Mirage is the title of  the mini-series inspired by Nicole. Dwindling Doubles is the first passage that

features post apocalyptic Keylo and unnamed mother whom currently exist only in hiding from

superior non-doubles.  Excerpts are uploaded here with new site updates.

Passage: Dwindling Doubles

Her   scarred   back   was   enough   to   bring   any   being   with   inside   souls   to   tears.   It   was   in pieces,   the   membrane,   and   no   longer   warped   carefully   …   strategically,   around   the   bone. Rather,   shredded   bits   clung   her   fabric.   I   threw   bloodied   clothing   to   the   floor   in   silenced rage.   Wouldn’t   dare   show   weakness.   Would   rather   give   anger,   response   from   affliction, tears   that   dried   well   before   I   realised   their   use   …   No   one   chose   to   remember   their delicacies.   Those   times   the   heart   tugged   strings   nearest   your   stomach   to   keep   from dropping;   you   were   afraid.   You…   ignored   subconscious   traumas,   only   to   have   your heart   fall   as   well.   Doomed;   to   the   pit   of   your   stomach.   Stomach   to   the   bottom   of   a diaphragm and…. anxiety. Any   being    with   a   soul   would   have   emptied   insides   at   sights   of   such   a   brutal   slashing. ‘Stead,   she   needed   me.   Had   I   regurgitated   inside   dinner   on   the   floor   beside   her,   she’d just   be   upset.   I   sent   more   mixtures   of   fabric   to   the   corner.   Had   to   be   tedious. And   quick. She   winced.   Held   onto   the   pillow   with   a   force   efficient   and   bit   into   the   stained   cushion. I   poked   another   hole   through   her,   now,      speckled   skin;   doubted   the   needle   and   thread felt   anything   like   spiders   crawling   up   the   body…   A   feeling   both   ticklish   and   creepy. This   feeling   torturous,   painful.   I   tried   to   be   a   little   more   careful.   Wanted   to   express… gentle?   Yet   the   needle   still   shook   vigorously   in   my   left   handed   grasp   as   the   night outside   kept   me   from   doing   anything   more   than   a   job   unsated   to   my   being.   On   the table,   candles   were   lit.   Uncolored.   The   burning   wax   scarcely   influenced   my   vision   and the night light outside  pouring through the windows, useless. She   moved.   Flinched   once   more.   Her   jolting   caused   me   to   poke   harder   than   intended.   I apologized   for….   My   mistake….?   Wiped      fluids   that   trickled   off   to   the   sides   of   her body   and   continued   my   attempt   to   stitch   her   back   together.   She   wiped   a   loose   tear before   trying   to   shield   her   face   from   my   prying   eyes,   as   if   the   scar   on   her   back   instead lie   across   her   left   cheek.   I   reached   for   a   cloth. Wiped   the   last   of   her   capillary   and   venule fluids.   Then,   covered   her   with   iatrical   wrapping.   She   felt…   Angered.   Ashamed.   Knew they   could   beat   her   until   the   liquids   red   like   tropical   Rum   seeped   and   looked   the   natural color   of   her   skin. Would   make   her   bathe,      soak   in   feces   until   a   worthy   dominant   offered input.   Or,   until   they   grew   tired   of   whimpers.   Lazy   of   cleaning   hygiene   she   herself would   be   capable   of   taming,   had   they   just   let   her   be.   ‘Cept,   she   would   become   caged, like the others…. She   knew   this.   Told   me   she   didn’t   care   and   that   she’d   find   a   way   to   run;   to   fight   -   somehow.   Like   last   time.   I   told her   they   were   better   now.   They   find   ways   to   make   them   listen….   -   they've   become   much   stronger.   Could   stick pipes   in   her   head   to   make   her   brain   function.…   properly.   Beat   her   mentally,   physically   -   the   abuse   so   tortuous, agonizing..   Enough   pain   to   be   forced   into   a   form   of   mental,   satisfying   submission.   They   were   faster;   smarter   than them.   When   done,   they’d   bandage   her   face,   the   body,   then   mummify   her   with   thin   tissues.   Put   her   temple   in   the earth   as   compost.   