Sample Border

Candelabra

Multiplicity, colors and candlesticks,
Branches outstretched, arms flailing,
desperate for air, burning, dying...

DAI-MECH-KATANA-CRON

The Last Hour

Jump: IN

59:59

14:59

Oh god oh god oh god, I thought, panic-stricken as my car swerved wildly all over the road. Emily was at the back seat, wailing, her cries of despair and hopelessness drowning out the music that only minutes ago was soothing her almost into slumber.

"Please don't cry, baby. Mommy's here. Everything's gonna be all right," I kept repeating, like some desperate chant, tears flowing profusely down my cheeks. We were going to die, me and my sweet precious little Emily, on this dark quiet god-forsaken road, a random victim of some crazed psychopath driving a black SUV. And I don't even know what I did to -

The SUV rammed violently at the back of my car, sending us skidding off the road and falling into a ditch. We were stuck. I looked back to check on Emily. She was still firmly strapped to her baby car seat, her small innocent eyes looking all at once afraid, bewildered and somehow betrayed.

A flash of anger surged within me. I will not let anything bad happen to my Emily. Not while I'm alive. I suddenly remembered Ted lying helpless on his hospital bed, so thin and nearly lifeless. I recalled the words I said to him during the last minutes of his life:

"Don't worry about me or Emily, Ted. We'll get by. I can take care of myself, and I will always protect our precious baby. You just please do your damnedest to get better, okay?"

And then he was gone. That was two years ago, and while it sure as hell was hard, what with the mortgage and credit card payments on top of Ted's medical expenses and then funeral bills, we did eventually get by as I promised. Fuck, I even just got a promotion, and there was Allan who was sweet on me, and I think he just might maybe be the one, or at least the closest that I'll ever -

"Waaaahhh," Emily let out a long shriek of fear, jolting me back to the now. "Shhhhhhhhh," I whispered as I unbuckled my seatbelt. I dialed Allan's cell number, but in my heart I knew it was no good. There was no signal.

There's a baseball bat though, I thought. Allan forgot and left it one time when he had to hitch a ride with me. It was in the trunk. I'll use it to whack the head of the fucker driving the SUV. Preying on innocent mothers and helpless babies. He's going to get what he deserves. I was in good physical shape, eating well and running regularly. I'm sure I can bash brains with the best of them.

I quickly got out of the car and went towards the trunk. It was smashed in and stuck in such a way that you couldn't get it open, with or without a key. Fuck! I heard the sound of an engine coming around. He was here, and I had no weapon to protect Emily with. I began to sob uncontrollably as I went back to my precious baby girl. I had to try to get us away. If only you were here, Ted.

"Shhhhhhhh," I said, trying to hush Emily up, and of course failing utterly. It was almost comical, as I lifted my closed hand with the pointer finger up, its tip touching my lips. The universal sign of PLEASE BE QUIET, I thought. I unfastened Emily's strap, placed her to my breast, and began to run as fast as I've ever had in my entire life. Adrenaline pumping, I thought maybe I can outrun him. I was a fast runner. I was probably the fastest runner in our neighborhood, and if I can outrun Manuel with his top-of-the-line running shoes and digital sports gear and other do-hickeys, maybe -

He yanked my hair and I fell down on my back. I looked up and saw a dark man at one with the shadows. Emily was on my chest, suddenly and surprisingly silent now. Maybe she was listening to my heart beating a quadrillion times per minute. As I lay down on the moist wet grass, part of me wanted to just close my eyes and stay down, while the other part wanted to get up and -

I saw a hand clutch tightly around the small neck of my little baby, as she was lifted by the dark man, then tossed away, discarded like a ragged doll. I heard a soft thud as the man came on top of me.

"No!" I screamed out, kicking him between his legs. He fell down, moaning like a son-of-a-bitch. I quickly got up, thinking that maybe Emily wasn't hurt that bad. Maybe there was still a sliver of a chance that things can turn out okay. Maybe I kicked the fucker in the balls so hard he was never going to get up, and I could get Emily and maybe use his own car to drive out to safety, maybe call Allan as soon as I get a signal and we could call the police and -

Then I felt the most unbearable pain, a long sharp knife slicing my back in half. I fell down sobbing. I knew in my mind that it was all over. I was dying. "I'm sorry," I whispered repeatedly to Ted. He was there; I could feel his presence as I lay on the thick dark grass, the moist musty smell filling the air around me. I felt another stab, then another, and again. "Emily," I cried out, as I felt my life slowly drain away from m-

45:01

00:01

Jump: OUT

I opened my eyes, disoriented. It always took a few minutes for a person to adjust his bearings after a jump. I'm probably one of the few who've made the most jumps in the entire world, and even I still can't get used to it. I wonder if they've fixed that with the new models.

