The Beautiful Dead by Daryl Banner Read Free Book Online Page B

that, had I any real hairs on the back of my neck, would
raise them chillingly.
    I’m need to
accept that there will be many things I’ll never understand here. I could pull
my arm off a hundred times, it won’t make me like my new life any better.
    I want my old
one back. Whatever it was.
    Thinking of
the tavern makes the walk back to my house a very forlorn one. I can’t stop picturing
the man I left behind. Maybe he’s dead already, that little flame of Life I was
so fortunate to run into, already extinguished. I find no offense in living
people, I don’t see what the big deal is. I find it thrilling, the idea of
having real eyesight again, being able to smell the flowers. That is, if
there’s any left. Maybe my favorite are sunflowers. When I have my Waking
Dream, I wonder if that will change too. Maybe I like daisies instead. Tulips.
    There is a
woman I learned about on one of my first days. She’s infamously called Mad
Malory and her story is a tragic one. After emerging from the Refinery on her
first day, she was regarded as one of the most beautiful creations ever made.
They called her Magnificent Malory back then. Marvelous Malory. Magical Malory.
Everyone in town wanted to know everything about her. Every woman (and some
men) wanted to be her.
    Until she had
her Waking Dream.
    The very
moment it happened, she emitted a scream that would never end. The soles of her
feet might as well have been set afire for all anyone knew. This woman took to
the streets shrieking in throat-splitting agony and no one knew why at first.
No one could approach her. Everyone, the whole of Trenton, was frightened. But
they hadn’t been frightened enough, for the next thing she did was unbearable
for anyone to witness: She clawed off her own face. With those fabulous pearly
new nails she’d been given courtesy of the Refinery’s ample talent, she dug
deep until the skin pulled clean from her skull. Screaming not from physical
pain, but from emotional anguish, from whatever memories of her Old Life her
Waking Dream had gifted her, she screamed and screamed until her voice broke.
Literally … broke.
    I’d really
wished the person who told me this story hadn’t gone into such detail, but she
did. And it goes on.
    Mad Malory she
was, she took to her home and set it on fire. With herself inside. But we are
not the stuff that living people are made of, and no amount of fire could kill
her or put an end to her inner torture. Indeed, we cannot be destroyed, I’m
told. Her body ablaze, burning without end, feeling none of it, feeling all of
it, she tore through the city, broke through the gates of Trenton and vanished
into the Dying Wood—an infinite plain of lifeless trees that surrounds our
humble dwelling. Into the burning horizon she ran, never to be heard of again.
    The settled
remains of her house still lie at the corner of town, somewhere no one any
longer inhabits.
    I suppose
that’s the “worst case scenario” of a Waking Dream gone bad. Most aren’t like
that, I’m reassured. Most are quite pleasant, or entirely ineffective.
    I’m curious in
my Old Life if I would’ve gone for a man like the one from the tavern … if a
man like that would’ve gone for me. His hand felt so warm on my lips, shutting
me up. I think I could feel his pulse even then, throbbing from the little
veins in his palm. I almost think I can feel it now.
    Suddenly I
feel very bad about leaving him there. I want to go back and save him. I should
go back.
    “Winter,” says
a raspy voice.
    I look up,
finding a familiar face on the porch next to mine. I’m surprised that I’ve
already made it back to my house somehow. “Hey, Grim.” I try to smile. “Couldn’t
make our date?”
    “We were told
to keep to our houses, incidentally. That’s why there’s no one out on the
streets. Some sort of town scare, probably a false alarm.” He shrugs. “Speaking
of, what are you doing out?”
    “Just so
happens, I was part of that so-called town