Dominants   taught   it   was   law   to   turn   doubles   in.   Once   at   Headquarters,   rules   were   set.   Followed. Failure to do so: consequences. If the double looked to escape, or refused service: consequences..... Dire. She turned to me, on her side… Watched me pack the equipment. "Who taught you such these things?" "…We   learn   in   school."   I   said   this   as   if   I   was   implying   she   knew   nothing   of   what   school   was   for.   The   message wouldn't   be   too   far   from   her   conscious;   she   never   went   a   day   in   life.   Was   smart   enough   to   pick   up   on   and   read basic   things,   my   mother.   Mo,   her   father,   taught   her   in   the   beginning   stages   of   the   diminishing,   other   important things.   Things   she   kept   stored   ‘til   today.   When   young,   I   would   come   home   and   repeat   to   her   what   the   teachers taught   us.   She   would   watch   around   as   I   called   out   each   object   by   its   name.   Would   take   mental   notes   on   everything I   told. About   them.   Their   plans,   their…. Attacks.   I   taught   her   how   to   read,   how   to   cover   herself   and   stay   hidden   as the diminishing grew rapidly. In return, she read stories that put me to sleep. I cleared my throat, "History coach…. ZXX-Elee." "I   haven’t   heard   you   tongue   about   history   first."   She   pulled   in   sharp   wind   and   sat   as   far   as   endorphin   would   allow. "What   have   you   known?   What….."   More   pain,   shuffling   around   for   clean   robes.   “What   do   they   tell?”   I   grabbed them for her. From near ground. She snatched them from my grasp. "Just of doubles.… How they outnumbered us in billions. Prior, we were the dwindling species until…." “What else do they tell?” She said that as if I bothered her; exposed violent tones almost instantly. I   had   become   too   aware   of   hate   she   held   toward   dominants   and   the   idea   of   dwindling   the   doubles.   Knew   because,   I despised   living   it. Told   her   she   was   a   mother   and   because   of   that,   I   had   to   respect   her   no   matter   what   the   dominants taught   us.   The   collective   unconscious   momentarily   spiritually   intertwined   us.   Stagnated   two   energies   and,   we moved   our   heads   in   silence. Agreed. Agreed   because   we   knew   much   -   things   they   couldn't   know;   pulled   us   closer. At   ¼   of   age,   I   still   felt   an   unusually   strong   attachment   to   mother.   I   loved   her.   Worshiped….   The   way   humans would   hail   to   an   almighty   figure   they   had   no   idea   existed   until   someone   planted   the   notion,   I   prayed   to   her.   Slept   in her arms…. But. Wouldn’t cry with her. For some reason.. Couldn’t.  Any   double   walking   the   street   needed   collars,   I   told   her.   It   was   law.   Needed   the   company   of   a   dominant,   or   a   less superior. Needed to face the ground. Mo   taught   her   protection,   she   told.   He   taught   defense;   pressure   points.   “ They   grab   here….   Bring   the   arm   around, find   a   nerve   there   and   pressure   it.   That   keeps   ‘em   down.”    Mo   explained,   nearing   death.   She   told   me   the   brachial plexus   origin   caused   a   disconnection   to   the   brain;   would   cease   movement   in   the   entire   body.   “ Right   here,   love .” She pointed to the side of her neck. Grandmother   was   killed   in   107.   She   was   captured   and   sent   back   to   Mo   in   packages.   Taunt:   Did   work   for   you .   He died   later   in   120.   Time   after,   mother   was   captured.   Instead   of   killing,   the   robbers   decided   torment.   Would   rape   and pound   her   malnourished   body   until   only   movements   were   beating   of   the   heart.   And   pulse.   My   body   jerked.   I apologized.   Knew   she   was   in   pain,   could   feel   energy   transporting   through   the   skin   as   she   verbalized   word.   Inside cloths.   My   clothes   burned.   She   kept   on.   Squeezed   my   body   and   placed   soft   kisses   on   the   back   of   my   neck   where hairs   stood;   reassurance.   