Halfkinds Volume 1: Contact (19 page)

Asking is useless, I already know
the answers, and I don’t care.

November 16, 3040
11:25 PM

I’m on my way to the Gonzalez
station, ready to help my family one last time.  It’s only been minutes since I
left, but so much is on my mind.

When we were growing up, I would
go on the infospace and see what other animals looked like.  Humans,
crocodiles, dogs, cats, tigers, all of them are so beautiful.  They look the
way that God intended.  But when I look in the mirror, I don’t see any of
that.  I see this grotesque mess of human features with scales, teeth, and
monstrous eyes.  I see something that is a mistake, something ugly, something
terrifying.  I become frightful, yet entranced.  And then, I realize that I’m
looking at myself.

And I become disgusted.

I hate myself.  When I was a
child, I learned what I truly was, what my place was in this society.  Since
then, not a moment goes by where I wish I wasn’t dead.  I don’t belong here, I
don’t belong anywhere.  Not among my family, not among the rest of the world. 
I am a monster.

What Tiago fails to see, what the
others fail to see, is that the world is right.  He thinks that we are one of a
kind, that we deserve to live, but I disagree.  We are abominations.  I wonder
sometimes why we are here, what purpose do monstrosities like us serve?  But I
can’t find any answers.

My mother told me I’m part man,
part crocodile.  I don’t see it.  The only way I could be of those two species
is if someone put a human and a croc right next to each other, got two mallets
and started smashing away until the two separate entities became a single
being.  A mixture of teeth and bones, skin and leather, hands and claws.  Then
you would have me.

Out of self-pity, I would ask why
am I like this?  I don’t know who I was asking.  It certainly wasn’t God.  I
don’t think he would’ve made me the way I am and if he did, he doesn’t seem
like a God to me.

Growing up was hard.  My brothers
and sisters didn’t say anything, but I could see it in their eyes, they were
afraid of me.  Some, the more cowardly ones like Leonard, Lombardi, and Maddie,
showed their fear with utmost clarity.  Their voices would shake when they
talked to me, their hands trembled when they approached me.  I’ve known them
all my life and it has always been the same.  I didn’t have the most
approachable demeanor, but when your brothers and sisters can’t even look at
you face to face, you realize that perhaps you are the monster they fear so
much.

The other siblings also dreaded
interacting with me, but the terror they displayed was much more subtle. 
Instead of it showing on their faces or voices, they did it with their
actions.  I was always the elephant in the room, their interactions with me
were awkward and hesitant.  I couldn’t bond with any of them like true family. 
It’s hard to have deep conversations when a pair of knife-sharp jaws are
glaring from your mouth.  It’s hard to horseplay and have fun when a wrong tug
means a dislocated shoulder.  Even our supposed tough guy, Alex, didn’t want
anything to do with me, probably because he knew I could snap his arm off if I
wanted to.

I wouldn’t dare, though, because I
love my family.  Even through all this hell, they mean the world to me.

There is one brother who doesn’t
fear me - Tiago.  He doesn’t act the same way as my other siblings do.  I don’t
see him avoiding eye contact when we talk and I don’t see his body posture
shrivel up.  He stands chest out, head high, eyes focused.  He walks
confidently when he approaches me and speaks to me like a normal being.  In
fact, sometimes I sense a bit of arrogance, as if he’s demonstrating his
authority.  He wants me to know that he’s not scared.  I’m not sure if I’m the
one who should be petrified.

That is the way my oldest brother
is.  He wants people to know that he is the alpha male, that he is the boss and
he doesn’t have to say a word.  He just has to stand there and act like
himself.

Still, it was nice to have someone
to talk to.  Tiago and I wouldn’t have serious chats about the meaning of life,
we just spoke of things any youth would speak about.  Dreams of leaving Primm,
of finding a place away from mother’s control, a place where we could be
accepted.  I hold these talks close to my heart.

