Prometheus Unchained
Terrible Resolve
By this time tomorrow-- at best next week. The dishrag in his hand would be a glass of whiskey. No. It would be a bottle of whiskey, a cheap, plastic bottle that would squeeze in his hand as he tipped it back. That was his ultimate weakness, always unable to justify the means. Getting away with it was easy. Getting away from himself was impossible. He would pay in full. He’d pay with interest. She would pay too; it broke his heart. He would pay for that as well.
She stood on the back yard. She stood in silence for a few seconds, her blond curls soaked brown, her rubber boots two sizes too big, and her head just a bit taller than the soaked Goldie that stood loyally by her on this solemn occasion. She lifted the small shovel in her hands. It was a bright robin’s egg blue spade never meant to actually move earth. The rain had drenched the soil and the mud moved easily, if sloppily. She gingerly picked up the small package wrapped in a fine handkerchief and placed it in the shallow grave. The handkerchief was silk and expensive. It would have looked better tied decoratively around her neck and shoulders someday, but she had insisted. Ivan had been such a good budgy, bright, colorful, and talkative in the way that budgies could be. He deserved to be buried in something beautiful. It wasn’t right to bury him in newspaper or some rag that they would otherwise throw out. It wasn’t fitting.
She would be in tears later when she realized that the stains would never fully come out of her dress, but this wasn’t a time for prevention. She’d learn that sometimes doing the right thing has a cost and that being willing to bear the cost is part of what makes it right. A light tuition for a valuable lesson.
He paid more dearly. He levied a heavy tax and squared it up assiduously to the magistrate in his mind. Four weeks in rehab after drinking himself to the brink of death. Another month before he had been allowed to see her again, six months clean before he had regained custody, and now he would jeopardize it all again knowingly.
But he was the only one to act. In all the world, possibly the only one. Only he could, or would, protect her.
Yes, he was dangerous. This wasn’t his delusion. He seemed ordinary. He was ordinary, in all but one measure. Since he was a child, he had one gift, one secret that no one knew and that he used sparingly. It was his shame both that he used it at all, and that he used it not enough. The gift was unfair, perhaps it was a curse. Better men would have put it to better use. Even better men would have ignored it altogether.
What extraordinary power had he been bequeathed? Immortality, super strength, flight, invulnerability, wisdom? No. His gift was much smaller, miniscule in fact. He could shrink himself down at a moment’s notice to the size of an ant, smaller in fact. Unfortunately, his strength significantly diminished with his size. Not quite proportionately but almost. Step on him and he was finished. Falling rain? A great hazard. An olive dropped from a cocktail tray? Impending disaster.
As a child he had envisioned himself as the world’s greatest spy or a master thief. Slip behind enemy lines? Listen in on conversations unnoticed? Sneak into the Tower of London? Who is looking for an enemy the size of the letters in a newspaper article? That is the power of the unexpected. If his power had been known, he would be useless. Countermeasures could be taken; poison in the carpet, robotic vacuums, high tech detection deployed. Precautions against threats that are known are easy; precautions against threats that stretch the imagination? Impossible.
He was not the only one. His was just a different kind of unexpected. The kingdom was grappling with worse. Shamelessness and remorselessness are also a type of super power.
The Prince had made this abundantly clear. His power seemed insignificant, benign, limited. Yet he wielded his one great gift with deadly intent. The Prince’s power? The power to excuse, to forgive, to absolve. It was a power absolute. While his forebears for the previous hundred and fifty years had used to the power sparingly and without imagination. The Prince had turned his one constitutional power into a weapon most dreadful.
The Prime Minister? Assassinated by the Prince’s followers. Opposition in Parliament? A series of attacks, thinly disguised. The perpetrators? Forgiven by the Prince. No legal recourse possible. Detractors openly slaughtered by acolytes. All forgiven. All actions taken in the name of a better nation, a better kingdom, a more united future. Some were thrilled, most were cowed. All feared.
A simple power, wielded without limitation by an otherwise ordinary man. An ordinary man made extraordinary. An innocuous authority made devastating through unimaginable lack of scruple. It was indeed a conspicuous freedom, the freedom from conscience. As he watched his daughter he fantasized about such grace. If only a few Hail Mary’s could make him worthy again. Forgiveness required contrition, and though a scoundrel, he was too honest to fool himself to believe that he could ever really be sorry.
