Guest Post – How Brashly Humanity Walks, Thea Domingo

A few weeks ago I posted an intro to a story. Liam ( ) asked if he could continue it, I said yes. So here it is. There may or may not be others in the series (depending on if I or others wish to write other stories to go with the intro), but for now here is Liam’s.

How brashly humanity walks, unknowing that among them walk not prey like they, but predators. Predators in the same skins as humanity, the only thing distinguishing them being their minds. Their unfearing, killing minds – the tempests, fires and avalanches, the carbon monoxides, cyanides and arsenics, the loud and the silent, walking among the ignorant people, the ignorant prey.

These were the thoughts going through Thea Domingo’s mind as she looked over the rubble. Just today a boat had destroyed a crowded pier when its steering and throttle had locked at full ahead. A mechanical failure had been blamed. But Thea knew better.

She had done the job.

She had been the one to schedule the call to the bridge, causing both the captain and the copilot to leave the room. She had been the one to slip through the door while it stood ajar and pour her quick-hardening glue into the wheel housing and the casing of the throttle. She had sabotaged the ignition as well, just in case. Then, just as she heard the pilot decide to hang up on the pre-recorded sound of a man trying to find the bathroom, Thea had slipped out and claimed herself a lifeboat, just before the alarm sounded for the rest of the crew and passengers to do the same. She had been the only one to survive the crash and had been questioned thoroughly by the press. But they had found only a frightened girl who had lost her boyfriend in the wreck, not the calm woman inside Thea. They hadn’t asked any more questions. Scratch that; they had asked more questions, but she hadn’t answered coherently, feigning hysterics as was fitting for a survivor of such a tragedy. Thea had always been a good actress.

She had stumbled back to her apartment, still visibly traumatized in case any camera crews were following. She had returned to the site of the crash in the morning, thinking her profound, yet dark, thoughts.

Why had she done it? She had asked that question of herself many times in the past, over different crimes. But she had never answered, choosing instead to push the nagging idea to the back of her mind. But it always came back. Why had she done it? She wasn’t being paid. She hadn’t been coerced into this job any more than the other times. Why did she even call it a job? It didn’t pay. Not her, at least. Maybe she ought to get a job as a detective for just these kind of “mysteries”. Like Miss Marple; always there when crime strikes. In Thea’s case, it would be the other way around: crime striking when she’s there. Some might call her unlucky, but none would divine the deeper motive. But she didn’t have the face for a Miss-Marple-like job. Hers was too strong and silent, and so hard.

Thea hated Agatha Cristie. All fiction, for that matter. The criminals always got it in the end. Not like real life.

Real life… As if Thea had a real life. But no, she had just a mockery of one, a cruel trick played by the fates.

Was that why she had done it all? To get back at the unseen powers who used her like a gamepiece? And her friends like pawns, to be sacrificed at will?

Thea remembered her first job. She didn’t want to, but she did. It had been just after her father had died in a train wreck, after her brother died while skydiving with a torn parachute, and after her best friend died in a car crash. Thea had been angry. So she had killed someone. It hadn’t helped. So she did it again, and again, and again, and now she was here. Each job grew in scale. With it, so did her sorrow, her disgust at life. She felt that life was a cruel joke, always played to lose by the mortals, but played as a game, a betting game, by the fates. The immortals. Lucky enough to live without dying, as if that were possible. So Thea had decided to carve her niche into the world, to be remembered with fear.

But as she did, she carved another furrow deep into her heart of stone, hurting her every time there came a new cut. She didn’t want that pain. She wanted to kill without feeling that she was being slowly killed with her victims. But that dream was never realized.

As she walked back to her apartment from the site of her recent devastation, her feet decided to rebel against her will. They began carrying her into a hospital, into the waiting room packed with families, friends, and even relatives who feel that they are neither but had come anyway. Thea sat in a chair by the desk.

“Are you here to see someone?” asked the receptionist in overly perky animal pajamas, peering over the high desk at Thea.

Thea’s mouth spoke without her consent. “Yes, please.”

“Which room and floor?”

Without knowing what to say, Thea said, “Third floor, please.”

“The elevators are to the left.”

“Where are the stairs?” Thea always took the stairs. In case of an emergency, elevators wouldn’t convey her to safety.

The receptionist’s eyes widened at this, but she pointed. “Past the elevators.” Stupid exercise plans, the receptionist thought. Taking the stairs, indeed!

The third floor was the Birth Ward. The first room she came to was full of cribs which were, in turn, full of small babies. She gazed in at the newborns, absently wondering what it would be like to kill them all.

Then, from down the hall, she heard a cry, the first of many from another newborn. In that instant Thea wanted to run to the child and comfort it, shush it, tell it that everything would be all right. But she couldn’t. She tried to remind herself that she was a mass murderer and she liked it. But she couldn’t do that either.

She didn’t want to be the person she was anymore. It was painful now. The furrow cut deeper into her heart until at last it struck soft, moldable flesh.

Thea, for the first time since her friend’s funeral, felt something other than hate. She saw then what a sacrilege it would be to kill these new lives so soon. And any other lives as well. Though life was hard, it was bearable. And it could be made more so with a little effort. Effort on her part, effort on everyone’s part.

She left the hospital revitalized, thinking the same thoughts she had earlier that morning, but in an entirely new light.

How brashly humanity walks, unknowing that among them walk not prey like they, but predators. Predators in the same skins as humanity, the only thing distinguishing them being their minds. Their unfearing, killing minds – the tempests, fires and avalanches, the carbon monoxides, cyanides and arsenics, the loud and the silent, walking among the ignorant people, the ignorant prey.

Prey could be warned.

First and penultimate paragraphs courtesy of The Lonely Recluse.

Hope you enjoy, please feel free to comment.

The Lonely Recluse.

~ by The Lonely Recluse on January 4, 2012.

4 Responses to “Guest Post – How Brashly Humanity Walks, Thea Domingo”

  1. Thanks for doing this! As I reread this, I realize that it’s rather amateur. The one feeling changing the ways of the hard heart? It’s a bit sudden. Do you think so?

    • No worries. Fire-storms often burn out quickly, so why not such people, it wouldn’t be the first time such a thing has happened, I don’t know if she would stay reformed, but I believe it possible that she could believe herself reformed. Amateur fits my blog anyway, I’m an amateur writer, and amateur doesn’t actually mean anything derogatory, it literally means to love, i.e. it is done out of love, not professional interest.
      The Lonely Recluse.

      • Really? Did not know that. I meant it was juvenile, or it has the feeling of a beginner at life writing it. That’s me, I suppose.

        • I knew what you meant, I was just being pedantic. As I say it does happen. Having faith that humans can change isn’t being juvenile or naive. Who isn’t a beginner at life?
          The Lonely Recluse.

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