I looked around, my own memories rushing back like a tsunami as my brain flushed out remnants of the memory extract ("memtract" for short) I just experienced.

"Ahhhhh," I moaned. It always hurts a bit; two, three seconds tops, then I'm okay.

I heard a voice asking me, "So? Is it a keeper?"

It was Jacob, the jump technician in charge. He sounded understandably eager. Each time I get a memtract that's a "keeper", he gets a good piece of the cut. And the more unique the extract, the larger the cut. And this really was a good one, a victim of the serial killer the press had dubbed the Widow Slayer.

I put both my hands to where my ears were supposed to be and heard sounds of gears turning, then the "jumpsuit" helmet was off. I pressed a couple of buttons from my chest down to my crotch and lept out of the jump pod as it opened up. I was in a hurry, and wanted to finish this thing as soon as possible.

"Is he waiting outside?" I asked Jacob. "Yup," he answered back and I couldn’t help but smile. It used to be that I had to look for the next of kin of these victims. When I started collecting memtracts of victims of violent crimes, it took weeks and some times even months before they agreed. Sometimes they even looked at me like I was some sort of parasite feeding on the misfortune of others, trying to profit from their misery.

I wasn't always like this, I reflected. It used to be that I took my job as a prosecutor with gusto and fervor like you wouldn't believe. I was going to root out the evil doers and make the city crime-free. That was a long time ago. And it wasn't like I got swallowed by corruption or disillusioned by city politics or anything like that. I just got tired. And married. Now I had to worry about putting food on the table. So I had to look for every small racket that might present itself to keep my wife Clarice happy.

Which is why I a.) just jumped into the last sixty minutes of Amy Ramirez's life, the Widow Slayer's latest victim, b.) was counting how much I have to give Jacob for his help in accessing evidence of a case that wasn't even assigned to me, and c.) was on my way to pay Amy's estranged good-for-nothing addict of a brother into selling the last hour of Amy's time on this god-forsaken piece-of-shit of a planet.

Jump technology. Incredible, I thought. Just five years and it had revolutionized the way we solved crimes and prosecuted cases. Using a jumpsuit developed by (appropriately enough) Jump Technologies Inc., a person goes into this chamber they call a jump pod and accesses memories extracted from the brain of a dead person. Apparently, if the brain is intact (with minimal deterioration), the last minutes before he died can be captured using a trans-bio-mechanical fusion process that I can't even begin to pretend to understand. Anyway, the long and short of it is that we get to experience everything during the last hour (anything beyond that is fuzzy, I'm told, and can damage your own brain) of a person's life. And when I say everything, I mean everything, from his thoughts, what he smelled, saw, tasted, felt and heard. And if he is the victim of murder, we just might be able to find out who his killer was. Amazing, isn't it?

I saw a skinny nervous man sitting inside my office. I walked in, greeted him with the words, "Hey, Jimmy?"

"Hey, man," he said with a quaking voice. "I signed the papers you gave me," as he held a thick set of documents, looking at me like he needed some sort of approval.

"That's good," I told him, involuntarily looking at my watch. Fast and quick, I just might make it for dinner with Clarice.

"Hey man, can I ask you something?" Jimmy said. Fuck, I thought. Hope I can finish this in thirty minutes. "Sure, Jimmy. Ask away."

"What are you planning to do with Amy's, uhmmm, you know, memtract thing?"

Ah, I thought. This was a usual question from heirs of victims who don't really give a fuck, but didn't want to appear so. Most of the time I tell them some bullshit about putting these memtracts into some cutting-edge giant database linked into each and every one of the Global Crime Units, which in turn check each and every little detail of each and every memory in order to better fight the good fight. They swallow this crap more easily now because of crime shows like Multiple Emmy-Award Winning Jump Street 60 (which is actually a series co-produced by Jump Technologies under their new management). With Jimmy though, I decided to be brutally honest, just because I felt like it, and it was quicker.