An unacceptable state of affairs. He looked at his daughter’s face again. Her face melancholy as she said a prayer for Ivan. He would show no mercy, not even for himself. If only he could be seduced by convenient thoughts. It was never his strength. He would take on the stain if it meant that she could be free. She would never know. She would never understand. One day she would wonder why her couldn’t face her and why he chose to drown himself instead of enjoy a life with her. He would never be able to explain.
He didn’t, he wouldn’t, deserve joy. Justice demanded that a price be paid and he would pay that price if it killed him. He would pay that price when it killed him.
He called out to her to come in for dinner. They sat in silence as they ate. Her wet clothing swapped out for flannel pajamas. The weather was cool and the night would be long. For a few hours more he was deserving of her love. She smiled at him as she twirled her pasta splattering a little bit of sauce around as she prepared each coil of spaghetti and marinara.
She looked at him with adoration. She had missed him terribly when he had gone away. It felt nice that he was back. Soon he would tuck her into bed. He didn’t sing to her like the people she had stayed with when he had been gone. She preferred the way that he brushed her temple with his fingers and kissed her forehead as she got drowsy. It was more comforting than lullabies and bedtime stories.
He closed the door to her bedroom. She would sleep well. By the time she woke up in the morning he would be back. He would be different. She wouldn’t notice until he got to the point where he could no longer bear himself. He loved her with everything he had; he loved her enough to lose her.
He retired to his room and undressed. He removed his ring and the gold chain from around his neck. He put on a light jumpsuit, the kind that an auto mechanic might wear. A single piece top and bottom in one. It was practical and met his needs.
He checked his pockets; as intended, he had almost nothing. No wallet, no identification, just a few notes of cash. Nothing that could identify him. He looped the car key off of its ring, leaving the bulk of the keys on the bedside table. Thinking better of it he looped out the key to the apartment as well. He walked to his car and began driving. He had intended to leave the front door to the garden apartment unlocked, but the idea of leaving her alone unprotected troubled him. Goldies are notoriously bad guards. He would just leave the apartment key in his car. He made sure to take out the car’s registration from the glove box and slip it into his mail slot. If anyone rummaged the car while he was gone at least they wouldn’t be able to easily work their way back to the apartment.
He drove the car to near the center of the city. The streets changed from black tar macadam to the familiar red brick that marked the old town. Activity in town had already slowed. He would arouse little suspicion. An ordinary man being ordinary. He knew that after tonight the video from every camera would be examined in great detail. He would hide in plain sight, boring and ordinary.
The small store remained open late. The family that owned it lived immediately above the storefront. It almost always made sense for them to be open. Most of the time one of the teenage sons could be seen studying while sitting next to the cash register. During the day they mostly sold cheap foreign made tchotchkes to enthusiastic tourists. Regulars came in for cigarettes, newspapers and adult magazines. Recently there had been an uptick in sales of cannabis products. At night the cigarette business stayed strong, but the alcohol business really took off.
He walked in. He had familiarized himself with the store but had never been inside. Being recognized would not be helpful. He pointed to a bottle of ninety proof rum behind the counter and paid cash. He looked around nervously and asked if there was a bathroom he could use. He was counting on his blue-collar attire and the fact that he had just made a purchase to soften the man’s heart. It was the grandfather manning the register that night. Maybe incontinence was something he could sympathize with.
In the bathroom, he pulled out a sealable plastic bag and undressed. It hadn’t been obvious but he hadn’t worn shoes. This would save on space. He stood naked in the bathroom. It was an uncomfortable feeling but not the first time he had experienced something like this. He carefully and tightly folded his overalls and put them in the bag. He put the bag in the water tank of the commode and looked in the mirror.
The floor of the bathroom was filthy. There were no paper towels and he guessed that people had just shaken the water off their hands onto the tile floor. Shoes had tracked grime from the street leaving black shoe tread prints made of grime. His socks had gotten wet as soon as he had entered. He was sure that by the time he returned his clothes would have acquired some of the filth and most of the smell.
He breathed deep and began to shrink. Soon he was below the level of the sink and could no longer see himself in the mirror. Then below the plumbing. Within a few seconds he knew that he had become small enough to slip under the door but he needed to be smaller still. In seconds he had gone from six feet tall to about a millimeter. He looked around the bathroom. He had left no trace. He began to run, under the door and through the store.
Eventually he figured that the old man would wonder if he’d fallen into the toilet and would check on him. He had left the door unlocked on purpose. Unless his luck was just terrible the old man would check on the bathroom, see no one, and assume that the cricket match on the television had obscured the exit of the incontinent customer.