He knew, and still knows, that
behind this rough, horrifying exterior lies someone who is dying inside.  At
first, he didn’t understand why I loathe myself so much.  He tried to convince
me I had power.  I was, and still am, bigger than the others.  I’m supplied
with natural gifts and could easily outmuscle my brothers and sisters.  Tiago
couldn’t fathom why someone with such natural ability didn’t try to take
advantage of it.

I would tell him it wasn’t for
me.  I am not one to seize power for my own.  I am one who merely wishes to
exist, who wishes to be happy.  My appearance makes me elude this goal.  It
causes me great pain to know that some beings can’t find joy in the world.

But despite my self-hate, I will
not act in fits of rage or take what is not mine.  I won’t release my pain on
others, just on myself.

Tiago is like that, searching for
power, for survival.  It is his way, not mine.  Many times he has tried to
convince me otherwise and many times I tell him I’m not interested.  Sometimes
his persistence bothers me, he doesn’t like to hear the word no.  Most times, I
wonder why he is so tenacious in the first place.

I see what he has done with Alex. 
My rhino-like brother is much like me, behemoth in size and strong with tough
skin and natural weapons like horns and a thick skull.  When we were young, he
was feared by my brothers and sisters, much like me, that is, until Tiago took
him under his wing.  He offered Alex that powerful hand of friendship and now
Alex is Tiago’s personal muscle.  If there is ever a struggle for Tiago’s life,
rest assured Alex will be the one fighting for him.

Some of the others think the same
of me, that I am Tiago’s lackey, simply because he treats me differently than
they do.  They mistake his gestures of civility with those of manipulation. 
When he talks to me confidently, they see a puppet master pulling the string. 
And when I respond politely, it only supports their argument further.

I wish they could see it’s not
exclusive, that I want to act the same to them.  My brothers and sisters are
the only creatures that I’ve known my entire life.  Twenty plus years under one
house, one roof, without contact to the outside world.  Blood is thick.  I have
an obligation to them and I know that they have an obligation to me.  They are
afraid of me, I understand, but despite their anxiety, I know I can still trust
them.  I would never do harm to them, I would do anything for them.  I wish
they could understand that.

The idea of family is a strange
thing.  We don’t talk much, we don’t connect much, but I am compelled to
protect.  I can’t explain it.  If they were anyone else, I could care less what
happens.  But because of that last name, we are bound to each other.  They
aren’t strangers, they are my kin and I treat them that way.

Sometimes a few of them actually
attempt to reach out to me, like my brother Oscar.  I get the feeling that he
wants to connect, but he can’t find the courage to do so.  He’s made past
attempts.  As children, though apprehensive about it, he would try to play with
me.  It was kid’s stuff back then, hide and go seek and playing with these toys
mother had bought us, but it was something.  Yet, even as children, his
trepidation showed and eventually we disconnected.

As we grew older, it was the
same.  We didn’t talk much and when we did it was always short.  My
relationship with Tiago was getting stronger. They didn’t get along and my
connection with Oscar deteriorated because of it.  We never became as close as
we were when we were young.

I don’t hate him for it. 
Actually, I admire him more for it.  An effort is better than nothing. 
Sometimes I feel gratitude.  I have this underlying suspicion about Tiago’s
actions, that there’s a hidden agenda.  I don’t have that concern with Oscar. 
I don’t question his sincerity.

This was all I had to look forward
to when it concerned my family, bits and pieces of interaction.  It left me
with an incredibly lonely existence.  We were already outcasts in this world
and I was the ultimate cast off.  It wasn’t like some of the others, such as
Lombardi.  He was ousted because of his awkwardness and social ineptitude, but
at least he was given a chance to belong.  I never got it.

How does one cope with being
viewed as a terror among the people he loves?  To be willing to give anything
to those who are ready to run away at your very sight?  The only thing I can
say is that it’s soul crushing.

As the years went by, I spiraled
deeper and deeper into depression.  I had so much love to give, but no one
wanted it because they were too horrified to take it.  Life in that house was
so lonely, and I was confined to it every day.  I was a prisoner trapped in
despair and the only thing I could do was wallow in it.  A mind alone is a
dangerous thing.  You wonder about things that don’t seem possible.  With no
one to talk to, it would only be me and my thoughts.

