The Ditches

Chapter Two

I gain consciousness in a putrid pool of my own vomit. Acid burns my throat as my liquid diet of alcohol rises, and dribbles from my mouth. Nausea riddles my body. I shake uncontrollably. The ground comes into focus. Concrete. Grey, like me. I'm grey. Skin colour, morals ...

A flickering light antagonises the pounding in my head. A groan slips from my lips. Entra should have eyelids, I wish I had eyelids. Open, close. Yeah, I'd like that. Open and close. If I had eyelids, I currently wouldn't have vomit on my eye!

I'd like normal eyes too. You know the kind, small, with whites and pupils and a nicely coloured iris. "You have eyes like a bug! ... they're huge and so black ... can you see colour?"

A green wire travels from the bare bulb light fixture, I wonder where it goes.

Come on, Ramet, focus. Ramet. Yes, that's my name. Ram. Met. Ramet. The more I say it, the stranger it sounds. I named myself! My name's a joke, just like me. It's a ship part. A batch of Combat Cruisers were produced with a faulty ramet. "The ramet is fucked ... oh great, not another broken ramet." It doesn't seem so funny anymore.

Uh oh, more sick. I roll onto my back. Oh fuck, that's worse. Bile leaks from my mouth and dribbles down my neck. There are worse sensations. Like having blood fill my mouth from an out-of-control nosebleed. Or having your neck stabbed and being too scared to remove the blade, and screaming hysterically at anyone who tried to help, and then being jumped, pinned down and sedated. I laugh a little. Oops, sick again.

That light. Dodgy wiring, most likely. Uh fuck, it's like it's winking at me. Wink ... not wink ... wink ... not wink. That fucking light. Just like the shittest of friends. With the rankest of booze, and drugs that hit too fucking hard.

Wait ... where am I?

That's a good question. That's a fucking amazing question. Questions are fun. Funny questions, like, how did you get your scars? Ha ha ha. That's everyone's favourite question. The fuck you asking for, you piece of shit? Sometimes that's how I answer. Depends on my mood.

I think I've stopped being sick. That's nice. Wait, why was I wearing a blue dress? Fuck no. I don't wear dresses. I stare at my tits; I don't see anything past them. Too fucking huge! Oh shit, that's too funny. But anyway, I'm in white, looks like a t-shirt, that's cool.

Screeching tyres disrupts my thoughts. That's a familiar sound. It's life and death. Standing and talking and then bleeding under a car. Listening to a mother scream for their child and screaming internally because entra have the technology to help, but I don't. I have nothing. All I can ever do is watch, helpless. Oh man, I had some good shit that night.

Oh fuck! Blue dress, huge tits. Fuck me, Hara. That bitch. Although technically she didn't say she'd fuck me. So, maybe that makes being drugged more acceptable? Oh, that's interesting. Wow, I'm on fire, my thoughts are never usually so on point. Maybe ... life is a drug? Shit, if I'm already drugged on life ... Hara didn't do anything wrong. Hara's so pretty, I might love her.

An engine cuts out. Footsteps echo. The nerves in my fingers flicker and twitch. The sensation travels down my body to the tips of my bare toes. I think I've been kidnapped. Ha 'kidnapped'. I chuckle. Never was a kid. Stepped out of my incubation unit as a fully grown, naive as shit, adult. Out of the incubation unit and into the hands of the entra. And fuck, did they get their hands on me. What a rude awakening into life that was.

The more I think about it— I wish those people would shut the fuck up with their loud voices— I am a little angry with Hara. Being drugged and bound isn't an exchange I find acceptable when I think I'm going to be fucked. I wriggle my feet, oh, I'm not tied up. Well, that isn't clever, is it?

The voices untangle in my mind, like staring into cloudy pool that gradually becomes clear. My body metabolises too quick, always just a few beats from sober. Usually, that annoys me. I listen with growing interest.

"No!" I recognise Hara's voice. "He said just the entra! He said!"

There's a flurry of shuffling feet. A stifled grunt as an open hand slaps flesh and then something more forceful. Hara cries out, and a gentler sob persists.

"He said just the entra," Hara whispers now, the hysterical edge vanishes from her voice.

"Yeah, he changed his mind." Feet tap the ground and Hara's sobs grow louder.

"I've done so much for you," she whispers. "I've given you everything! Every part of me!"

"You have more to give ... The stick charged?" He pauses and there's a mumbled reply. "You sort out the entra. Don't fuck this up," he shouts, and another set of feet shuffle closer.

Oh good, they've remembered me. A head blocks the lights above and gives me a moments respite from the glare. I wriggle my toes; they heed my instruction. The nausea begins to reside, the edge slips off the pounding in my head.

"You heard of Whyan?" an arrah asks me, a native to this planet. He gives me a prod with a metal stick. Like I'm something he found on the side of the road, and he doesn't know what the fuck I am.

"I've heard the people working for him are useless," I say.

Our eyes lock. Confusion spreads over his face, a frown that renders his every feature pinched. I flash a grin and spring to my feet. My legs wobble and shake as I lurch to my kidnapper. I grab his collar, my hands are numb, and my head cracks down on his skull. Ow, that hurts more than it usually does. I stagger back. My hand releases its hold, and he crumples over the bonnet of a black car.

I stretch, bones click. Coming off a drug bender has never felt so good. The haze in my mind rises like mist. Grey concrete, floor, ceiling and walls cocoon me. No windows, probably underground. Shelves, cars. Looks like a garage. Oh, look, there's the bitch.

Shakey strides carry me to Hara. Her eyes widen and she backs herself against shelves, rattling their contents. A baggy red t-shit twists in one hand whilst her other feels the shelves behind, presumably for something to thrust in my face. Red ringed eyes and a split lip, her night appears to have been only marginally better than mine.

"They have my son," Hara whispers, "he's four."

"You're lying." I glance around the room, and then look Hara in the eyes. "I wonder if there are any chains in here." My hand grips her shoulder, and I honestly don't know if I'm just trying to scare her or if I mean it.

"No!" She struggles in my grip and sobs louder. "Please ... I'm telling you the truth!"

I never had the stomach for this kind of thing, I could never laugh whilst they begged. My grip loosens on her shoulder, and I push her away.

"Whatever. Truth ... lies, why should I care what your story is?" I spit with venom. "What does Whyan want with me?"

Hara smiles, the tears dry. "Watch out."

I turn too late. Electricity pulses through my body and once more I'm on the floor. I shake and shudder. Heat intensifies throughout as if I'm being cooked alive. Maybe I should have concentrated my efforts on escaping, but I think I'm past that. I've heard of Whyan.

The pulsating pauses. The stick rests close to my chest, it's end fizzing like an angry snake that wants to bite. A bloodied nose lingers in my view, the man I headbutted. He looks mad, but I regret nothing. No regrets, not ever. They're a waste of time.

His hand raises to his nose. "Think you can behave?" he asks, his voice muffled.

"For you? Anything." I laugh and more electricity courses through my body.

Sometimes I really wish I could just make life easier for myself. My body vibrates from head to toe, and I feel as though I may combust. But I keep quiet and take it like a pro.

Like an entra.