PRELUDE TO A DREAM by William Pauley III
"He was nothing more than throbbing bits of grey matter swimming inside a sea of his own dissolving entrails. A bag of blood, slivers of flesh…it was all that was left of our dear Bricker."
PRELUDE TO A DREAM
by William Pauley III
To whom it may concern:
My recent incarceration is in no shape or form an admitting of guilt. I stand firm. I’ve done nothing wrong, just as I’d explained in my last public letter. I stand here, behind these steel bars, a victim of ignorance. In my studies, I’ve learned some bizarre truths, but just because they’re bizarre and challenging and difficult doesn’t make them any less true. Bricker is alive, yet I here I am, serving a life sentence for his death.
However, complaining about our failed justice system is not my reason for writing this. It also is not meant to serve as a rehashing of that great argument of just where the line between the dead and the living lies. I’ve spoken of the Bricker Cablejuice situation at great length in my previous letter, explaining in immense detail the processes (of which I must remind you, he volunteered to take part in) that eventually led to his disintegration (for lack of a better word). I’ve said everything I wish to say about it. If you’re curious of my thoughts on the incident, you’ll have to dig up my letter regarding the Automated Daydreaming feed. I have no doubt you’ll find it quite easily, as the whole debacle was covered extensively by every news organization in the world.
But let’s stay on task, as I have much to do…
The point of what you’re now reading is to catch you up on the events between that letter and this one, as a means of public record. Despite my physical body being trapped between layers of thick concrete and impenetrable steel bars, I’ve still managed to continue my studies and have since discovered a great deal about our existence—and more importantly, the true limits of our flesh, as I have pushed my body, and Bricker’s, far beyond that of the days of Automated Daydreaming. The results of these studies need to be made public, so that in the event of my untimely death, others can build upon my work. This is of the utmost importance, as we are very near a breakthrough that will alter our perception of reality to such a degree that all questions regarding our existence will be answered. Imagine that! We are very close…
Yes, I am currently in possession of Bricker’s so-called ‘remains.’ As I’m sure you remember, I pleaded with the police and with Bricker’s many children to take great care of him in his fragile, progressed state, specifically asking them to keep what was left of his physical body above ground. Quite simply, it’s plain rude to bury the living. More than that… it just isn’t right. Despite my begging, that’s exactly what they did, dropped him down in a hole in what locals call the Steen Boneyard, a place where authorities stash unclaimed bodies—a pauper’s grave, as it’s called.
As much as it annoyed me to see Bricker treated so callously, it all ended up working out in my favor, as I was only some twenty feet away when they began to dig what would become his grave, and another six-feet closer once they finally dropped him in. You may call it a moment of serendipity, I suppose, because I was already there week’s before they put him down—beneath the graveyard, in the laboratory I’d built to house all my great experiments. It was/is my home, and Bricker’s too. In a way, the police handed him right back to me. I only wish it was in a more civilized manner, for Bricker’s sake. He was only buried for about an hour, but an hour is quite a long time when you’re the one beneath the dirt.
Minutes after the gravedigger finished his work and the last of the police officers cleared the scene, I removed a portion of the ceiling, drilled and hammered through the packed dirt, and at last welcomed Bricker home.
And we immediately got back to work. It was as if our little hiccup with the law had never even happened.
It's important to note the state of Bricker’s physical form at the inception of this next project: He was not whole, not even close. The police had emptied the various containers of him into a single plastic bag, one slightly larger than a freezer bag. It was filled completely, with no room to spare, to the point the plastic zipper nearly buckled due to the pressure of its own contents. Despite knowing at once that I was holding Bricker—all of him—in my hands that evening, I must tell you that every sliver of his recognizable features were wholly absent. Gone. His diseased body had progressed even more so than the last time I’d seen him. He was nothing more than throbbing bits of grey matter swimming inside a sea of his own dissolving entrails. A bag of blood, slivers of flesh…it was all that was left of our dear Bricker.
But of course, given his gift, he was then and will forever be alive. The boy’s resilient! I knew without even having to connect him to a machine that he was fine—perhaps a little bored, but totally fine. He was not suffering any more than he would’ve had the police not swept him up on that unfortunate October morning. For that, I was grateful.
Now that I had my subject back, I was determined to find a way to continue our adventures together, so I set off brainstorming a way to do just that.
I opened the bag and carefully poured Bricker into a large bowl, then spent the next week or so sewing every last bit of his flesh together. Once I finished, he resembled a ball of ground meat, almost exactly like a large meatloaf. I’m sure he was annoyed at this, but it was an essential step in preparing him for his next form. It made him easier to handle and pack around, and more importantly, I could now identify what bits of him were brain and what bits were just tufts of loose flesh. I packed the flesh bits at the center, then covered those completely with the brain portions, to allow easy access. Once his brain was fully wired, I began to build.
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