RETRIBUTION

Consciousness was like crawling out of an unmarked grave in the very middle of nowhere and waking up without a soul or a brain. Suffocating. Unreasonable. Nystagmus sleep twitches. The body somehow tries to squeeze its heart and remember how to breath through bags filling up and forcing air. How does a body remember to breath? Why does it remember? For what? Life? How does a body forget how to breath? Death? How does a body come back from the dead? Breathing? Maybe she's from Al-Eizariya and has been smelling up a tomb for four days and knows a dear friend who might come to see her.

Like water in water.

Screams in the sunken below. Crawls out of the dark depths of the stagnant mire. Flesh and mud. Feels the warmth of Old Sol heat her skin. A feeling like that of a saurian sunbath upon a gambrel hot asphalt rejuvenation. Fibreglass lambency of a memory come back to life. A memory that tingles. Pours a topography of heat into the tenebrosity of the cold afterlife that was.

Terra Coal shivers. Not because she's cold. Because she knows the difference. Knows how it feels to be warm again.

Depth comes back to vision. Control over physique. Control over a body that crawled out of the mire with a mind of its own. Maybe a different mind than her's. Maybe a mind within her mind. Whatever the theory, an uncertain other gives way to this particular Terra and what she thinks is her consciousness. Tingling pins in certain places distinguish numbness from other spots. Goosebump arms and a wobbly crawl of mud cake legs. Pointy water rock paper cut elbows and knees. Mire sludge black hands and feet. Between fingers and toes. Frozen joints thaw back into rusty bending. Movement becomes natural, second nature to accompany the imaginary first nature. What first nature? There's only the interpretation of something imagined as a first nature. Second nature. Math. Lineal. Observations biased by ideology.

Terra smells herself. Defecate grey water of the mire. Drys crusty upon her haunted dull sky flesh. Smells like death and shit because she's been marinating in such rankness. Vomits the leaden liquid until dry heaves. Crawls further away from the wretched mire water. Frail body, or so she presumes. Joints still ache. Maybe she's the tin man who's been rained on. Needs a Dorothy to come along and oil her crevices. Oil her memory. Can't remember where the yellow brick road is supposed to be. Can't notice anyone else tread such an ancient path. Maybe such direction doesn't exist. And maybe she should stay where she is. Thinks she doesn't want to be here and doesn't want to leave. Maybe nobody else wants to be here and nobody else wants to leave.

Dazing. Breathing. Infirm. Crawls further away from the defecate smell of her recent birth. Rests in the bluegrass and lakebed soil and Old Sol heat of melt and crust crack lip weather.

Sleep. Dreams of eating the heart and brain of a sister she never had in a fetus made of wood. Tasty treats. The Christmas and Halloween of an anthropophagist funeral.

Startles. Feels something kick her between the ribs and belly. Hurts. Steel toe of a boot. Someone falls over her. Broken glass sound. Thud of a fallen flesh tree's mirror. Language of vulgarity. Watches the yellow humanoid thing with purple hands and a weird haircut. Purple gloves. It takes the haircut off. Haircut was the top of a mask. A gas mask. Broken. The thing is a man. He looks at her with dark brown eyes and a surprise upon his countenance. Not a shadow from the depths of the mire. Looks at her with unmistakable wonder. Stares back at him. Licks her lips. Crawls onto him as his yellow torso tries to back away.

Terra says, "Judith."

~*~*~*~

Terra's mind stumbles through realities of consciousness. Stumbles through the portal with a blue exit sign above the double doors of sleep. Opens her black malachite ring windows like dying in one world in order to wake up in another. Soft bed. This reality is a catheter. Wrists and ankles bound with aluminum bracelets to thick metal pipe bedsides. Can't really move. Might try to escape. Thinks about such action but everyone's calm around her and positive in their tone of voice and movements. Many others in the room. They don't seem to mean her any harm, except for the catheter, which only feels weird. Seems like they're helping her. But why is she bound to the bed? What for? Maybe they're lying to her.

Terra twitches her arms together. Snaps the bed pipes at the welds. Wears the broken cuffs as if a fashion of wrist and ankle bracelets.

Surprisingly enjoys pulling the catheter from her urethra. Wasn't expecting a pleasure swell in the pain. Sits up on the bed, criss cross apple sauce and lets her urine stain the sheets. Jumps up and walks out the door of the extremely white room. No one stops her. Slaps bare feet down a hoary hall, past a few bewildered caucasian lab coats. Crashes through a stairwell double door with a blue exit sign above.

Grasps a storm grey paint chip steel guard railing. Climbs the flights without touching stairs. Body's thin enough to fit through the gaps between railing and step and level. In less than a minute she's at the ceiling of the top floor. Balances on the upper railing like a tight rope. Her disposable hospital gown slips off. Immediately grabs the garment and covers herself. Somewhere in her mind, the dread of a green button is pressed, clicks and knows her nudity is for herself and no one else. Wants her womanly secrets to be her own.

The upper level double doors open. A bearded old man exits and enters along with other, different beard and beardless old men in wrinkly suits that smell of mothballs and hand iron warmth. Crowd the stairwell behind her. Terra crouches on the railing. Flips into a hand stand upon it. Feet touch the ceiling. Lets go and dives head first down the gap between railings. Falls with a smile. Catches a thick steel spindle. Listens to stomps tread above and below, like the interdiction of Heaven and Hell might both be after her.