Murdered   the   men   when   she   was   strong   enough;   three   of   them,   she   killed   individually. Asphyxiation.   Drowning.   Strangulation.   The   last   in   slumber   as   sitting   on   top   a   pillow   puking;   releasing   anguish   in silence.   Pinned   hands   struggling   to   break   free   of   thick   chains   she   once   had   wrists   shackled   between.   Dumped   all   in one pile; tossed brittle dirt over bare skin. Fertilizer . Months later, I was born. The house, mother uttered, was assembled into a shelter. Made the place our home.             "Keylo."   She   called   to   me.   I   held   her   palms   at   my   fingertips.   "What   else   do   dominants   tell?"   I   looked   over   her   face. Now   held   her   chin. Wanted   to   hold   her   dainty   figure   and   cater   to   sensitivity.   She   moved   my   hands.   Stared   back   into my eyes but,  I broke the gaze. Pulled away gently. "Mother....   Why   did   you   leave?"   I   asked   calmly,   without   looking   her   direction.   "I   told   you   I   would   bring   thicket. Told you I would be fine…." "I know how to fetch thicket, my son. Do you think I cannot?" "You can. But does this mean you should?" .....Gazed the floor. "You know of damage they’re…." "Do you not trust?" Silence rest as a wall. Separated us. I displayed reticence.  "I trust." “Yes, mother… I trust.” "Then please,  let me be." "…You have to be protection to yourself. What you think of their ability, reflects reality seldom." "No matter how the dominants try to corrupt your mind.... You are my son. You will be my son." "They’re not corrupting…" "I   see   it   wearing   you   thin,   fighting   ‘gainst   them.”   Tranquil   energy.   “Soon   I   will   be   gone.   Both   fights   will   be   over. You gain happiness." "I   live   happiness,   mother.   But   I   cannot   live   without   you….”      She   pressed   frail   fingers   to   my   leg.   "Yesterday…   I should…" "It   is   fine,   Keylo.   No   help   comes   worry."   She   sat   up   straight   this   time.   Kissed   a   cheek.   My   eyes   dropped   to   my   legs where   hands   were.   Still   bloodied.   Mother   scooted   to   the   edge   of   our   mattress;   tried   to   stand.   See   if   bandages   would hold   yet   still   quivering   slightly,   from   pain.   I   looked   at   the   only   dimly   lit   streetlight   hovering   over   our   rusty   van, parked   on   a   dirt   patch   across   from   the   home.   I   went   into   the   bathroom   and   rinsed   sticky   texture   of   DNA,   from DNA. Thought   about   yesterday.   Her   slashing.   Their   taunts.   What   could   I   do?   What   could   I   do?   What   could   I   do …   It   was my   doing. All   my   doing.   I   went   to   a   food   palace.   Brisk   stop.   Should   have   told   before   leaving,   but   I   didn’t   know   she would…   I   was   going   to   fetch   thicket   after.   Was.   But…...   Came   too   late.   They…   Were   surrounding   her.   Were screeching, "To   whom   does   it   belong?"   I   couldn’t   have   been   more   than   a   mile   away   when   the   intensity   released   through   waves of   sound   pierced   the   auricle.   In   that   moment,   my   heart   raced. And   I   raced,   ran   to   the   circle   of   less   superiors   who   all wore   torn   potato   sacks   as   shirts   and   pant.   I   searched   around,   frantic. Their   faces   were   stern;   filled   with   aggression   - the   collective   unconscious   now   working   in   their   favor.   Everyone   the   same.   They   turned   to   me   seconds   after   I appeared within the mind, whichever state.  "I   say,   to   whom   does   it   belong?"   The   brawny   figure   challenged,   with   looking   me   enter   the   multitude   of   barbaric beings.   Only   to   look   as,   to   them,   a   bronze   warrior   coming   to   rescue.   I   swallowed.   Pushed   the   crowd,   gently.   Brown paper   bag   still   in   hand,   I   stood   firmly   in   front   of   mother.   She   was   on   the   ground,   face   bruised   as   eyes   filled   with their   rage.   She   looked   up   to   me.   My   fear,   her   pain….   my   face   hardened.   "This....   This   be   yours?"   The   man   ask,   his tone lower now. "Very."   