Wakefield Mahon hosts #MotivationMondays each Monday. This week, Alissa Leonard was the judge. Alissa was gracious enough to grant my work of fiction an Honorable Mention. Please go visit the Motivation Mondays site, and read the wonderful entries from all the other writers. This week, the prompt was “I never thought I’d see you again.” Here’s what I wrote.
“I never thought I’d see you again.” She held a 9mm Glock. Pointed right at me. “Why didn’t you die?”
I remembered the flash of light, so brilliant it blinded me. It was followed by intense heat. My clothing had simply caught fire in that heat. My hair. Then my skin. Then, the shock wave struck. Blew out the fire. Hell, blew me clean out of the car. Through the steering wheel, then the windshield. Across the hood, onto the pavement. Parts of the interior flew out with me. Landing on the pavement.
One of the most painful experiences of my very, very long life.
I’d loved her once. She’d been there when I needed someone to love. Like each of the others. My marriages and relationships usually ended in mutually beneficial separation of some kind. In the worst case, I’d had to pay support for a couple of decades. That had ended soon enough. She’d grown old. Died. End of support requirements.
But this time? A bomb? In my car?
“What did you use?”
“C4. Why aren’t you dead?”
C4. Well. That explained how the car had been destroyed. With me in it, of course. It had been a bitch to stand up and walk away from that one. But then, I couldn’t exactly lie there on the pavement, and wait for emergency personnel to arrive. Have you ever had to explain to someone why you’re alive when you should be dead? Why your body was healing right before their eyes? So, yeah. I got up and walked away.
I laughed. Looked at her gun. “You blew the hell out of my car with C4. While I was in it. And I’m not dead. You really think you can kill me if you shoot me?”
The gun wavered. Then steadied once more. “No one’s bullet proof.”
I sighed. “Yeah. That C4 hurt. Stung like a bitch.”
“Why aren’t you dead?” There was that question again. “No one could have survived that!”
I laughed again. “No one human could have survived that.” The gun lowered a bit. She was confused. Understandable. But the gun returned to pointing right at me. She was tough. I’ll grant her that.
“Why aren’t you dead?” she asked again.
I shook my head. “I’m not human, dear” I knew she’d never leave the room alive. I wondered how many humans I’d had to kill over the centuries to keep my secret. One more wouldn’t matter. Quickly, my body shape shifted. Clothing, hair, shoes, arms, legs. And I separated into my constituent parts. Several million parts.
I imagine my disembodied voice was quite disturbing to her. “I am Legion, dear. Legion the machine.” My body parts spread. Like a cloud. Filling the air of the room. Enveloping her. Then consuming her, as I used her as raw material to repair myself.