Columbine

The medical tubes all stood in a neat row on my shelf, each containing amounts of highly concentrated crimson. I formed a mental head count, scrutinizing each one with care. There were fourteen of them now. Things were moving forward, though much slower than I would have expected.

After having a good enough stare at the tubes, I reached over for the stack of index cards that lay strewn in one of the far corners of my desk. They were stained brown with water that was dripping from a broken pipe in the ceiling. I took a pen and began to write.

After I put down the number fourteen, I was clueless. I had no idea what to name my newest vial. Whenever it came to titles, it was Valentin that usually named the samples. He always had a sense of some overly fancy things to call them. I anxiously tapped my foot, anticipating the answer as though it would pop up in my mind like a bulb.

I smirked, the thought of actual light bulbs taunting me. I could dream about electric lights and insulation as much as I wanted -- I wouldn’t be getting them. Ever since the promptly-named New Era had begun, no one had seen so much as a child’s flashlight. All of those things had been carted off to garbage dumps when it became obvious that electricity was gone.

I fingered the flash-drive that hung around my neck, the familiar curves of the metal soothing me. I’d kept it as a good-luck charm even after everything electronic had been carted off to the garbage dumps and shoved away into attics worldwide. There had been no point in keeping it -- none of it worked anymore. But I still hadn’t been able to bring myself to throw the flash drive away.

I didn’t remember what I’d saved on it all those years ago. It probably hadn’t been important if I’d forgotten it so easily. But it was the reminder of a happier time that I’d kept the flash drive for -- not because I foolishly hoped to someday revisit its contents. So I’d let it hang from my neck like some sort of amulet. It had stayed there so long that the shape of it seemed to have been tattooed into my skin.

Suddenly something crashed in the room above me. I dropped the pen and raced from the basement to the living room, to find that one of the enormous dogs that were supposed to be guarding the front entrance had mysteriously appeared in the house and knocked over one of the antique vases.

I froze amid the broken glass, for the first time noticing that bits of the vase had dug their way into my feet. Bloody footprints followed me around as I slowly backed away from the dog. The creature looked up, confused by the chorus of electric guitars that had appeared out of nowhere.

A long line of curses streamed from my mouth. I picked bits of vase from the soles of my feet, and the guitars grew louder as the blood dripped somewhat copiously to the floor. It wasn’t terribly loud, but it was definitely loud enough to make the dog come up to me.

I knew that at any moment, it would try to take a bite of me. When that happened, I might as well kiss my solitary mission goodbye. I’d never been bitten by a dog before -- just one thing that my checklist was lacking in -- but I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to acquire every wound possible throughout my lifetime if I could possibly avoid it.

“Valentin!” I shrieked, backing up against the wall and planting my bleeding feet firmly onto the floor. The dog sniffed between my toes, lapping up a footprint. I swallowed, praying that the animal would bite my pant leg instead of my actual leg. At least then I could buy some time.

“What’s all this?” A loud, clear voice inquired from the doorway. I shot the person standing there a glare I hoped would give him retinal scarring. Only after he finally seized the dog’s collar did I slap him.

“What did I do to merit this sort of treatment?” He asked politely, pressing his fingers to his cheek.

“You forgot to put the leash back on!” I accused, still shaking. He looked a little surprised at first, but seemed to decide not to argue.

“If you say so.” He said, and took the dog outside, where it belonged for the rest of its natural life.

I shakily sat down to pick the rest of the glass from my foot, glancing at the bits of blood-stained vase that I’d stepped on. The sunlight glinted off the glass, forming a somewhat disturbing picture.

After all of the glass was out, I limped to get bandages. The sight of myself in the cracked, dirty mirror of my bathroom was uninspiring. My face looked like it might at one point in early adolescence have been pretty, but after a few more years of aging and stretching, it had over-morphed.

My brown hair was pulled back into a thin, straggly ponytail. Unlike most seventeen-year olds, I did not look like I was young and bursting with energy. I looked the exact opposite. My limbs were all unattractively thin -- probably because I could afford a decent meal only twice a month.

As I wrapped my feet in gauze that had stayed mysteriously clean, the guitars faded away and silence filled my ears like cotton. I’d grown so used to the sound of music over the past year, that its absence was almost unnatural. The pale, subtle scars on my arms were proof of that.

“I’m afraid the vase is a lost cause.” Valentin said, having quietly appeared in the doorway. The look of confidence he effortlessly maintained never ceased to piss me off, while being just a little reassuring at the same time.

“I’m not worried about the stupid vase.” I said, standing up. The bandages were doing their trick. “I want the guard dogs to have their leashes on.”

“I did put their leashes on. Maybe that one just slipped out of his.” He said.

“Like hell it did!” I snapped. “If you can‘t be bothered to tie them back up after you‘ve finished feeding them or walking them, or whatever the hell it is you do, then at least close the goddamn door!”

“I do close the door.” He said. I gave him another glare. “They must have another way of coming in.”
“They’re not exactly ants.” I growled. “They’re big-ass dogs!”