I   help   mother   to   the   feet,   attempt   to   play   a   role   born.   Yet,   were   still   whispers   among   the   crowd.   I   didn’t acknowledge. "Belongs to me." "Young,   male…   ‘Sapien.”   He   went   to   me,   want   to   place   a   hand   on   my   chest.   I   moved   before   he   could   do   so. Reached   for   mother   to   come   by   my   side   and,   came   just   as   empty   as   he.   Possessively.   Held   mother   to   his   protruding torso.   “Why   is   this   double   without   owner?"   She   was   looking   to   me.   Pleading   with   her   eyes;   wanted   me   to   help.   An excuse,   come   up   with    -   she   needed   me   to.   I   thought   quick.   Remembered   stories   mother   told   about   Mo.   About grandmother. "I   went   to   fetch   meals.   Surely,   a   double   isn’t   capable   of   this   act."   He   nodded. Agreement.   Satisfaction.   Displeased mumblers   dispersed   in   a   fit   as   mother   helped   herself   from   the   man.   Came   to   me.   By   my   side,   warm.   Others watched   movement   from   me. The   man   eying   my   temple,   I   passed   bags   off   to   mother.   Put   on   the   show,   parted   ways through a reducing crowd. From nowhere, the man appeared in front of us. Again, blocking our paths. Arms fold. "Can I help?" Me. "Your double…. Owns no fear of you?" Him. "Your question creates for me, confusion." " Interesting.   It   did   process   thought ,   think   it   permitted   to   fetch   thicket   while   you   in   no   sight?"   He   step   to   me,   a   bit closer;   thick   feet   sinking   slowly   into   mud   as   he   continued,   "Sure,   you   give   order?   You   are    aware   of   its   place…. You see no problem with ways our  dominants have decided their  fate?" "No, no… ‘Course not." Mother’s head turned to face mine, slightly. "Very   well.”   In   this   moment,   he   began   the   unraveling   a   whip,   had   come   from   his   backside.   "Correct   punishment   be due." Cooed whilst holding such a whip, was dangling in meaty hands. I rejected. Raised a dismissive palm. "I’m fine with fetching thicket. Saves trouble." A strong hand landed on the chest. “Your double owns no law special. To prevent further incidents such, examples must take form - yes?” “I feel inclined to differ.” “Oh?” I   tugged   mother’s   shirt.   Went   and   put   her   to   the   back   of   me,   guy   now   so   close   his   moist   breath   smeared   my   face when   speaking.   He   grab   Mother’s   shoulder   and   hauled   her   down   to   the   mud.   I   refrain…   No   attack.   This   motion ‘gainst law, to fight for doubles was useless, ‘less you anticipate death. "If   this   be   truly   your   double,   you   have   no   care   if   I   gave   punishment…"   His   voice   echoed.   Sound   barriers   appeared to   waver   as   a   crowd   slowly   clarified   in   once   blurred   vision.   I   took   steps   forward,   implement   ‘back   off’...   Still,   the barrel   of   his   old   blaster   stared   me   right   after.   Could   take   it   from   him,   send   him   asleep   in   that   instant,   his   defense   so weak… could almost cackle. Not so. The crowd commence growing; fed amongst violence. Were barbaric creatures, the less superiors. The.. Inferior. Often rare ones, would breathe, live in the spirit of wrath. “Would   thee?”   Pushed,   urged   the   question. A   tone   sharing   the   story   of   absent   hesitation.   Curious   whispers   in   harsh contentment   told   they   wouldn’t   mind   DNA   to   drip   their   cheeks;   could   splatter   their   thin   body   coverings   with   great desire. I step back. “.... No." He   clutched   mother’s   neck,   his   hand   immeasurable   to   her   dainty   nape;   its   entirety   wrapping   far   enough   to   pinch   the front   of   an   esophagus…   He   swiveled   her   frail   body   around,   an   easy   gesture,   and   placed   giant   knees   into   her   back, lowering   the   figure   with   force   so   strong,   a   little   urgent;   mother   appeared   to   descend.   He   bellowed,   "This   poor excuse   of   human   has   disobeyed   the   existence   of   pertinent   homosapiens!" A   crack   silenced   the   air   of   physical   realm, came the sonic boom before slight whimpers.  "It   went   to   fetch   thicket."   Slash.   Slash.   Slash.   "Spoke   back.”   Slash…   “Refused   pleasure   on   demand."   Slash.   Slash; the crowd cheering in elation. Some came to give her a kick, I was able to stop most in their tracks... "T-the   idea   is   implemented.."   He   deliver   the   next   slash   while   staring   into   my   eyes.   Mother   yelping   in   pain,   I   hurry to reach out toward her, held her arm - a movement unconscious of my being.. "Leave   it   be!"   He   sent   her   back   into   the   mud,   the   whip   continuing   to   break   sound   barriers   and   create   the   miniature shock   waves   in   return.   I   watch   them   dissipate..   Was   sweating;   shaking   almost.   "It   has   became   capable   to   fetching thicket.   It   shall   as   well   be   capable   to   standing   on   its   own."   My   teeth   grinding   ‘gainst   another;   hands   in   the   state   of panic. Was sweating… Still sweating… Sweating much. Hear   Mother   grunt   from   beneath   as   she   trip   along   discomforting   energies,   a   stumble   to   get   on   the   feet.   She   spat blood,   held   her   center   and   stood   as   sure   as   the   body   could,   before   me;   my   hand   rest   mid   spinal   -   her   gaze   held   on the   man.   Stern.   Authoritative.….   He   slapped   her   back   to   the   ground   and   hid   the   braided   whip   away   in   a   sense   of calm. "Control   your   doubles,   child.   They   be   the   death   you   wish."   He   warn,   staring   me   whilst   walking   off.   Mud   and   dirt paths furthering in the distance… single, flat homes even further. The rest of the pact leisurely scattered about. Mother open my hands that were in fists. Ease tensions…. Now,   we   need   to   get   in   the   home…   Mother   owned   no   collar,   and   barbaric   creatures   lurked   in   the   patches   dug   out by   stray   inferiors.   Could   reach   Headquarters   with   telepathic   devices   boarded   on   emerging   poles   carved   from   bark. Hope   her   now   torn,   thickened   material   had   provided   some   protection,   but   when   cut   open   it   was   worse   than   my suspense had built. I clinch the jaw. Fists. What could I do? …..What could I do…..?… I stitch her back together. ********* Her   blood   swam   down   the   drain   as   water   diminish   its   reddish   hue.   I   could   hear   grunting   from   the   other   bed-room. Then,   heard   bare,   flat   feet   slap   and   creak   ‘gainst   torn,   timbered   floors   ‘fore   the   silhouette   of   such   sounds   appeared in   the   doorway.   I   went   to   look   through   the   pane,   want   to   see   if   any   inferiors   were   spying   -   held   a   feeling   in   the gut… Yesterday… still sought to rehearse its misty contents in a silent anguish. A   knock   on   the   door   startled   her…..   us.   She   looked   from   the   closed   off   passage   way,   to   my   concern.   Went   back   to the   bathroom,   flicked   the   lights   off   and   silenced   her   breathing   in   an   even   string   of   motion.   I   inhaled.   Unlatched; opened the door. The inferior from yesterday stood before me, as if I had manifest the being, purposely..  “I know you have a double here.” “In   vision,   do   you   see   a   double?”   With   no   fear   entering,   I   allow   curiosity   to   peak.   Don’t   move   when   he   shove   me from   his   path   to   search   the   space.   He   watched   my   eyes,   I   gave   no   hints,   he   lunged   under   the   bed,   sprang   his massive   stature   into   the   closets   -   took   giant   steps   in   the   bathroom…   No   avail.   I   knew   mother   wouldn’t   be anywhere   he   searched.   He   balled   thin,   grungy   sleep   cloth   from   the   bed   in   his   palms   and   locked   his   eyes   back   to mine and hurled them. “Satisfied?” “I   followed   you   here,   Keylo.   All   night   I   sat   outside   your   house   and   all   day   I   listened   as   you   fed   into   that double’s…”   He   moved   around   furniture,   continue   a   seize,   search.   “I   transported   the   dominants.…”   Shook   his   head in   bold   disagreements.   “You’d   risk   life…   for   the   likes   of   that…..   animal.   