Farisia Rising

Bubble

The Alvanian square was busy, even for midday.

People filed to and fro, mostly suited businessmen on break, beleaguered typists, fingers bloodied from keeping the public updated on the civil war.

Among them wove a man, his coat long and high-collared. He was nothing too out of the ordinary. But his movements were strange. Often he'd dart his eyes around, in a paranoid manner. He kept his hands anchored in his pockets—until reaching the center of the square, and drawing something from his left. It appeared to be a small bubble, the skin jellylike but firm. He studied the clear bubble in the white falls of sun. Then he placed it on the asphalt at his feet, and brought a polished loafer down onto it full-force.

In no time, an expulsion of air pressure released, blowing him apart and sweeping out, out. In the span of five seconds, everyone in a hundred-foot radius was gone. There was nothing but murdered landscape, upended ground, and red stains on concrete. 

A peacoated young woman holding to the hand of her boyfriend barely had time to look back. Once the pressure lifted she turned to inquire of him. He had been maybe three steps behind her, so perhaps he saw something she didn't.

Her eyes shot wide at the sight. If the sudden absence of weight hadn't given it away, his severed hand gripping hers certainly did. There was no longer any arm or tracksuit or smiling face attached. It had been chopped off at the wrist, and clutched her with only phantom strength. Already she could feel the loosening of his fingers on hers, the uncanny void where life used to be.

Ten seconds after the bubble burst, she screamed.

Day 3: Suffering

Reggie nudged his way into the shed around noon.

"Ay, we got a TV in, couple months back," he enticed, key in-hand. "It's in the rec room. Wanna see yourself on the news? You're a star."

She gathered her nose, wryly. "Oh, please."

Two minutes later she was being led to the 'rec room'. She noticed once outside the shed that there were rides in the distance. Rollercoasters hemmed the skyline. Flying swings hung abandoned, rustling like windchimes. Confection carts stood, old and faded. Lined neatly into an aisle. There was a carousel. A gravitron.

She followed him, shy belligerence turning to curiosity. "Is this place a...park?"

"Yep."

She noticed the openness of it all. "How do you know I won't run?"

"Because if you do, I'll shoot you."

"Really?" that one got her. "I doubt you could hurt a fly."

"Can't really say if I've ever hurt a fly."

"Tell me you've killed someone with a straight face. I dare you."

"Ya got me there," he grinned, a dopey grin.

She sighed. "Who are you guys, anyway?"

"We call ourselves Farisians, after my surname, Farris. We're kinda like alternative rebels."

"So you're...rebels?"

"Yeahhh. We're not with the normie rebels, though. We're something else entirely. We're the cool ones."

"Oh, goodie. Why do troublemakers always have to multiply?"

The rec room was a small quarters, with lime-green walls and a moth-eaten black crescent couch. The widescreen TV strobed on its mount, and Eva seated herself next to Reggie, among a dozen or so others. The penny romance man was there.