“Yes, they are dogs, although it’s got nothing to do with their asses.” He crossed his arms over his chest. I kicked him in the shin.

“I’m not joking!” I threatened. “If one more dog gets into my house, I’m setting fire to you.”

And that was that. Yet another conversation with the only true friend I had.

I’d first met Valentin when I was fifteen. He was eighteen at the time, and practically a celebrity in the school that I’d been shipped off to by my grandmother. Being a demon lord’s son, he had many people fascinated with him. Boys wanted to be his friends, and girls wanted him to sweep them off of their feet.

After the New Era had begun, people had been informed about what demon lords were and what they could do. Of course, they’d had no choice. Many of those demon lords now played their part in what had become the new world power, what we all came to know as the Demataxt.

One of the demon lords -- Asmodeus -- had had an affair with a woman while in a human body. That woman gave birth to a son who had inherited many of his father’s demonic skills. This son was Valentin, and everyone wanted to rub shoulders with him. I would always be forced observe him and his admirers from across whichever room I found myself in with them. It was impossible not to look at them, what with the way they resembled a swarm of bees delighting in newly-found pollen.

He would always look incredibly handsome in the required uniform. It seemed that it had been tailored specifically for him. Few other students could pull off the look that the high-collared, long-sleeved, black suit gave them like he could, and even then they couldn’t compare.

If it had been a secret that he wasn’t entirely human, I would have wondered. But the fact that someone like him went to the same school that I did made me see just how new the New Era was. A few years ago, people would have laughed at such an idea. Now it was as normal as having a cup of coffee or tying your shoelaces.

Valentin was everyone’s dream, and he was my nightmare. He was a constant reminder that the world I’d been born into, the world I had loved, was dead. It takes something like a demon lord’s son walking around your school to convince you of how different things have become.

One day I was walking home, traipsing down the edge of a river guarded by a wire fence. It used to be a hydroelectric plant, but now it was just another senseless body of water that the school had been built next to.

I never even saw the car coming. Unlike the traditional image of an automobile, this car was somehow powered by a mage’s spell. There was no engine, and therefore no noise. It moved like a ghost in its silence while some rich moron was attempting to control it from the inside, trying desperately to wrestle with the inhuman force controlling the car and failing miserably.

Had it not been for Valentin’s coincidental presence at that same ex-hydroelectric plant, I would be dead. He had grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the way before I‘d even known there was danger.

He’d seemed to be made of rock instead of flesh. I’d felt it when I’d stumbled into him, heart pounding and pulse throbbing between my ears.

“That was close, huh?” He said, and smiled down at me.

He was too close. I instantly felt his presence as more than just the fact that he was there. He seemed to smother me, flattening me into something that was miniscule despite the polite distance between us. I froze as something cold crawled under my skin. It was my worst fear incarnated.

Did I thank him for saving my life? Tell him how utterly magnificent he was for doing me such an enormous favor? Indebt myself to him and offer some kind of payment for his trouble? I’d done none of those things. I went the way my instincts told me to, the way they’d been telling me to go for months: I ran like hell without saying a word to him.

The following day he’d smiled at me as though we were best friends. That gorgeous smile filled me with fury that I had not expected to feel, and before I knew it, I was wailing on him.

I’m not sure what, exactly, I’d been thinking. I was pitting myself against the son of a demon lord without an ounce of shame. I was digging my nails into whatever exposed parts of his skin I could find. I was grabbing his silky, shiny black hair and pulling on it for all I was worth. I kicked everywhere that my legs would reach. I was also crying, although it may have been something closer to screaming. In any case, I’d just as soon forget it ever happened.

During all that time, he didn’t make a single move to attack me. It might have been just as well. I realize now that he could have killed me easily. After five minutes or so of my hysteria, I was pulled off of him by an angry professor.

I was taken to an office, where I was chastised and threatened to be sued.

I didn’t doubt the all-too-likely validity of that option. I was in a Demataxt-funded school, built especially to facilitate the integration of all manner of non-humans into the real world, and normal people into the world they’d always thought was fantasy. And I’d attacked a demon lord’s son. No, being sued was the least of my worries. Execution was for more likely, considering the heinous thing I’d done.

To everyone’s shock, and especially to mine, Valentin had walked in and told the principal that it was all one big misunderstanding. He was good-natured and incredibly nice about the whole thing. I suspected that later on that day he’d pull me aside and bite my head off, but he didn’t. Instead he patted my back and left. The awkwardness had been unbearable.

For the following week I had nothing but dirty looks and nasty whispers behind my back. This was to be expected -- I’d attacked their king. Like any loyal subjects, their job was to alienate me.

The alienation lasted a month, until something completely unexpected happened. I was walking home yet again, but this time it was different. I was carrying a boatload of sweets home, as I would do a couple times a month when my pocket money could cover it. It was dark, and like on any dark night, it’s only a matter of time until you’re attacked by muggers.

