.

“Kaz!” Dad yells. He waves at me. Mom sits beside him, beaming with pride. She beckons to me. There is a pitcher of lemonade and cider on the small table between them.

I climb onto my feet and saunter towards my parents.

“You done with the patio, Dad?” I gaze at the wooden home that is his handiwork. Slanting roofs with black tiles above two stories of dressed stone and varnished wood, nestled within the embrace of tall, dark trees.

Mom pours me a glass of lemonade. My favorite. I let the cool simmer deep into my stomach.

“Almost, kiddo,” Dad says with a wink. “You ready to help me?”

“With the logs?”

“That’s right.”

I smile smugly. That’s our code. I steal a peek at Mom. She’s oblivious as she gazes out at the trees. Her cTab rings. She looks down at the screen, and her face loses its smile.

Dad looks over, and his brow wrinkles from worry.

“Again?” he asks.

Mom nods curtly, then stands to leave—perhaps to answer the call.

“Who is it?” I ask.

“Your—” Dad stops as mom shoots him a look. He sighs.

“What?” I say indignantly. “Mom, who is it?”

“Family,” she answers. “Your uncle.”

“Oh,” I say meekly. “Sorry.”

Mom heads inside, and Dad and I begin tramping through the woods.

“Is he asking for money to pay for his cyberNarcs again?” I ask quietly.

Dad gives me an uneasy glance. “Yeah. Getting out of the city…didn’t keep him from calling.”

We come into the clearing. The padded targets have been burnt to a crisp. Dad hands me the photonBlaster.

“You ready, kiddo?” He smiles at me.

“Definitely,” I answer, aiming the rifle.

This thought, I know is real. This memory has the thread of me running through its core.

*******

“AAAAAGGHAAHHGGHHH!”

Sangsum threw his neural transmitter to the side as he collapsed onto the floor, a bundle of nerves and nearly broken spirit.

“Mr. Gato!” the researcher hurried to help Sangsum to his feet. He was quickly swatted away as if he were an irksome fly.

“I’m fine,” Sangsum grimaced. He clung to the wall as he pushed himself up. He stared at Kazin, chained into his pod. Half-man, half-machine, how he had changed! Was there anything left to envy or hate? And still, Sangsum could not help but fall into the depths of his own sense of wretchedness.

“As I said, sir,” the researcher said carefully. “The Memory Engine is almost ready. If we could but delay for two weeks, or maybe even just one—”

“I said no,” Sangsum glowered, “or have you already forgotten?”

“It is almost completed,” the researcher insisted. “The uncanny valley is nearly dealt with. There would be no need for the insertion of false memories using your own as templates.”

“There will be no failure,” Sangsum said. “The timeline will be met. It was hard enough getting everyone to the meeting. A reschedule would not only derail our plans, it would destroy our credibility to deliver.”

“Then what of memory manipulation?” the researcher suggested. “That much is already possible with the Engine.”

“Manipulation has proved volatile,” Sangsum retorted. “The behavior of test subjects thereafter is too unpredictable.”

“If we continue this way,” the researcher warned, “the danger does not only lie with the Moyashino boy. It may rewire your own mind as well. Perhaps even destroy it.”

“Then that is a risk I must take,” Sangsum said, his tone effectively muzzling the researcher. “First we must prove that anyone might be cultivated with false memory insertion, against anyone we command.”

The researcher sighed and picked up the neural transmitter that Sangsum had cast aside. He fitted it back over Sangsum’s head.

"Would you not have someone else take your place here?" the researcher asked.

"I trust only myself for this task," Sangsum answered resolutely. "I may owe Kazin that much." He would see to Kazin's change. He would pull the strings of Kazin's destruction.

“And if you see another memory of his trying to overcome my own,” Sangsum added, “wipe it.”

The researcher nodded reluctantly.

Sangsum sighed, himself unsure if he was ready. Regardless, he must go on.

He breathed deeply, to dispel the fear within him. “Begin.”