Distances are more daunting when using half millimeter long legs. Fortunately, his overall physical strength didn’t diminish quite completely proportionately to his size. He was approximately one two thousandth his normal size but running the thirty feet to the door didn’t feel like running twenty kilometers. He was able to make the journey in just under a minute. As hoped for, the old man’s eyed were happily glued to the IPL cricket match on Satellite.
The little mini market had two big pluses. The first was the generally kind hearted family that didn’t feel that bathroom privileges required a Royal Summons. The second was that it was located just around the corner and across the street from the Palace. The distance to the massive doors of the Prince’s city palace were less than a quarter mile from the door of the market. He had estimated that the run would take forty-five minutes though he had given himself an hour for good measure. There were likely to be a lot of critters between him and the front door. The most dangerous predators were birds, but ants, spiders, and centipedes were also a concern. Of course, in a pinch he could always inflate to a size too big to be appetizing but that created its own set of problems.
He began running across the road. Traffic remained light yet potentially deadly. He had forgotten to factor the brick road surface. Instead of a nice easy straight run on a track he had to navigate a terrain of plateaus, followed by cliffs and gaps in a recurring cycle. Fortunately, he was able to leap across the gaps. The unsteady pace required more effort, but didn’t require too much more time.
There was a plus side to the gaps. Instead of having to try and dodge tires, he was able to just drop down into the crevasses and let the cars pass harmlessly over him. As small and as light as he was, falling from a distance thirty times his own height felt like a short parachute ride. Getting back out took a bit of effort, but in this incarnation, he felt like the world’s greatest free climber.
The curb on the other side of the road was a bit more of a hassle. The eight-inch curb had been painted to prohibit parking. This made the curb smoother than expected and the paint had filled in most of the potential handholds in the crags in the stone. Fortunately, thirty feet to the right was the main gate to the property and a small ramp for cars had been cut into the curb. He began running again up the concrete and towards the massive iron front doors of the house.
The security was tight. This was to be expected. There were many guards at the front. Electronic surveillance peered everywhere. German Shephard’s stood at the ready. He had sometimes wondered if a police dog could discern his scent at this size. It was certainly possible though of course just now he smelled like piss and street grime.
Still, there was no point in taking unnecessary chances. He slipped between the hinges at the door and made his way inside. The carpeting was a challenge. It was a bit like trying to walk through a miles-long thicket. He made his way to the tiled floor. The building was, by definition, palatial and he could easily waste the entire night going through room by room finding no one. The good thing about paranoid despots is that they are paranoid for good reasons and the bedroom would be sure to have a guard posted.
He made his way to the grand staircase. This was going to be a long climb. He estimated about thirty risers to the top, each with an overhand. But there was a better way. The palace was quiet at night but not completely dead. He made the long climb up the stair. It hadn’t been too bad a climb but another twenty-nine would be exhausting.
He moved himself over to the center of the step and waited. Within a few minutes he found his ride. A member of the security detail began the climb up to the top of the stairs. A well-timed jump and he caught onto the cuff of the pant leg. The fabric was of a poor quality with poorly woven fabric. The fibers sticking out created plenty of handholds to grip onto. Within seconds he had been carried to the living quarters level. He leapt free.
He saw the large double doors guarded by two security guards. He walked right past the guards. This time the grime was a blessing. The floor was dark mahogany wood and his pale skin would have stood out. He could imagine being stomped on by an observant guard like a termite or louse.
Under the door, through the waiting room. Another door with another guard stood sentry at the end of the long sitting area. This time the floor was white tile with flecks of black. He blended in perfectly. Past the guard, under the door he was in the bed chamber. He could see the Prince.
He made his way to the bed and began climbing. The bed was covered in sheets and frills and pillows and a fancy skirt. It would be easy to find fabric to climb.
He reached the bed and made his way up to the night stand. He climbed onto the phone to get a better look. Next to the Prince in his bed, was a very young very pretty blond girl, perhaps in her early twenties. He would have to be fast.
The Prince was there, sleeping. His mouth slightly agape. Options were limited; this was not a surprise. At a millimeter in height, naked, without weapons there was only one real solution. He had been mentally prepared even when hatching this idea.