Harlot   would   sell   you   down   the   rive..”   I press the points on his neck, sent him to the floor in a split second;  muscles limp as yarn. Why not do this prior? Mother came from the bathroom as fast as she could; was still sheltering herself with plastics, paints.. “What…” “We   don’t   have   time,   Keylo.   He   transported   to   Headquarters;   dominants   are   already   in   the   area.”   Mother   stuffed flats in my hands. “We have to move.” “Where,   mother,   where   will   we   go?”   She   finished   covering   her   neck,   grabbed   her   flats   and   a   thicker   covering.   I grabbed my covering. “Where can we go?… Mother, if he already transported dominants maybe we should just…” “Keylo.   Time   stands   still   never,   for   alteration.   We   do   what’s   best   of   interest,   that   is   move. As   quick.” A   loud   thud happened   from   out   in   back.   Thick,   heavy   footsteps   rushed   after;   could   feel   anger   as   more   stormed   through   the beginning   rooms.   The   chambers.   Halls.   From   the   yard,   they   blast   our   panes   and   wilted   their   barriers...   How   long were they out there… rather, how much had they heard? Now   coming   quietly. Yet,   they   were   loud….   From   the   yard,   could   hear   clicking   of   their   blasters;   the   jingle   of   their echoing   chains.   I   slid   in   my   last   flat   and   we   ran…fast.   I   swung   Mother   from   the   ground,   ran   faster   as   our   harsh breaths   exhaled   in   unison.   Then,   I   heard   the   siren.   Their   siren.   Was   wailing   from   the   opposing   route,   nearing   our direction.   I   broke   through   bushes   and   unfinished   roads   that   only   made   sense   in   front.   Got   to   the   dirt   paths   in   back, ones from yesterday. Were the safest place to rid dominants… Not as the  place… only, safest.   They ambushed us; this I knew they would. They held the blueprints, so were of advantage. Bright   hues   aimed   above   our   heads. Their   blasters   and   whips,   swords   and   shackles   -   point   our   direction.   Dominants in the flesh, stood long. Dark, through various angles.   A   blaster   set   off,   pierced   Mother’s   head.   My   shoulder.   She   gripped   me   tight,   very….   Her   grasp   went   loose,   drastic. I   went   to   the   mud,   the   pain   from   my   shoulder,   with   Mother’s   weight   almost   became   a   feeling   unbearable.   Her   body In   my   lap…   I   felt   for   her   limb.   Limp.   Weakened…   Looked   in   her   face,   for   the   softer   features;   ones   that   of   love, unconditioned   shelter…   I   needed   her   to   forgive   actions,   the   entire   scene.   This   scenario   -   my   fault.   Mother   didn’t know   I   was….If   she   known,   she   wouldn’t   have   come..   Was   looking   for   me.   It   was   my   fault.   I   held   the   temple close, they could do whatever they felt justice. Torture, death.. Fine. But,  wouldn’t take her from me. “Bastards!”...    Could    taste    the    bitterness    of    fluids,    her    liquids.   Were    on    me.    Over    me…    Mother,    now    gone. “Fucking…   bastards….”      My   voice   crack   as   salty   liquid   splashes   cheeks.   I   touch   them.   My   cheeks.   Look   to   the hands.   Blood?    She   was   covered   in   blood….   I   lay   her   before   me,   cold   eyes   appear   so   amicable.   Look   of   peace… Was smiling. Staring back to me, in bliss…. pure happiness. I held her lifeless hand; craved the grasp. I   refuse   to   obey   them.   Refuse   to   become   the   black   sheep   amongst   lions.   I   didn’t   want   life,   not   without   her.   I   didn’t want death, least not of this. I… Was shaking. Panicking. “You’ve   five   seconds   to   remove   yourself   of   the   double!”   They   were   surrounding   me…   Us.   Blasters   pointed.   What could I do? What should  I do? I lay next to her. “Three!”   Could   hear   them   shout,   faintly.   Everything   a   faint   echo,   my   head   on   her   chest,   I   shut   her   eyes.   Mine.   In darkness, felt pain, same as on my shoulder. Then, felt warmth as her heart beat life again.      

Passage 2 in progress!

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