Swings herself onto the stairs. Sits with her gown tight around her torso. Watches her legs. Black hair. Long and bristly upon her snowy pigment. Likes such naturalness. Pulls a follicle and brings it up to her face for inspection. Notices her finger nails are coal black. Looks closer at her feet. Toenails are also of coal. Pubic hair and legs and the hair upon her head. Coal. Her recollecting memory isn't as this. Remembers herself as blonde and tattooed with ravens and serpents and sunshine. With this notion, this panoptic order of things, the labyrinthine puzzle in her brain connects pieces into place. It's instant for Terra Coal. Mostly, anyway. Her life in Veridiction with Bob and Alice. Her life in simulations as a prisoner within herself. The battle with the dark forest. Judith.

The stomping halts abruptly. Old men surround her. Smirks and introduces herself.

"Hello, gentlemen. I've never had so many men interested in me before. Am I blushing? It's good to blush every so often. I'm Terra Coal. Since you're interested in me, can I get your names?

"Dr Garry Riese, miss Coal. I'm honoured to meet you again."

                          ~*~*~*~

"Am I real? I mean, I died, right?"

Dr Riese, who was a biological woman many times in his life speaks with tautology and pragmatism.

"You are and you aren't, just like the rest of us, Terra. You are also an anomaly. Not a clone. Not a robot. Not a simulation. You are a resurrected human being. The very first we know of. The very first we have absolute proof of. Before your death, you were drugged with experimental chemicals. Do you remember your death?"

"No. I remember fear and conviction. The knowledge that others would get to survive because of me. I don't remember the circumstances. I don't remember what I've been told. I don't remember being tortured to death or the aftermath of it."

"Unfortunately, those memories will come back and you'll have to contend with them. You'll have to contend with what was done to you as well as what you were forced to do after that event. You're almost there. You're almost to the point where you are mentally prepared to handle reliving your darkest moments. Once that is over, which it will never be completely, we will proceed with integrating you back into society. It has changed a little bit since you've been gone. We will discuss where you would like to live and where you would like to spend your days. Our province, our city owes you a debt of not just gratitude. You will be financially taken care of for the rest of your life. And Terra, it has been five years since the events of the war. Ten years since you were murdered. There will be people you know who may not recognize you or simply won't be able to recognize you as they have moved on from the horrors of that war. Those who will hate you because of what Michael Leonard turned you into. You are also still a teenager and they are all adults now, with adult lives, some with new families and less time for things such as resurrected old friends. And of course, you're not exactly the same person, either. When they knew you, you hadn't died yet. But ultimately, the choice will be yours to interact with whoever you see fit. This society is no longer ruled by petty clubs of ideology. There is a new ideology in town. Individuality and the responsibility of the singular controlled by the biopolitics of an elected government for the good of the whole. Maybe it's not so new. Anyway, you still have the remnants of the old panopticon in your head but you will also have another panopticon watching you be you. The old still bashes against the new, but it's to be expected."

Terra averts her gaze from the doctor. Relaxes. Crosses her legs. Witnesses the room. His office is wholesome. Brown wood grain bookshelves overflowing and a big desk to match. Green carpet. Clutter of book piles like leaning skyscrapers. Boxes of papers and satchels and nicknacks that seem of foreign origin somehow. Long dusty closed curtains and bright lamp electricity. She notices the philosophy section because it peaks her memory, her interest. Agamben, Foucault, Negri, Althusser, Deleuze, Cioran, Derrida, Baudrillard and so on. Dr Riese is well read if he's read them. Notices an ornate wooden chair. Seems like a fossil partially buried under books like the dust of the present. Has a flash of anger. For a moment, the gravity of wicked eyes watch her gravity. Something is wrong with the chair...

"I think that you, Terra, will be fine returning to life. You're smart beyond your years, as you were before your death. You're a leader, someone who will continue to be looked up to, if you so choose such a direction. But keep in mind, you are also damaged. You were alone when you died. No one had your back. You were betrayed by certain people whether they knew they were betraying you or not. You may want to interact with entirely new groups of people rather than old friends. People your own age. And then there is the incident after your personalities death. That event has been kept secret from the general population of the city. Those memories will also come back. Please keep in mind that this isn't a veil. Though you'll remember them, you had no control over the actions that your body was taking. You are not responsible for the massacre at the Factory."

Terra nods. Looks at her lap. Watches the colour hidden in denim pants. Threads and tethers of vermillion reflection in a wine dark sea.

"This is a lot to think about and a lot to dread. I'm anxious to remember that night at the Factory. Terrified. As far as old friends go, I have a feeling that I'll be leaving bread crumbs laying everywhere that'll lead to my doorstep. I'm a bit apprehensive but also curious. And speaking of doorsteps, I'd like to renovate my parents old condemned house in the Poor district. Maybe purchase the land surrounding it and build a bigger house on top of the original."

"Yes. That would be fine. There aren't many people living in that neighbourhood anymore. I don't see it as a problem."

"Well, I look forward to having my life back. I don't ever recall having my own independence, you know, living my own life. I think I'll stay retired from the heroine business, though. Maybe find something interesting to do with myself. I just have to figure out what that could be. In the meantime, maybe I can be an instructor or trainer of some sort at the Factory."

"Whatever you decide, Terra. I wish you all the best in your new life. You get a second chance. I don't know anyone who ever has. But if anyone has earned it, it's you. Good luck. But when the memories come back of those final few days, don't let them eat you alive. Again, there is nothing that you could have done differently. If you had not stopped the chemical weapons, we would all be dead. You saved a lot of people and many, many worlds from David Leonard. You're not a monster. You are a hero."