Image of Enevelen holding a gun, obscured by streaking black lines. [https://i.vgy.me/YdLKsq.png]
Cruel. Hateful. Frustration. God's fucking punishment for human insolence. Pain in the worst form, that of work. Another job, she has to. Cut her vacation short! She smiles sarcastically at no one. Nothing at all. Nothing behind the eyes. Yet again. She feels like a monster, she hates herself. Why this? Why this job? She has to put herself through the taffy puller. Why this!!! Absolutely. Yet again she goes through the wringer, like candy in the unbrushed mouth of a child. Teeth gnashing, Yes again. Stop asking. Criminal. Criminal. Criminal. That's me, for pushing back. For trying again. For giving life another shot, and yet survival always finds a way. Put me under again. Underdog. I'm punching up. Cheer for me! Absolutely. Cheer for the machine. I'm not a machine, but I will be inevitably. Is that me? Is that what I'll be?
Gunfire, tak tak tak. Yet again, yes no I picked the HARDEST job. It wasn't actually but. I had to. Reloading my gun, I'm firing down the corridor. At a friend no less. Well not really. One I recognize, my younger self.
"Wow Enny, you look like a fucking wreck!" Running for my life. Corridor of an underground. Facility. Where? Deep underground. The gun, running out of bullets. God's punishment. The machine is failing. The machine, the machine. Dirty effort, that's the hardest. Effort that gets dirty. The worst of it. Younger. I put in the effort, I'm trying to be younger, I'm trying to fight my age. My age, I'm trying to fight my age. My age. I'm trying to fight my age, I'm trying to fight my age. It's not the best. It's dirty, my life is very, very dirty. This gun is fighting me for survival. It doesn't want to keep going. The dirt has gotten inside the barrel, the silencer coughs up the sand. It's time, he says, It's time Enevelen. No! God No! Just because of another failure? You give me over to the sand like this? You walk out on me? At a time when I am so desperate?
I picked the hardest job, I needed the money. I'm fighting my younger self, the butter knife. But, You Know, This time I am the butter. I'm firing my gun again. Down the corridor. I just need to kill him, this time. I almost had him. He saw me though, you know, in the reflection, that's the worst. I can accomplish what I set out to, I can afford repairs if I keep fighting. Where did he go? Butter knife. Mom would know what medication to use to keep me going. The pistons aren't working right in my arm. The worst part is just seeing it all fall apart. God, it's all just ideology until you see it first-hand, my first hand is gone. It's there, it's attached, but nothing's moving. It's like pulling teeth, getting the thing to move. Keep the pain turned OFF turned OFF or else you will FEEL SOMETHING! Don't feel a thing. You won't feel a thing. They tell me it's natural to want more. To want to feel better, to want to do better. Why do they love to hurt me? I'm running, I'm trying to run. The elevator isn't going to help me this time. I can't use the vents to escape. Stairs? How far underground am I? How many floors? Dad would know what gun to use to kill them. To win. Did I kill them? Did I get the bounty? I don't remember- God's punishment, me trying to stay alive. I shouldn't be alive. They tried to kill me, everyone is always trying to kill me. I won't ever even make an effort to publish this book. Too violent. Too much. It's too much, they won't understand, there's no money in trying. Too violent. Money is what matters.
Tak tak tak.
Gunfire down the hallway. Who's that? It's not who I think it is. Where did he go? Did I kill him? What happened to my legs? I'm still running, but my legs aren't moving. Where did my legs go? I'm in a hospital. No. I'm being repaired. How much is this going to cost me? Can I see an itemized receipt? If you type it up I'll be able to make it at least a little painful for you too. Haha! Hahaha. I'll make you type it out. I'll make you write out every little mechanical piece you want to fix, every little wire and every little cog you want to twist. You are a cog. Is that mean? I'm sorry. I'm not. It's not you I'm mad at, doc! You're just a part of a much larger machine. It's a machine within a machine, within a machine. Within a Machine. I'm fighting my age. Yes of course. Absolutely.
Chlorophi warned me. Don't take the job, Enny. You're struggling to stand, look your legs are just dangling shrapnel. God, You're Like A Squid. How much of you is left? Shattered and frayed wiring. Blood and oil oozing. Gross! Always so gross. I could vomit. Blood and Oil. Blood and Oil! Blood and oil. Most of it stays inside, still, despite the running, the gunning, of course it does. I'm a tough girl. Do they see me? Reload. Frustration. I'll do it. I can make it. I always make it. The worst of it. The worst of it never comes, it Tries its best to get the best of me you know? Mom loves me. I can't die, I killed everyone else. I was in the military. My gun is out of ammo.