Going to sleep was the worst.  The
darkness blanketed me, covering my eyes so I couldn’t see myself.  I felt
things, but I didn’t know if they were really there.  I heard things, but I
didn’t see the source of the sounds.  The only thing that was real to me were
my thoughts and they weren’t tangible.

I questioned my existence.  It was
surreal that I was what I was.  There was nothing on this Earth like us, so
what if we weren’t real?  What if the life I was living was some kind of
fabricated lifetime?  How would I wake myself up?

I knew the answer to that was
obvious.  It’s something I think about all the time.

I wonder if any of the others
thought about suicide, or if the long run had ever entered their minds.  Mother
had told us the horrors of the world.  That’s why she kept us on lockdown.  It
would make me question what kind of future I would have.  A lifetime of living
in that house would drive me insane, a lifetime of living outside of it
wouldn’t last very long.  I look like a mutant, I would be killed like one. 
The only solution I had to accept was that there was no future for me.

I wanted to kill myself so many
times.  I wanted to get one of those kitchen knives and jam it into my neck.  I
just never had the guts to do it.  Death is final, uncertain, I wasn’t ready to
face it so abruptly.  So instead, I continued to suffer without a friend to
talk to.

And then, mother died.  I had
spent my years worried about being trapped in our home forever.  It was now
time to face the other fear, living out in the ruthless world she described.

When we left our house, I started
thinking.  Our plan was to be on the run, to hide until we could find a place
to be free.  But I realized that it’s as bad living underground as it is living
in captivity.  We’ll never get to live full lives, despite what Tiago or Oscar
might think.  The only life we could have is that of a rat, a vermin living off
the scraps of others, doing whatever decrepit thing it takes to survive.

I was a bigger target than ever. 
No doubt when someone sees me, they’ll start shooting.  The others looked
unique, almost beautiful, I do not.  No life to live indeed.

My worries came collapsing down
and I had nowhere left to go.  We were backed in a corner, I was backed in a
corner.  It was time to react or suffer forever.

Two nights ago, I decided to
react.  I mustered the courage, I wasn’t going to be afraid anymore.  When the
others were sleeping, I grabbed something I had been working on all week.  To
the average eye, it was a long, hallow pipe.  But at a closer glance, one would
realize its tip was sharpened.  I spent the days in our hiding place fashioning
a spear, so I could jam it right into my heart.  Like I said, I wasn’t going to
be afraid anymore.

I carefully walked away from our
hiding place into the night sky.  The Moon was out that night and it was
mesmerizing.  I could see the specs of green and blue reflecting its way back
to Earth, illuminating the sky stunningly.  There was a small patch of grass
behind the warehouse and I stood there to look around.  It was oddly out of
place, a tiny field of green that shimmered brightly, stuck in the middle of
the dank Primm backdrop.

For a quick moment, I reconsidered
what I was about to do.  The majesty of the night and peculiar peace I
experienced was enough for me to have my doubts.  Such magnificence was found
in the middle of this ugly place, I felt right at home.  Perhaps there was a
place for me after all if I could enjoy a moment out of such simplicity.

But then I realized moments are
fleeting.  They don’t exist forever.  What exists forever is the hardship and
cruelty of this world, one that allows this monstrosity known as myself to
exist.  What a horrible place indeed.

I grabbed the pipe with both
hands, extended it forward, and pointed it down at my body.  I closed my eyes
and thought about my family.

“Such a shame,” I said
despondently.

“Indeed it is,” someone said
behind me.  I recognized the voice.  Tiago.

“Come to talk me out of this?”  I
said with the metal still grasped tightly in my hands.

“No, I’ve come to understand why
this happening in the first place.”

“You know me, brother.  We don’t
have a chance out there, especially me.  Who would accept us?”

Tiago let out a short breath. 
“Our goal shouldn’t be to gain acceptance, it should be to survive.”

“So run like fugitives then? 
Always fearing what lies behind the corner?”

“Run yes, but not like fugitives. 
Run to freedom, Curtis.”