"Okay, Jimmy. I'm gonna lay it all bare for you," I began. "Ever watched an episode of Jump Street Sixty? Well, that's part of the plan of Jump Technologies, the company who created jump technology, to introduce the concept of jumping as a new global pastime. Initially, when JumpTech was founded, it was envisioned only as a tool to solve crimes and murders, much like the internet was supposed to be a military tool. However, JumpTech's new management wants to make jumping available to the average Joe, who would pay them to experience death without actually dying or getting so much as a pinch on the cheek. Over the last two years, they've been developing smaller and probably more ergonomic jump pods. The plan is to set up 'jump centers' all across the globe. It's a creative idea, and I think it will fly. I mean, have you ever wondered what it would be like to die?"

"Yeah, I guess," Jimmy answered, but I wasn't sure if he was really getting it, or if he actually cared. But I felt like explaining myself.

"Anyway, sometime ago I was approached by JumpTech agents to collect memtracts of victims of violent crimes. The more unique, the higher the price. So, for the last two years of my life, instead of doing my job right the way it ought to be done, I've been collecting the memtracts of victims of violent deaths. Car crashes, suicides, rape and homicide, sodomy and homicide, you name it. I even have one involving cannibalism. And it wasn't easy. The whole sixty minutes should be engaging or it has to at least involve some interesting twist, not just full of talk, coffee drinking, or contemplating-the-meaning-of-life-before-I-get-bludgeoned like roadkill or what not. This last one," I said, waving the documents he gave to me, "is my 100^th memtract, and my ticket out of this shithole." I opened my bag and took out a wad of bills and offered it to Jimmy. "Don't spend it all at once."

Jimmy's eager eyes flickered as he grabbed the money and placed it in his knapsack. It was clear that I didn't get through to him, as I watched him scurry away from my office. Who cares, I thought, and looked again at my watch. Damn, it took me a little over thirty minutes. If I run, take the shortcut, and don't look back, I can still make it for dinner just a few minutes late.

09:59

Actually, I was supposed to collect 101 violent death memtracts, I thought, as I walked towards an alley. It was a shortcut only few people knew about, including my wife. In fact, I learned about it from her. I knew these streets pretty well, but she was the one who grew up here, alongside the thugs and drug dealers. But that was a long time ago. She probably wouldn't know anyone living here now, I mused. My mind wandered a bit as I maneuvered my way along a narrowed section of the alley. I think I have at least seven memtracts involving death in a dark alley, and I'm sure I've rejected a couple for being repetitive.

They wanted to call the product '101 Ways to Die', then with a lower caption saying, 'Murder and Other Violent Deaths'. I don't know if that's any good, and I don't care. I'll try to talk them into just taking 100, and if they don't, maybe I can reevaluate some of the old ones I've rejected. Perhaps one of those stabbed-in-a-dark-alley rejects. My cell phone rang.

"Clarice," I said. She was asking me if it was any good. "Yeah. 100 memtracts," I said. She asked me if I needed one more. "I'm gonna talk to them. 100 is as good as 101. I'm sure I can convince them. If I can't, I'll just reconsider some of the old ones." She asked me where I was. "Yeah, I already told you I was going to use your shortcut. Yeah, the one that cuts across- yeah, that's the one. I'm right here in the middle. No, there's no one here. It's perfectly safe. I'll be there in a few -

I felt a sharp pain cut across my lower back. I looked down and saw the tip of a large blade protruding out of my belly. I turned, but it was dark. I couldn't see my killer, and it seemed like he was wearing a mask. Fuck, I thought, as I fell down on the floor. I started feeling wetness around me as he came on top, raising his knife. Blood, my blood, I thought, as the red liquid soaked my clothes. This is all your fault, Clarice, I thought, as I felt another stab. You just had to insist that I go this way. What would it matter if I was a little late for your stupid dinner. And as I lay down on the cold hard cement, I -

00:01

Jump: OUT

Things To Do Before Killing Yourself

You sit at your father’s study desk. You use his keys to unlock the top center drawer, looking for something, and finding it. It feels heavy. You set it on the desk, your mind a little numb.

You stare at your father’s handgun.

You take it and examine it carefully. The six-shooter was fully-loaded, well oiled, and definitely crying out for some action. You grip the handle firmly with your hand and point its nose at your right temple, pointer finger lodged on the trigger.

This is it, you think. There’s really not much point in living anymore without her. You just can’t stand the pain. Just too much of it.

As you hold the trigger, you think of her. Alicia.

---

You met her during her school orientation, she a freshman, you a sophomore “volunteer coordinator” for the event. From the very start, the two of you hit it off. After a few weeks of busy courtship, the two of you became an item. You think back and recall the endless phone conversations the two of you had. The leisurely walks in the park. The stolen kisses in the dark. The awkward exploration of your bodies. The first time you made love.