These muggers were particularly serious about their job. They had knives and brass knuckles. They wore ski masks, despite the humidity. They were committed to their work and they performed it with the professionalism of real businessmen. I dropped my bag, reaching for my wallet without hesitation. I’d learned to put some money aside for muggers, since there were so many of them nowadays.

It would have gone smoothly if I hadn’t suddenly recognized one of the muggers and dumbly said their name out loud. Recognizing the danger of letting me live, the one I’d recognized stabbed me in the gut with his knife.

Before I could register the pain, a burst of sound filled the air. A guitar strummed a few chords before a male voice began to sing. By the first line, I‘d collapsed to the ground, my hand tentatively reaching for the wound. I somehow knew that music was playing, though I had no idea how. There was no such thing as electric guitars anymore, let alone recorded music. So where was it coming from?

With that thought in mind, I’d passed out cold.

I woke up in a clinic. I wasn’t sure how I’d gotten there. I could only assume someone had found me and gotten help, as unlikely as that was to happen in the middle of the night.
I looked down and saw that there was a bandage covering where I’d been stabbed. I didn’t dare take it off and look, because I didn’t want to see how bad it was. I prayed that I’d passed out simply because of shock, and not because of blood loss.

“You’re awake!” A nurse had noticed. I blinked, not sure if that meant that I’d been asleep longer than expected, or that I’d woken up ahead of schedule.

“You had a small accident.” The nurse told me before I could think to ask. “It’s not too bad, but you shouldn’t move around too much. You’ll rip your stitches.”

Stitches. I’d never had stitches before.

“How long have I been here?” I asked, my voice startlingly hoarse.

“You spent the night.” The nurse informed me.

I wasn’t sure how to respond. All I could think to say was, “Can I go home?”

The nurse blinked, obviously surprised.

“Are you sure, dear?” She stared at me. “It might not be a good idea to move around just yet.”

“I’ll be fine.” I mumbled. “You need the bed anyway.”

She hadn’t argued on that particular point.

As I’d been leaving, she’d asked me something that had made me stop dead in my tracks.

“The strangest thing happened when you were brought in.” She said. “Music was playing. Not the instrumental kind, but like there used to be on radio.”

I turned around very slowly, and it had nothing to do with my stitches.

“What?” I stammered, not sure that I’d hear her correctly.

“How weird is that?” The nurse gave a nervous laugh. “We all thought the power had come back on, but it hadn’t. It was just songs coming out of nowhere.”

I wondered if maybe the clinic staff had decided to screw with my head. I was sure I’d hear music when I’d been stabbed, but until then, I’d thought it had been some sort of hallucination.

I left the clinic without another word.

Instead of going to school, I went to the place where I’d been mugged and searched for anything that could have played any kind of role in the music that had come out of nowhere. I found nothing but a very dirty alley. I even went as far as diving into trashcans. I found nothing. Of course it was stupid to hope for some long lost boom box. Electricity was dead. It had been dead for three years, and so had electric guitars.

Suddenly a shard of glass pierced my palm as I rooted through garbage. I yelped and muttered a few obscenities in honor of this new development. When I realized that the music had started to play again, I instantly shut up. I yanked the glass shard out, listening very intently for whatever the source of the music was. I let my hand bleed, not paying attention to the mess it made of my school uniform.

The music began to fade as my search spanned out over an hour. My hand eventually stopped bleeding, and the music went away. I slumped to my knees, disappointed. Where the hell was the sound coming from?

In my frustration, I punched the wall. My knuckles cracked open. I was thrilled to hear the music return, though much weaker than before. I pressed my ear to the wall, listening hard for any vibration at all. I heard nothing, and the music faded away again.

And then it struck me: the music played if I bled! I’m not sure what kind of weird logic this was, but it worked. I took a pin from my hair and selflessly jabbed it directly into the cut the glass shard had made. Again, the sound of an electric guitar filled the air and I smiled.

Suddenly I heard footsteps approaching behind me. I whipped around a little too fast for my new stitches and felt a stab of pain in my stomach. My eyes involuntarily watered, but I could see a blurry image of Valentin, my most hated foe, standing in the alley with the slack, wide-eyed expression of someone who had just discovered the same thing I had.

I hadn’t bothered asking him what he was doing there, how he was even there in the first place, what he wanted, or why he wouldn’t leave me alone. All I could think to say was,

“Can you hear it, too?”

He didn’t seem to be able to form the words, but had managed to give me a single nod of confirmation. He’d seemed to have figured at that my blood was the source of the music, because he stared at the cut on my hand just like I did.

We stood there for a few more minutes, letting the music play while my cut steadily bled. When it finally clotted and dried, I turned to face Valentin.

“No one can know.” I warned him. “If you tell anyone, I’ll kick your ass from here to Switzerland. Got it?”

He smiled weakly and nodded again, which I took to be his way of consenting.

All this happened nearly three years ago, when things were still only teetering on the brink of hell.