#evdevs

Bus stops and funerals? Pastries and insurance fraud? Angels and prostitutes? There may be more to this town than bad weather.

My second work of fiction takes a look at morality through the lens of poor mental health. This is a discussion of mental illness in the form of a narrative.

A CITIZEN ENCOUNTER In 2059 ... "I PLEDGE ALLEGIANCE TO THE GOVERNMENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA AND TO THE AUTHORITY TO WHICH I'M SWORN ONE PEOPLE UNDER CHRIST WITH PIETY AND ORDER FOR ALL" These are the words. Above the mantle in every household. Engraved in the rims of the drinking fountains in the schools. On the evening news before the broadcasting, they are spoken. There is a man that knows these words and every verse after. He is a man fit for his work. He is Detector Rylan Schulz, active duty eleven years. An official Detector all of three years. He acts always with the knowledge in mind of the breadth of his nation's patriotism. His steps greet the street he stands upon with no regard for volume, and the pavement meets his boots with much a clamor. He folds his hands behind his back as he navigates the common-road. There is another rhythm of boots against the pavement. A calculated percussion of steps with punctuality in mind. They are not the boots that Rylan Schulz wears. He stops and listens to the echoes of steps sailing down the common-road. They are a working man's boots. A Class-two worker. White collar, blue blood. Not a factory worker or a farmer. These are not a constructor or a ditch digger’s boots. There is no steel in the toes of these boots. These are the sounds of boots that have never touched filth. Boots that sit beneath a desk. Rylan stops walking as a man turns a corner and appears in front of the Detector. He's walking toward Rylan in a pattern of steps that fails to deviate. His hand secures his briefcase confidently at his side. Rylan can see the calloused knuckles of the man. He can see the crookedness of his nose from when it'd last been broken. This is a man accustomed to hardship. Surely he lives in this town. Rylan can appreciate this fact. The man approaching the Detector is called Buck Hughes. This is his neck of the woods. Buck has brushed shoulders with every nightmare you've ever had just walking the streets. He's bumped into every hustler, every low-life, every sidewalk-sally you can think of. This town, it's the kind of place that doesn't get talked about on the evening news. There's a tweaker in every nook and cranny of this town, and Buck Hughes has tossed the change in his pocket at each and every one of them. His steady pace persists as he passes the Detector. The men regard each other in their own way. The dispassion in Buck’s eyes fascinates the Detector. Citizen. The words tumble down from Rylan's mouth like boulders. Have you no eyes or no sense? Apologies officer, Buck replies without a shred of excitement in his words. If I'd expected to see an authority of such stature as a Detector, I would not have failed to recognize your position over mine. I would have removed myself from your path without question, officer I assure you. Rylan Shulz is appalled at the informality of the citizen’s tone. His casualness, so insulting to the presence of authority, and all the more shocking in the presence of an individual so forthcoming with authority as Detector Rylan Shulz. Are you blind? Can you explain this failure of yours to recognize the robes I wear? This crucifix on my breast, the gun on my hip, am I to believe you have never seen these things before? I cannot explain it, officer, I can only apologize. Recite, citizen. What will you have me recite, officer? Is it not obvious? Recite the ordinance that you have bastardized with your insubordinate demeanor. Class-threes are not required to memorize the ordinances. I am not addressing a Class-three. I've produced no identification, how can you know my class position? That briefcase does not contain a hammer and nails. You did not purchase that coat with a goat farmer’s wage. Are you prepared to tell me otherwise? No, officer. Then I have no reason to believe you are anything less than a Class-two. You may proceed with reciting, citizen. Ordinance nine, section four, Buck does not blink as he speaks the words. Thou shalt honor the presence of the authorities who act on behalf of the Lord. The Detector does not speak. He stares at the citizen before him without certainty of how to proceed. The communicator on his wrist steals his attention away from Buck. A woman's voice calls out to Rylan. Suspects encountered, sir. Awaiting orders. The Detector does not break eye contact with Buck as he raises the communicator to his lips. Detain and relocate to holding cell. Sir, says the woman. The suspects are in company with noncombatants. How should I proceed? Detail the noncombatants. They’re negroes, sir. What should I do? How many, the Detector is peering into Buck's eyes which fail still to blink. Three, sir. A female and two children. What are the genders of the children. One male, one female, sir. How old. Nine and six respectively, sir. The Detector is silent, but only for a moment. Shoot them. Detain and relocate the suspects. Understood, sir. The communicator falls silent. Buck is forcing every muscle in his body not to contract. The disgust in his eyes does not go unnoticed. Has my respect for protocol disturbed you in some way, citizen? No, officer. Have I acted within the boundaries of the laws that the Lord has blessed our nation with, so that we might remove ourselves from the degenerates of a godless, lawless society? You have acted in accordance with the laws of our Lord as they have been interpreted. As they have been interpreted, or as they are, citizen? As they are, officer. Detector Rylan Shulz looks unamused. He opens his stance to Buck, the crucifix stretches across his chest. Relieve yourself of that briefcase and interlace your fingers behind your head. Why will you have me do this? The Detector retrieves the handgun from its home beneath his left arm. I am placing you under internment. This is outrageous. What is the charge? Contempt of authority. Perhaps suspicion of paganism. This is an offensive, unwarranted reaction. Relieve yourself of that briefcase. Buck’s face tightens. His eyes stay fixed on the Detector as he drops the briefcase at his feet and locks his fingers behind his head. On your knees, citizen. This is excessive, I’m being compliant. You’re demonstrating behavior uncharacteristic of a natural, Godfearing American. Buck says nothing and lowers himself to his knees. I will ask you to remove your jacket now, citizen. I have reason to suspect you of being armed.

He lay dying as she sat and watched. The wind hollered over the mountains. She reached over and placed a hand on his chest. The paint from her fingernails had faded. He thought she was trying to comfort him. She found the cigarettes in his shirt pocket and removed one. She felt around her own pockets for a light and found none. He strained himself and winced in misery as he struggled to raise his arm, torn and bloody and shaking. He retrieved his matches from his coat pocket. She could tell he was in agony as he extended his arm to her. She regarded him with a cold, squinting stare. They both knew it was the last thing he’d do and neither had words to explain what this meant. She plucked the matches from his trembling fingers and his arm fell across his chest, exhausted. She struck up the cigarette and tucked the matches into her breast pocket. She reclined on both hands and shut her eyes as she sucked the the hot smoke into her lungs, the end of the stick burning fiery as the sun coming down behind them. She opened her eyes when he stopped breathing. The cigarette had long burned out and she took another from his shirt pocket. She sat there in the cold and dark, shivering and smoking and tears coming down her face. She hated him. She’d loved him once, but she hated him now. She knew he’d loved her, even after she’d done as much as she could to make him hate her. She cried more and the cigarette fell to the wet ground. She lifted one of his arms and placed it around herself and nestled into his soaking, bloodstained jacket. She rested her face on his chest which no longer rose and fell. She hugged him close. She figured it wouldn’t make a difference. He was dead now so he’d never know. The night came and went as she lay there beside him and thought about the way things had ended up.