“You knew this day would come. Why did you insist we stay?”
Wilson pretended to load his gun. He had far more potent weapons at his disposal, but he needed the excuse to avoid Maria’s accusing gaze. Outside, hideous shadows danced on the window, the first visible evidence of the approaching mob. Glass shattered. Screams. Jax echoed the terror on the streets. Maria clamped a hand over his mouth, holding him tight against her breast. “We could have fled.” Wilson set his gun down, summoning the courage to meet his wife’s eyes. “I have duties in this city. I can’t leave. But please, please trust me. You and Jax will be safe, I swear on my life. You two mean the world to me.” Maria rested a clenched fist against the countertop. “Your smile, Wilson.” “What about it?” “It’s gone. Something grave has been on your mind for far too long.” She took a deep breath. “I need the truth. Did you know that they would come for me?” Wilson nodded. “I prepared for this.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” Light from the mob’s torches crept around the windowframe. The shouts grew louder. Wilson stood up, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “Into the basement. They’ll never know you’re here.” “Wilson!” A note of desperation crept into Maria’s voice. “What is happening?” “That which must.” Wilson kissed her gently. “I love you. Now go.” Maria stared at him, jaw clenched in defiance, then descended into the basement. Wilson sighed and covered the trapdoor with a rug. The writhing mass inside of him, once so vibrant and full of energy, drooped like an empty bag. Never had the centuries weighed on him so heavily. A sole purpose animated him. Protect them. With that task finished, he could finally rest. The mob passed by the house at a command from the white-cloaked man at its head. The rioters knew a woman of Dizadian descent lived here along with her half-breed son, but Winthrop’s control over the mob still exceeded the rage they felt at the terrorist acts committed by Maria’s countrymen. Only their leader remained. The door creaked open. Wilson had left it unlocked. Best not to delay the inevitable. Winthrop the Hunter leaned against the doorframe. “Which name are you going by these days?” “It’s Wilson. From now until the day I die.” Winthrop sneered. “You took your teacher’s name? Too bad you don’t have a fraction of his resolve, or I might actually have some fun tonight.” “What kind of hunter mocks his prey before the kill? Just do your job.” Winthrop snapped his fingers, and a dagger materialized out of thin air. He slashed open Wilson’s stomach. Wilson doubled over in pain, his fingers pressed to the wound. They came away covered not in blood but in glowing worms, writhing desperately as they spilled from his gut onto the floor. “So this is what goes into immortality, huh?” Winthrop swept Wilson’s feet out from under him and stabbed again. “The higher-ups pour all that money into discovering the secret, then they have to create someone like me to track down their escaped creations. Pitiful.” “Immortality… isn’t what they thought it was.” Winthrop continued the attack, slashing ruthlessly. At first, Wilson focused on Maria, imagining her telling Jax the story of his father’s sacrificial love late at night. Then pain eclipsed his ability to focus, and he let out a scream. Winthrop plunged a hand into a wound and ripped out a mass of worms. That cloak of his should’ve been bloodstained. But no. He didn’t kill ordinary people. Wilson’s insides crawled about aimlessly, their light slowly fading. A new wave of fire burst on his skin. Breathing was too much effort. So this is was it takes for an immortal to die. No, don’t think that. Thinking was too much effort. Wilson gave up, surrendering his whole world to torment. *** Wilson awoke. It was morning. His windows were broken, and half his body was missing. But he was home. It was the most horrifying truth he had ever faced. A scream erupted from his lungs. He glimpsed his worms crawling towards him, reforming his legs. He felt no pain. His reservoir of pain was empty. “Um… honey? You’re alive?” Maria’s voice brought him back to the present. “I was supposed to die,” he growled. “What does it take for an immortal to die?” He sat up, then slumped back to the floor. Nothing had changed. He was still locked in this body, doomed to wander the earth for eternity. Maria and Jax were still in danger— Winthrop would never give up pursuing him, and wouldn’t hesitate to use his loved ones as hostages. Maria crossed her arms. “Immortal?” He told her everything, from his days in the lab to Winthrop’s attack last night. When he finished, silence pressed on him like a physical weight. Maria bowed her head. “I’m sorry,” Wilson added. “I endangered you and Jax, and in the end, I couldn’t even sacrifice my own life to keep you safe.” Pathetic. Maria looked up. “This… hunter. He’ll never give up until you’re dead, right?” “Yes.” “Well, why are you still alive?” Wilson’s legs linked together, the critters emitting a protective coating that became his skin. Winthrop had completely shredded every inch of his body. Nobody could survive that. A smile danced across Maria’s face. “He thinks you’re dead. You didn’t fail, Wilson. You saved us from the rioters and from Winthrop.” She took Wilson’s hand and pulled him up. Wilson groaned, his muscles weak after not existing for several hours. “Immortality isn’t all bad,” she said. “I’d rather have a worm-filled husband than a dead one.” “But you’ll die,” Wilson protested. “I’ll leave you.” “I’ll live first.” Maria rested her head against his chest. “And my life will be better for having you in it. So smile, honey. You’ve done good.” Almost against his will, Wilson obeyed. The End *** I've always thought immortality would get kinda depressing after a while. It's a trope that seasons much of the fantasy genre-- yet little thought is given to its downside. I wrote this story to consider what hope looks in for someone stuck in a dark and broken world. Wilson's brief adventure doesn't answer any deep philosophical questions, but it does introduce an interesting topic to think about. And it may not be my last word on immortality. Among my many potential novels lies The Immortality Cure, a dystopian story exploring a society in which everyone expects to live forever. What makes you want to be immortal? What do you think would happen if death were no longer a certainty? Comment and let me know. Perhaps I'll use your insights as inspiration for a story.
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Progress on Doombear, Rough draft:10%
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"In truth, by leaving, I was seeking only one thing. A journey."
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