Kid A

8 Nov

Kid A

<i> they told me how I’d been created, in isolation, in a tube for years <i>

and when they let him out he was three years old, an exact copy of his predecessor, albeit with wild, frightened eyes and the debatable existence of a soul. He was naive. He was protected, he was unknowing-

and grew quickly, learning more swiftly than most children. at fifteen he realized-
<i>I am not ordinary, I am not human, I was not born. <i>
and he asked himself

<i> what am I doing here <i>

The National Anthem

He ran that night, broke open the doors, leaped the fence around the “hospital” and escaped into the woods, bright lights and dog barks around him, the gruff voices of the guards rising over the din. He began to panic, breathing heavily, his eyes flicking back, forth, and he didn’t notice the small cliff until he’d nearly fallen over it, scrabbling at the dirt with his white-knuckled fingers. A dog barked not twenty feet away- he saw it, realized- looked down at the plunge below, closed his eyes, and let go of the ledge.

he fell for what seemed like hours, days, until-

How To Disappear Completely

and he was taken back, back inside his mind to the time in the “hospital”, still naive and young, unable to grasp the gravity of the situation. They’d called him a long string of numbers back then, instead of “A”-

he remembered walking slowly up to the railing of the balcony, remembered the guards holding his arms too tightly, and then he saw him-
-his original-
and all of his sanity seemed to crumble in a single moment.
-I’M NOT HERE!! he yelled
and nothing he could do could save him from the horrible truth, nothing could tell him he was dreaming, his whole existence was a dream. He screamed and raved—

and slowly, Kid A’s vision began to swim into focus-
but there were only trees to greet him.


He sat up gingerly, wincing, and looked around-

it was a silent world, a silent wood, but the trees seemed to greet him, singing to him, reaching out their leafy boughs to beckon him into their arms.
He cautiously fell into the leaves of one, and it seemed to turn into a woman, a mother, a friend, a comforter-
he cried but she whispered
-it’s alright, little one, little A, we will not hurt you
-we will not let you fall
and he believed!
and so Kid A slept there that night
curled in the treefingers and leaves around him
the next morning he left his treefingers to find the cities. He stumbled upon a road, followed it, unaware of the stares that small children in SUVs sent towards him.  Kid A was marvelling-
<i> it’s all so different, so many, so many<i>
-and looking for a way to save himself.
He became intoxicated with the bustle of the city, grew optimistic
but he could not speak save for his earliest words

and the best he tried was not enough
his mute pleas were not enough
he was not enough
and finally, as the sun set, in the center of the city he began to run.

dodging bicycles and cars, a fleeing bird, he ran recklessly, wild-eyed, out of the city, along the road-
and finally collapsed with his treefingers-
In Limbo
when he woke up they were no longer his.
He screamed, loud, keening, but realized with a sudden lurch of sanity
<i> I’m living in a fantasy. <i>
he reeled, collected his thoughts,

and without much else to do, and not wanting to go back to the city or the hospital, he built a raft over the course of a few weeks and set out over the “ocean” in the woods.
<i> living in a fantasy <i>
he saw the storm come up over the horizon but nothing he could do could prepare him
the wind flipped him
the raft sank beneath the waves
his short life flashes before his eyes
air escapes from his lungs (he cannot help thinking the bubbles are beautiful)
drowning, drowning
(this is not real, this is not happening)
but he tries, he flails, he pushes
(-swim for the surface, little A!-)
and pushes the water behind him, legs frantically kicking, lungs bursting-
he doesn’t think he can make it-
(ice age coming)
the last of his strength
he is failing-
(women and children first)
-but his head breaks the surface, gasping
he sees a bright light before passing out
Morning Bell
he wakes up at the hospital, lying on a cot with his arms bound in a straitjacket. His eyes go wide-he is captured again!
he tries to yell, but the words fall like stones out of his mouth, he cannot speak-

he watches the ceiling tiles for what seems like an eternity, slowly slipping off the cliff of madness, and
the nurse pushes him down–

Blissful unconciousness!
or so it seems, before he cracks open one eye and sees the ceiling lights receding behind him, feels restraints around his ankles and chest, sees an IV bag filled with some sort of drug hanging above his head.
His mind reels, his sanity slips-

but he cannot yell.

he cannot speak.

he is taken off of the gurney and carefully placed in a chair before a plate-glass window, strapped in- and-
Motion Picture Soundtrack
his original appears through the opening.
Kid A doesn’t know what to do, he knows this is his fate, he knows he knows he

he is going to die, he is going crazy, he is going mad

tears fall down his face as he watches his original look at him, turn to the doctor beside him and make a slicing motion across his neck-

“Crazy. Useless,” he hears

Kid A knows! He knows what this means, he knows he knows,
and he is wheeled to a room, the needle appears in a doctor’s hand
and when he is coldly dispatched from his earthly body

he has been truly freed.




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