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Just let it recharge, more batteries where that came from. Gun. Gun. Gun. Gun. Fire!! Butter knife from the ceiling, swings and misses. Who does he think he is? Fire! Bang Bang, Pew Pew, Ptooey! Splat! Pow, oof, Ouch! Yow!!! Eauurugh!! Swing, miss. Flip, double flip, triple flip? Ouch! Bang pow! Blat! Splatooey! Blood and Oil. Bang Bang! Pow. Running away now.
Never thought it was any use to have an internal monologue all tight and specific about the stream-of-consciousness technique, no one is interested in the internal thoughts I might be having and yet I'm still doing it. yet I think as if someone will listen. yet I continue to moan and gripe. nobody wants that. no one likes that. there's a hallway;;; I'm shooting my gun;;; no one will understand that this is the most difficult job I've ever had to do;;;; cyborgs don't need to be so self-aware when all they do is this exhausting ambitious super destructive work. who cares? just do something else. it doesn't matter. it doesn't matter.
Red Sands again. of course.
Group of them on me. I make my way to the vent. Obsessive. I'm obsessing over whether or not I completed the objective? Who was it? Supposed to kill? Absolutely. Not butter knife. Just another henchman. Gun is fully charged. She's in the vents! Of course I am, do you think I'd rather be out there in the corridor? I'm tired of crawling around on my legs, I made myself walk. I made myself pick myself up pick up pick myself up pick pick picked myself up by the bootstraps and fought my way through the. Yeah.
Bootstraps! I'm not going to let fate decide. I'm not going to let my. Yeah! Bootstraps. Pull myself up by the bootstraps. Yeah. Bootstraps. Pull myself up by the bootstraps! Blood and Oil. Strong girl, tough girl, of course! I can pull myself up by my bootstraps. Brain is leaking. Pull myself up by my bootstraps. Pulling my body through the vent, blood, and oil trailing, leaking through the vents onto the floor. Pooling, slippery. What I slipped in before. Running through the corridor. Butter knife. Yes I do look like a wreck. Swear. No need to swear. Military types love to swear yes. Love to carry knives. Pretty knife! Should get replaced. Not very helpful. Bootstraps. Pulling myself. Vent. Where is he? Corridor. Pulling myself through the corridor. I'm really struggling! Bootstraps, I took the job for bootstraps. Need the money. Need repairs. Money. Hardest job. It was a. The tank. The hardest part is waking up in the morning knowing it'll be another day of this. Aspire for something more than just repairs. Bootstraps. Pay your bills. Radiohead reference. Another one?
Gunfire. Head exploded. That was him. Mission accomplished! Hip hip. Crawled back to town from the tank. The tank. The tank. The leg! My leg. Bottles of alcohol. I haven't drank since. Mom do you remember when you got angry when you found me drinking. With friends. Late at night, on the porch. We thought you were sleeping. You were so angry. Military. When I saw you again you didn't recognize me.
Mission accomplished! Mission Accomplished! Mission accomplished! Mission. Well so now what. Butter knife shoves it up through the vent. Ouch! He's so angry. I can repair it if I can Just. Out of here. Out into the corridor, he's chasing me. Running, running, Gun, Gun, charging my shots. Hate to kill someone so young. Maybe I'll miss. Head leaking. Can't be good. Slipped, on my own whoops. Ouch! Blood and Oil. Vents, pooled from the vents. He's on me, right through my veins. Ouch! Ouch! OUCH! I said ouch, get off me. Trying to take my hit. I got there first! Butter knife! Haha! Kill me if you want. Who's this? Hardest job I've ever taken. Chlo said don't do it. Other people trying to take. It. Of course competition is healthy. Innovation. Something. Blood and Oil. I'm used to killing other people.
Who's this? Who's this? Bounty head. Butter is buttery on the floor. Gun. I'm not a gun. Haha! Young man dead in his own butter ha. Really sad actually. really Really sad. Is he breathing? Drag him out. Gun being pointed in my face. Gunfire. Head exploded. Mission accomplished.
Drag the. My younger self(?) Elevator at least. Still alive? Still alive? Yes I think so. Shouldn't be doing this. Credits deposited.
Killed him, the bounty head. Killed the bounty head. Is. Did I get him? Yes I think so. Elevator. Send him back up. He'll be okay. Once he's up. Credits deposited. Someone will get him. Someone will come get him. Bootstraps. Credits deposited. Will anyone hear me? Screaming? Bootstraps. Head leaking. Crawled back to town. Hardest Job. Bootstraps. Repairs. Shouldn't be walking, shouldn't be talking, shouldn't be breathing, shouldn't be breathing. Shouldn't be talking. I'm not talking though. I shouldn't be doing this. Don't sit down. Keep going. Walking. Hole in chest from knife. Hole in chest. Stick my arm through, chestburster!
Out. Desert. Stairs. Make my way home. Make my way to. Mechanic. Miles and Miles but I can make it. Bootstraps. Pull myself up by my own,,, yeah. yeah.
Yeah.