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Activist Times Inc. shadow
CHILDREN OF WOOD AND METAL
by Shadow. (ed note: this is a very long piece. It will show in
the next 5-20 issues as a saga. Consider it a good
alternative to the Starwars mega-ilogy)
He had never had any children, and he probably never would,
this ragged man named Ted Kaczmaryk who rode a junkyard bicycle.
Nevertheless, he was intimately acquainted with the immensity of life and
death on this planet. He was a very creative man.
His mind was in a ferment today as he peddled up the hill toward his
cabin. He'd spent all day at the town library, catching up on the world's
news. One article in particular haunted him. He could not get it out of
his mind as he labored up Stemple Pass Road.
A yellow school bus was stopped by the cluster of mailboxes, disgorging
a horde of children. One of them waved to Ted, who recognized the boy as
Dan, the librarian's son. Ted lifted a finger in return, but did not
speak (ed note: that is "way" montana/colorado/arizona) Two other boys
turned to stare at him. There goes that weirdo, said one to the other,
and they both laughed.
TO BE CONTINUED IN ATI 75 NEXT WEEK.
PART II OF "Children Of Wood And Metal" by Shadow.
(Con't from last issue)
"it can be a bit disjointed unless the reader knew it was a fictional
story about the "Unabomber" (suspect). So here's the story about the
alleged Unabomber, a hermit who lived in Montana..."
The man named Ted did not notice their scorn. He might have noticed it
three days ago when his sole preoccupation was getting his spring crop
planted. But not now. Now the words of the article he had read crowded
out all other awareness.
"...a researcher at CalTech has discovered a genetic marker that can
identify the potential of criminal or antisocial behavior..."
Ever since he saw them, Ted felt the slow rage building. Like some old
steam-driven engine, grinding its gears, building power and heat to some
inexorable climax. How to stop it, how to power it down?
Ted gripped the bicycle handles. "I swore I wouldn't do it again."
he bowed his head helpless before the power overtaking him. Where did it
start, he wondered... when was the connection made between his own wretched
life and the larger imprisonment against which he was compelled to fight?
"They laid me on the altar of science..." an old grievance welled up;
my brain and soul a sacrifice to the New Religion. Genius boy, smarter than
the rest. He doesn't know how to carry on a normal conversation, but that's
alright, someday he'll be building Rockets for the US of A.
Ted swerved to avoid a broken beer bottle in the road.
(Con't next issue...)
CHILDREN OF WOOD AND METAL by Shadow. (Part III of a multiple part fiction piece.
You could kill me and never get Shadow's real name!!!)
He reached the side trail that lead to his cabin; walked his bike
the last few hundred feet and at last sat down in the yard to rest. He poured
a dipper full of spring water over his head and most of it dripped off his long,
tangled mat of hair. The next cool dipperful slid down his throat, though some
of the water spilled and caught in his untrimmed beard and his dusty, threadbare
black shirt. That was a relief. Relax. Forget about it, he told himself,
already knowing that the advice was futile.
He'd only read the article once and already the words were emblazoned
in his head. The curse of being a genius with a photographic memory.
"...a professor of biology at Caltech says he has discovered a genetic marker
that can identify the potential of criminal or antisoc behavior. If such traits
can be corrected in early childhood, many social instabilities could be eliminated."
Ted put his hands over his ears. "Shut up." But it was no use.
<Tune in next week when Ted eats a carrot and ponders Vivaldi, Beethoven and
Modern Social Psychology.>
(ed note: can't find the rest...still looking)
