SAD SONG FOR A HERO

The underground is dimly lit appropriately.  Silhouettes are indistinguishable, obscure shadows.  Some are older and most are brazen youth living on the edge of an informative, inspirational abyss.  The air is a thick mix of plentiful smoke and sweaty grudge overpowered by the obscene smell of beached seaweed.  The faces in the crowd impart wary grimaces to smirky hope. As the performing artist's slight form takes center stage, all ears are keen to hear her waify vibrato pierce the still night in the cavern that rocks beneath the sea.

Valhalla heard the rumors about this infamous venue.  She hired capable muscle to quell her manager's objection to this performance.  He came highly recommended. Still the singer was contemplating Killjoy's inflamed comments, unleashed in her mind and running rampant. "Performers disappear at that place. You might be more famous when you're dead, but loyalty is short lived when the messenger goes missing."

"I really wish you got it, Buzzkill. It's not about fame, it's about allegiance."

"Love allegiance."

"Killjoy, Your enthusiasm gushes like a dried up fountain. It's a good thing your hairy armpits reek of joy."

"You know I am sensitive about my underarms." Killjoy stated through an excruciating yawn, "Save the world. I'm out." Then he did what Valhalla expected, hung, spat on the floor, made a sign of the cross, and prayed, "God. Help me."

Valhalla delighted in torturing him, "Good talk Buzzkill. Later!" Time to get serious though, she let the rap embody her resolve.  Incarnate her fearless stage persona. She refused to let the ill-boding premonitions  wreak havoc on her nerves.

Shaking off any residue apprehension, she turned to her attentive protector, "Ready Big Guy. I'm pumped."

"All in when you are," the bodyguard assured her.

The crowd grew silent as she bathed ablaze in the spotlight.  Her glare cut into the scathing silence for approval. Finding none, her hand grabbed the mic fearlessly, she faced these judgmental with her "Sad Song for A Hero."  The music cradled her lyrics in heartfelt emotion.  "No worries," she said, "Believe and Trust."

(Sing Along..)

"Here we are, survivors of an Apocalypse

lost track of ourselves and everyone

we loved , we lost, we still miss

Corralled and electrically prodded

Body parts poisoned

Our beautiful corroded

Running for our lives on the outside,

cause they locked us out from inside.

Now we wait

For the Hero to arrive

Now we wait

and Believe and Trust

He will be here,

Here among us.

Crying my sad song

for a Hero

we're keeping strong

Don't know if we'll

be here too long

We'll give it all we got

just to hang on

For Hero to walk among us

I know he is one of us

Believe and Trust

We've been running on the outside

for too damn long

trying to do it alone

trying to right these wrongs

It hasn't been enough

Need a Hero that's one of us

Believe and Trust

The crowd had risen to their feet and shouted the chorus along with Valhalla. The fury was contagious. The rhythm crescendo and burst with intensity.

"I cry my sad song for a hero

Barely hanging on to hope

Don't count on growing old

cause life is too short

that we know

At least we won't die in vain

We got nothing more to lose

and everything to gain

And as long as we are alive

We will believe and trust

There is a hero

He is here among us

I know, there's a hero.

in one of us."

The passion is burning in Valhalla's eyes as she demands an audience.

God Now you tell me!

Where is my relief and recourse

to end crazy and adverse

I deserve something to believe in

that makes me give a damn.

like the dreams that I still have.

Don't think you can take that

I refuse to give up

The Hero will come

and walk among us

He will be one of us,

Born of us,

The sum of us.

Believe and Trust"

A respectful, thunderous reception was cut short as the warning sirens interrupted the evening allegiance.  No time to revel in appreciation, the crowd frantically escaped into side caverns that led back to the outside and God willing, safety.  To be caught in a gathering of opposition  was punishable by mind recircuiting.  A polite term for turning you into a robot for servitude in the bunkers.  Or worse, unthinkable experimentation by scientists following alien instruction for the "Greater Good" hoping for the domiciliation of disease free participants.

Jax grabbed Valhalla by her tatted arm, and guided her through the caverns in a full sprint, leaping onto rock platforms hovering above the water.

She paused to catch her breath, "You have an escape plan? Right?"  She heard her voice shaking from the icy cold of the deeper caves.

"Always.", he sounded confident, somewhat trustworthy. . He unearthed a suspicious package wrapped in brown paper from his inside jacket pocket.

"Shot of courage? Or is the plan to get drunk so we don't give a shit when they catch us?"

Jax smiled all knowingly, "I don't drink. But I do call on friends in high places." He squeezed the sack.

Valhalla shut her eyes thinking suicide bomber and how perfect her name fit his mission. Confirmed. A bright flash of white, her body exploding into atoms and then floating down, light as feather.

"The hero returns and he brings her.  Welcome home Alaric."

Valhalla opened her eyes to see the bodyguard still holding her arm. "Holy shit. JAX? Wtf are you?"

"Divine intervention. You're safe, and you're welcome."

Aurora was speechless. "Safe?", she doubted that but decided to play it cool, "Mhummm, Thank you, JaxAlaric.  Care to explain, please?" Nothing about this place had familiarity.  Sterility was a good description of the bright and shiny stone installation.

"I brought you home " Alaric stated.

"Which Home, Heaven?"