“Oh God,” you cry out softly, snapping back to the present. Your trigger finger trembles uncontrollably. It had been a perfect time. A time now lost. What’s the point in living if it’s a life without her?

So this is how your life is going to end, you muse. Body slumped over your father’s desk, blood pool on the obviously fake Persian carpet. You’re not overly concerned about going to Hell. Or Heaven, for that matter. As far as you’re concerned, God doesn’t exist and when a person dies, he simply ceases to exist. The existential bullshit the world has churned out over the ages is simply that: BULLSHIT. God was simply a product of man’s inability to come to terms with his own purposeless existence.

“Ha-ha,” you laugh, despite yourself. How very YOU to philosophize, while about to commit suicide. How better it would be if you simply stopped to exist. No more tears. No more pain. No more Alicia.

And no more Chad.

It came as a shock to you when Alicia told you about Chad. Apparently, she had been seeing him behind your back a few months before her confession. You remember her crying. It just happened, she said. I never meant to hurt you, she said. Lies. All lies. All BULLSHIT.

Are they together this very moment? At this very point in time, as you go through the prelude of taking your own life, are they in his god damn pad, on his semen-stained bed, fucking each other’s brains out?

Rage fills your entire being. As you press the single-action revolver on your right temple, you suddenly have an epiphany. And, like all epiphanies, it comes to you with such power that it leaves you a little off. A little unhinged.

Yes, you’ve accepted that tonight, you’re going to die. This has a calming effect on you, as you feel the anger rapidly subsiding, replaced by an awareness of a cold mind. Calculating.

Of course, you don’t have to kill yourself right this very moment, you think. Maybe you can have a little fun before the end comes? After all, you still had things to do.

And scores to settle.

---

The condominium is a new one, barely occupied. You ring the doorbell of Chad's unit. You weren’t sure if he knew you by face, but assumed that he did. You really didn’t have a plan, but you were sure you could blast the door open with your gun. In any case, it didn’t matter. The door was already open, and you hear loud heavy metal blasting from a pretty awesome sound system. You go in quickly, then lock the door.

“Alicia, baby, you can’t bring all your books here. Be reasonable. This apartment has little space as it is.”

You smirk as you recall your own arguments with your bitch of an ex-girlfriend.

“Yes, yes. I know. I know. No. Come on, babe, don’t be so stubborn. I have most of the boxes here. There’s two left in the car. I promise. By the time you get here, everything will be in order. Okay. Love you too. Bye.”

You take that as your cue, and rush to him.

“Hello, Chad,” you say as you point your gun towards his left knee. You see the surprised look on his face and couldn’t resist pulling the trigger. You hear a loud BANG and see Chad go down. He screams loudly, wailing like an unattended baby. Very unmanly, you think. You decide that it’s time you two had a chat.

“Nice place you got here, Chaddy-boy,” you shout, competing with the loud surround-sound music. Chaddy-boy. Pretty funny. Sometimes you can be so witty, you think.

“I bet the girls really like it here. The quintessential bachelor's pad. How many have you brought up here, huh? How many screamed as you fucked them in the ass, huh? Alicia screamed too, I’ll bet. She likes that, you know. She likes to scream. I’m sure you know that too. Fucking prick!”

You hit his face with the gun. You hear his jaw breaking. God, what a god damn satisfying sound, you think.

Chad was losing a lot of blood. He was on the floor, moaning and whining. It seemed as if he was begging you to spare his life, but with his cracked jaw, he was too incoherent for you to understand.

“Look at you, man,” you say. “So fucking pathetic. I can’t believe Alicia left me for you.”

Chad crawls over to you, gripping your leg. He was definitely begging. Christ, you think. What a loser.

You point your gun at the top of his head, as you whisper, “Don’t worry, buddy. Your bitch of a girlfriend is gonna be next.”

You squeeze the trigger tightly. The BANG gets lost amidst the ear-shattering music of heavy metal rock.

---

You hear the sound of keys rattling. Alicia. She was here and it was about time. You had been sitting on Chad’s sofa for hours (you already turned the music off). You kept thinking that with Chad gone, maybe Alicia would come back to you. You weren’t even sure if you’d want her back if she wanted to. A guy’s got to have his pride, you think.

The door knob turns and in comes Alicia. “Chad, I’m home,” she says.

You don’t answer back. You wait for the sound of the door closing.

You’re struck with the smell of her perfume. My God. Memories of happier times flood your mind. Not now, you think. Be strong, you chastise yourself. A guy’s got to have his fucking pride, you repeat.

