That which is newborn is born already dying, outer skin flaking and mouth tongueless, crying soundlessly. It’s a pity - but it’s so. Laid in a bed in a dark corner. Born but also dying.
Those who wanted this to happen have made it so. They who wish to see the end of this people forever, the ones born in a dark place, they’ve poisoned the water and filled the air with gas that causes blindness. Perhaps those shadow others breathe this gas themselves, because they’re blinded in light. They use cameras and machine screens to see for them.
There’s no need for weapons on this newborn. But the weapons may well come anyway, because the shadow ones, and those who created them, need to expend their arms budgets. For now there’s a silence here, with no machines or weapons to roar.
There’s only the soundless crying of the newborn without a tongue. Nothing is heard in the dark corner.
He rode through the desert on a broken mule with an electric scooter strapped to his back. He was going to that place he knew existed, where ranchlands stretched lush. First, to cross cracked land where bones jutted.
The mule died, dessicated and leathery. He mounted the scooter, rode on. Day became night; the battery gave out before dawn. He walked and walked in dawn’s shimmer. Green land to eastward. A walker approached, old man or woman under rags.
“Don’t go east, son,” the walker said. “They’ll devour you there.”
Our ranch was established just after rainy season had left the valley so verdant. We let out the heartiest specimens to feed wild, and most flourished, though some were hunted by poachers. Others were rustled or just ran away. We can’t be everywhere.
At season’s end we brought the herd back in for slaughter, sparing the pregnant females and some stud males to provide new stock. The women wept to see their mates bleed out in the bloodtubs, which soured their milk.
Next time we’ll make sure they can’t watch.
When the roof beam buckled, and we were trapped under the rubble of the roof and walls, there was still hope. Surely somebody would pass by the ranch soon, unbury us, haul us out into the fresh air and the light?
Then we remembered: there was nobody left out there who hadn’t been hamstrung and used as livestock on the ranch. Maybe our hobbling broodmares and studmales would scramble to help us?
We coughed up dust and imagined the light.
NOTE
As before in ‘Project Rando’, this fiction emerges from tying together microfictions (four this time) generated from random prompts of the I Ching oracle plus a die roll for length. I used the third part in a previous Microfictions post three weeks ago.
The I Ching readings in question were: Sprouting/Stripping Away (160 words); Great taming/Nearing (90) ; Great Taming/Nourishment (90); Great Exceeding/Confined (80).
Honestly feel like you’re on another level a lot of times. Devastating. ❤️
Very juicy stuff. Can I get it through a straw?
This is the paragraph I'm taking on my vision quest:
"He rode through the desert on a broken mule with an electric scooter strapped to his back. He was going to that place he knew existed, where ranchlands stretched lush. First, to cross cracked land where bones jutted."