"Sorta, Where we of Atlantis transcended."

"Ok...as in  lost city of?"

"As in evolved civilization of greatness.", Alaric answered with obvious Atlantean pride.

"The same civilization that a volcano destroyed and sank to the bottom of the deep blue sea long, long time ago? Basically, uhh, non-existent in the present age?"  She had a hard time trying to find the words to play along with this ridiculous, delusional farce, "Why bring me here?"

"Your type evolves easily  and possesses desirable attributes."

"Type?"

"Artists of your caliber use their full brain capacity of both lobes to logically think and artistically, intellectually create. It is a rare genetically disposed distinction."

"Are you calling me a Brainiac? I prefer Bradstein, if you don't mind."

"What is a Bradstein?"

"Ever go to a movie? Have you ever heard of the Hiroshima Whisperer? How high is your IQ?"

"IQ and age are only numbers. They do not matter."

"Tell that to Albert Einstein and Benjamin Button. I don't think they would agree with you."

The audio made a weird sound like they were amused.

"Are you laughing at me partners? Help me out here."

"Sorry Alaric. Albert Einstein genius; IQ estimated between 160 and 180; The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, a 2008 Romance Fantasy starring Brad Pitt."

"Beauty and Brains"

"Now you're trying to flatter me and it's not working. Valhalla took a deep and weary breath wondering painfully if she would ever see anyone she cared about ever again. Her next verbal assault was delivered with deliberate insurgence, "I am nothing more than a smart ass artist contributor, a crusader in a war for humanity speaking through my music with emotion that spews from a burdened heart to feed my withering soul. And I can't be any of that if I am not free."

"She is a prize!" the auditory squealed. "We love her!"

"Prize? Like a trophy wife or the carnal variety souvenir type?  I will give you no joy. My fate is no longer mine. "

"Your fate is much brighter now. Why not this destiny if the alternative was gruesome annihilation?" 

"Fate, Destiny, Call it what it is : Fuckery? You save me from a society transfixed on perfection to become a possession of this lost colony hellbent on evolution of genius with alien machines as cohorts? Call it Fuckery because I'm screwed. I am a prisoner. My jailers don't even have a face."

"We don't need a face. We have Alaric."

"You are free here to learn as a higher power of providence committed to divine powers of existence."

"Perfect, a different narrative, same chains. For the record, JaxAlaric is two faced. A Divine being who is a kidnapper, lacking moral integrity with illusions of warped grandeur."

"Only we are perfect!" chimed the auditory.

"We will not be perfect for another megaannum.  We are just learning what we are capable of and manifesting that as  evolved beings."

" And what about the rest of mankind, of those not privy to your society and gracious promises.  Those I love and leave behind, are they not deserving of utopian life as well?" She wasn't buying this higher existence drivel.

"Valhalla, you are chosen."

"Chosen? Why?"

"The answer is for what.  Chosen for higher morals of consciousness, for bravery, for inspiration, for your creative genius."

"Are you divinities not capable of that on your own?" She liked mocking them, watching their controlled indignation.  The auditory disapproved of her petulance.

"Absolutely, but we are not immortal and we cannot procreate."

Ah Ha! There it was-CHOOSEN-for her womb. Deniability was all she could turn to for defense, "Can I? The human race has been sterile for 10 years following the Flow.  Our reproductive systems are ravaged, especially for those of us living  on the outside, like I have been  for all those 10 years. What makes you think I can procreate a healthy being?  Be careful what you wish for."

"I am hopeful."

"So I am just an experiment for your curiosity? I won't participate willingly in your endeavor of hope."

"Participation is really not an option, rather a condition of freedom."

"I see,  I must participate or be damned."

"Sounds oppressive when you put it like that."

"Because injustice bereft of reason always is."

"It doesn't have to be."

"Alternatives then, preferably ones with free will involved," she wasn't pleading, her words were sarcastic and defiant.

"None I'm afraid," there was no hesitation, just a statement of pragmatic understanding.

"She is not cooperative," the auditory  spoke out impatiently. "Take her back. Let her die slowly as her reality crumbles and the magma burns them all into ash from which they came."

"She will be my friends," Alaric assured the partners.

"Silence her  Alaric.  Enough insolence. We must go," the auditory was disturbed and now obviously inconvenienced.

"You will learn to love me."

"I would rather go home."

"You mean Hell?" Alaric's  eyes filled with apparent distaste, "What can't you understand and appreciate about this opportunity? Your home is a wasteland of corruption and dominance by a select self rewarding few.  Going home will not help any of us, or any of them, survive."

"Maybe I choose to not survive if I am nothing more than a captive for indifferent inner celestial unification."

"So you do understand?  But do you know why you will survive?  Alaric looked deep into Aurora's rebellious wild eyes.  He  explained the simple concept to her as gently as he could, "Mothers survive to protect their children. They cannot stop their own heartbeat or their all consuming love."

Valhalla lost it, "I AM NO MOTHER! I can will my heart to stop if...."

"only you could. That is a gift I gave to wild animals. You, I can tame." Alaric pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her combative soul.  She was weightless again.

"Tame the Beast! Alaric!"

"Enough!" He silenced them and spoke thoughtfully, "A beautiful burdened beast. We did that to them. It is something I regret and will correct"

"I love you Valhalla."