You hear the sound of a door close, then the muffled sound of running water. She’s in the bathroom. You imagine her wet and naked, and decide that you had to have her for one last time before this night is over.

You kick the bathroom door open. You see the look of surprise on her face, but only for a moment. She now looks at you furiously.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she screams. She takes her towel and quickly wraps it around herself.

“Don’t worry, babe. Nothing I haven't seen before,” you say, grinning.

She comes towards you, pushing you outside the bathroom. “Chad!” she calls out. “CHAD!”

She pushes you until you lose your balance and fall down. She continues calling out to her dead pathetic loser of a boyfriend. You decide to enlighten her as to why her “Chaddy-boy” (he-he) wasn't responding.

“I think I saw him in the bedroom,” you say with a smile.

Alicia looks at you suspiciously, with a touch of fear. Then off she went.

---

It took about seven seconds before she was screaming again. A different kind of scream this time. Deep and fearful, bordering on hysteria. You decide that you like it.

You go to her, tucking your gun down the back of your waist. You see her bent down on her knees, a few inches away from Chad’s limp and headless body.

“He was like that when I got here,” you say lamely. No way she was going to believe you, but you had to say something, right?

She barely hears you. She was still in a daze, tears streaming uncontrollably down her cheeks.

You caress her long black hair, saying, “Shhhhh… It’s okay; it’s okay. I’m here, baby.” You start fondling her breasts.

She suddenly shrieks and stands up. Before you knew it, she slaps you hard on your face. You look at her, astounded by her affront. You grab her forcefully by the hair, then swing her towards the bed.

“Bitch,” you whisper, angry and aroused as she lay down helpless and crying on the mattress. You reach for your gun with your right hand as you climb on top of her, pressing her chest with your left. You wanted her badly. If only she could just stop fighting you and enjoy this like she used to.

She spits at your face. Her eyes focuses on you, defiant and daring. You get even more aroused by her spirit. You wanted to break it. You wanted to break her. But most of all, you wanted her to stop squirming. You aim your gun at her right foot. BANG. Let’s see how she continues to fight you with that, you think wryly.

It works, although her screams were now louder. She was clearly in pain, not that you care. Her shrieking annoys you, though. How the fuck can you rape her decently with all that screaming?

You begin to look for some cloth, a towel maybe. Anything to wrap around her mouth and muffle her up. Maybe you could tie her hands as well. You stand up and leave the bedroom, looking around the apartment.

You hear a window break. Fuck, you think. You hear another one, then another. The whole world was going to hear her now. You hear the sound of things crashing outside. Fuck. The people down on the street were sure to notice now. You had to shut her up. Permanently. You’re just gonna have to rape her when she’s dead.

You go to the room and see her on the phone. It looks (and sounds) to you that she had just finished stating the address to the operator. Smart bitch, you think. This angers you all the more. You aim your gun at the receiver. BANG. It breaks into pieces, along with half her right hand. There was blood all over now. Fucking gross, you think. Time to shut her up for good.

You hesitatingly aim for her chest. Oh well, you think. You probably didn’t have enough time to rape her anyway, so there was no need to keep her breasts in good condition. You suspect that the cops would be here very soon.

Suddenly, she lurches at you; her good left hand reaching for your gun while her bloodied right hand (three fingers left) scratched your face. You hear the loud BANG as your shot goes wild, smashing a window. This girl is just too much, you think. You press the nozzle of your gun on her stomach and pull the trigger.

BANG! Hot wet blood burst all over your shirt and pants. Chunks of what used to be body organs fall to the floor.

Then silence. You could get used to it, you think. No more shouting, no more screams. You feel lighter now. A sense of blissful peace.

You start recalling the things you did today. You killed Chad. That was immensely satisfying. Alicia Dearest was dead too, but you didn’t get to fuck her one last time; damn. Still, all in all, not bad for a day’s work.

Oh well, now it’s your turn. You better do this quickly. You hear the rush of footsteps. Probably cops.

You aim the gun in your mouth because you saw someone do it like that in a movie once. It didn’t really matter where you aim as long as it gets the job done, you think. You say a prayer to no being in particular, and slowly squeeze the trigger. Goodbye, fucked-up world.

CLICK.

You squeeze the trigger again. Must be some mistake.

CLICK again.

You hear the voices of several men shouting at you. You feel someone grab you. Someone else kicks you from behind and you fall, your body pressed down to the floor. Your nose touches the blood-soaked vinyl tiles.

Old Couple Sitting Together