He took a running start and leapt. He landed on the Prince’s large nose. Even at this size he worried that it would wake up the sleeping Prince. He feared a subconscious swatting in the middle of the Prince’s slumber. He quickly ran into the Prince’s nose for refuge careful to avoid touching any of the Prince’s copious and highly sensitive nose hairs. He waited. The nose route was disgusting. The Prince seemed to suffer from a cold. Getting deep enough would not be easy. He decided the mouth was the better method. No less disgusting but much more likely to succeed.
He paused for a few seconds. He had had no doubts until now. However, seeing the girl lying next to the Prince had both disgusted him and humanized him. Seeing the mucous in his nostrils, somehow made him less monstrous. He was at core just a man. Base, hedonistic, lustful, and disgusting, yet fragile and vulnerable to the same ailments as other mortals.
This was no time to stop. No time to waver. It was now or never. It was now. Regrets could be paid later when the deed was done. Regret for inaction was unfathomably obscene.
He crawled out the Prince’s nose and walked over the hump of his lips and into his mouth. It was at least as disgusting as the nose, but he could go so much deeper. He walked over the moguls of little taste buds on the Prince’s tongue. He began moving towards the back of the Prince’s throat. He looked for the key landmarks. The Uvula was hanging just a few inches above him, but those inches seemed like the ceiling of a massive cavern supporting a disgusting hanging stalactite. He fell as the Prince moved to adjust his head on his pillow. Now or never. He needed to act before the Prince decided to have a second go with his lover.
He leapt as far down the Prince’s esophagus as far as he could. As he did, he willed himself back to full size. Within seconds the Prince’s entire torso exploded. The entire rib cage ripped open, internal organs crushed and splayed all over. The Prince’s throat was ruptured and blood spilled as the heart struggled to continue to pump. For a brief second a ghoulish form sat naked bathed in the Prince’s blood. A second later the ghoul had shrunk back down. He walked on the thick, viscous blood and made his way to a clean patch of the sheets.
He heard the girl scream as she awoke to the blood, bones, and humours that had spilled from the Prince. The Prince was a man no more, just meat and filth. He paid the screams no mind though he would never forget them. He had returned to being an insignificant insect. He wiped himself against the fabric of the bedsheets and jumped off the bed. The trip out would be much easier.
As the guards came into the room, they recoiled from seeing he carnage. Their weapons were drawn pointed at the bewildered girl. A tiny imperceptible form made his getaway. Down the stairs, out through the entry way, through the lawn and back to the mini mart he ran.
He ran up to and through the tienda. He went past the grandfather who by then had stepped outside as the ambulances and sirens had converged at the Palace. The old man stood watching, confused about the activity. Under the door and into the bathroom he ran and expanded back to normal size. He stood naked panting in front of the mirror. There was no blood. The grime had disappeared as well. A millimeter of blood and piss spread over a six-foot man. He was clean, as if just showered. He locked the door behind him and quickly grabbed his clothes from the tank. The seal had held. He dressed, splashing a bit of the bottle of Rum on his face, emptying the rest and leaving the bottle in the trash.
He walked stealthily through the store grabbing a bag of chips and a pre-made sandwich from the refrigerated section. He rang the bell on the counter. The startled Grandfather looked inside, surprised to see him again. Again, he beckoned for another bottle of rum from behind the counter. He feigned a bit of inebriation, as if the first one had already been finished.
The old man looked at him disapprovingly and then averted his eyes. This was the business of the family in the end; catering to less than savory social needs. The transaction proceeded without any more words.
Shoeless, he made his way back to the car. It had sat unmolested. The area immediately around the palace was being cordoned off. He was just outside the perimeter. Even if stopped there would be nothing suspicious, just an unhealthy miserable man behaving irresponsibly. A man out for a fix of booze.
Even that didn’t happen. He drove home without a hitch. It was anticlimactic. He pulled the key out of the glove compartment and opened the front door. He would need to shower. He put the bottle of rum on the counter. He felt sick to his stomach. It wasn’t the gore.
He had made the choice. He had taken everything into his own hands. He hadn’t played fair. There were no checks or balances. He had taken only his own counsel, sanctioned by no one. He had played god.
He didn’t consider himself a hero. He was a despot, not too different than the one he had just butchered. There would be a price to pay and he had placed the first installment on the kitchen counter.
He thought about his angel. She slept beyond the closed door. Her life would be different now. Would she thank him if she knew, recoil in horror, or curse him for the pain he would soon put her through. A price would have to be paid and he was willing to pay it. There could be no absolution. Actions have consequences. They must. If he didn’t mete out justice, if he didn’t become loathsome to all, even to himself, then what would he become?
